Your PR Architect

I don't want to talk about Matt, Harvey, Kevin, Charlie, or Bill. Recent headlines have created a Sargasso Sea of sexual misdeeds and dismissed journalists. It's not a great climate in which to send news releases about vague "solutions" and nude cooking. But if you need a break from the misadventures of fallen media giants, the PR world can offer a brief respite. If you're willing to wade through some challenging prose. After reading this one from Gold Stream Solutions -- an agency that includes PR among its areas of expertise -- I'm starting to understand what's killing news releases. Lousy writing. News-free copy. Vague information. Quoting a CEO with no last name. I didn't realize CEOs qualified for the federal witness protection program. If that's not sufficiently amusing, consider this release, received by my friend Tracy Schuhmacher, who writes about food and drink for the Rochester (NY) Democrat & Chronicle. It's from th

Last week, colleagues and former students encouraged me to write about the colossal PR blunders of April: Pepsi's misguided TV commercial in which a rich white woman ends a street protest by handing a cop a soft drink Press Secretary Sean Spicer's gross stupidity in using Hitler and the Holocaust in describing Syria's use of chemical warfare United Airlines' ghastly mishandling of "re-accommodating" a passenger on a commercial jet -- and bloodying both passenger and senior management in the process. These tragic blunders didn't need my commentary. News media pundits and late-night comedians carried the ball far across the goal line. They pointed out the universal tone-deafness of Pepsi, United, and Spicer. They didn't need me to spike the ball. Businesses and government officials have been saying dumb things for decades. There's nothing new about these errors. Each reflects an acute case of self-absorption, and a total disregard for

This week, United Airlines proved that it has learned nothing about social media in nine years. By now, you may have seen the tale of United's removing two teenage girls from a flight for wearing leggings. United explained that its policy for users of employee-provided travel passes came with a dress code. Leggings and spandex are forbidden. This episode, as silly as it sounds, triggered a Twitter onslaught of criticism for the airline. It amused me, at first, because what passes for travel attire on most U.S. air carriers ranges from business suits to rumpled pajamas to cosplay outfits. But then, as the United story tumbled across Twitter, involving celebrities including Chrissy Teigen, Patricia Arquette, and even octogenarian William Shatner (at left, in tights from his '60s Star Trek era), I remembered: United's been down this road of embarrassment before. In 2008, Canadian musician Dave Carroll created a mini-sensation when the airline's baggage crew smas

If you're a PR professional, you may disagree with me. And I'd love to hear your viewpoint. Six months ago, a local acquaintance asked me to help promote his book on business leadership. Most news media I contacted were enthusiastic, interviewing him on air, including his book in a newspaper column, or running op-ed essays he'd written about business conduct. By Holger.Ellgaard (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0  (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)],  via Wikimedia Commons Except one. An experienced news/public affairs broadcaster who initially expressed interest, asked to read a copy of the client's book, and then went silent. Didn't respond to emails or phone calls. Even when I asked co-workers at the broadcaster's station, who first said they'd been busy, and told me he'd get back to me. Except he didn't. Nor did his producer.  I hate giving up. But, after six months of unresponsiveness from the broadcaster, I decided to ce

By Dan Altuz (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/ licenses/by-sa/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons An old magician's trick -- "look closely, nothing up my sleeve" -- threatens to alter our perception of what constitutes real news. Unless we wise up, and fast. In stage parlance, the word was legerdemain . Derived from a French expression for "sleight of hand," it describes a magic trick, or some other deceit. Screenwriters and journalists don't use the word much anymore.  But, in an era of false news, dusting it off would be a fine idea. Because we're looking at a year or more of childish sniping and Tweets whose true purpose is to distract editors and too-lean reporting staffs from digging at harder stories. Legerdemain isn't limited to the next occupants of the White House. In some cases, PR people have performed their own version of "here's an oversized check to charity" to obscure the less-than-charitable d