Google—the search engine—has been praised for its radical simplicity.

But click on the “more Google products” page and it suggests an entirely different design ethos.

What you see above is just a tiny sample of Google’s motley collection of product icons, most of which wouldn’t pass muster in a freshman-level graphic design course.

The icons appear to be crowdsourced on one of those $99 sites without regard to creating a design system—or a contemporary design aesthetic.

Perhaps that’s the real reason Steve Jobs hates Eric Schmidt: He doesn’t want Google’s ugly design messing up Apple’s products.

Nice job, SMartCAMPers: You just summed up social media in a single tweet. 

The two-day NYC conference on social media in the arts is sold out. But you can watch it here live on the Web for free today and on Sunday.

Now isn’t that a nice non-marketing way to support the work of others? That truly is SMart.

There are more Henry Moore sculptures in public spaces and museums than New York actors who have appeared on “Law and Order.”

And that’s not a good thing, according to an article penned by Maev Kennedy of Britain’s Guardian newspaper, who reports that Moore “has become so ubiquitous as to become near invisible.”

The piece—which corresponds to a Moore retrospective at Tate Britain—is not only an excellent article, it is an excellent reminder for marketers that everywhere can sometimes be nowhere.

Consider the fate of Verizon’s “can you hear me now?” guy—one of the most familiar advertising icons of last decade. But that also made him one of the most ignorable, and Verizon replaced him with a map.

I’m not saying that Unilever should sack the Snuggle Bear or that Pillsbury should show the Dough Boy the door. But advertisers need to keep finding ways to keep those icons popping fresh—and relevant to consumers. 

Familiarity may not always breed contempt. But it can often lead to indifference. Perhaps that can be marketing’s version of Moore’s Law.

Images: (top left) Beth M527; (bottom right) Enric Archivell. Both (cc) some rights reserved. The “Verizon guy” is © Verizon Communications.

A few years ago, I was driving through a rusted and run-down region of Connecticut when my car began to lose power.

It was a blistering August afternoon—the kind that melts asphalt—and I was lucky to coax my car to the next exit, and gently roll it down the ramp before my engine died.

My windows wouldn’t roll down, so my only choice was to get out of my car and wait for AAA, as streams of aggravated drivers in air-conditioned SUVs honked at me for blocking a lane of traffic.

Two gritty, sweat-soaked hours later, a tow truck finally arrived. The only kind face I saw the entire afternoon belonged to a man driving a beat-up Chrysler LeBaron—with a gold-fringed Chilean flag dangling from the rear-view mirror—who offered me a cold bottle of water.

Ever since, I’ve had a similar flag hanging on the bookshelf next to my desk, reminding me that there is no such thing as a small kindness, especially when it comes to people in need.

To help repay that unwitting brand ambassador, I just made a donation to aid the earthquake victims of Chile. I hope you’ll shake off “catastrophe fatigue” and do the same thing, too. 

If you’ve watched any of the Vancouver Olympics, you’ll probably recognize this Diet Coke ad.

The ad is certainly charming enough. It establishes an instantly recognizable graphic platform for a campaign. And, dare I say it, Coke’s heart is certainly in the right place. But listen closely to the copy: “Join Diet Coke in supporting programs to raise awareness of heart health.”

Awareness should never be a objective, as the instructors in my strategic communications program at Columbia continually hammer into my head.

Coke’s real goal should be to help consumers become “heart healthier.” And buried deep within its website is the key: “We’re here to help with tips and ideas for a well-balanced life you can love.”

Think of how much more powerful that message would be: Diet Coke can help you achieve more balance in an increasingly hard-to-balance world.

That would resonate a lot more with people I know who constantly struggle (often stressfully) to juggle personal and professional demands.

Achieve more balance. Reduce the stress in your life. Now those are real motivators. (And reasons to switch to to Diet Coke, too.) Achieve those objectives and it truly would be a “heart healthier” world.

Someone at BMW just got the century-old advertising message: Don’t sell the feature, sell the benefit.

So out the door went “the ultimate driving machine,” which BMW has owned. And in came “BMW is Joy,” which it cannot even lease.

The German auto maker’s new brandifesto predictably proclaims: “We don’t just build cars, we create emotions.”

Well, here’s my emotion: Bleh.

Car companies have been selling the “joy of driving” for years; many, far more joyfully. The concept is OK, I guess. BMWs really are a blast to drive. But the word “joy” has no spine, heart or soul.

Joy is the kind of world-weary word you’d see on a rack of unsold Christmas cards on December 26.

Judging from the tone of the ad—and its shiny, happy models—I’m guessing that auto maker is trying to erase the stereotype that BMW drivers are rude, selfish *sshats (Google “BMW Drivers are” and you’ll see what I mean).

But there has to be a richer, more idiosyncratic word—or phrase—to rally the brand behind. It’s not bliss or rapture or ecstacy, all of which sound like heard-it-before hyperbole.

My unpolished thought: Drive in the Moment. BMW provides a driving experience so joyful that you can experience it—and the people you’re with—without the overhanging distractions of the world.

If BMW jumps on it, they can still even own DriveInTheMoment.com.

Once upon a time, CEO portraits were meticulously staged images that corporate PR staffs gladly shared, and media outlets dutifully published.

That fairy-tale world is over. Add it to the scrap heap of other carefully crafted messages that companies can no longer control.

What’s worse, however, is the growing use of candids (like those above) to editorialize about the individuals, often shaping public opinion through the stilted caricatures.

If a picture says a thousand words, Lehman’s Dick Fuld was “evil,” Bank of America’s Ken Lewis was “angry,” and NBC’s Jeff Zucker is “shifty” and “duplicitous.”

The lesson: Beyond ribbon-cuttings and charity events, CEOs need to do a far better (and less contrived) job of communicating who they are and what they genuinely stand for before crises arise.

That may not prevent this kind of “trial by portrait,” but it would certainly provide a more three-dimensional picture for the public to evaluate.

The term Unique Selling Proposition (USP) predates “Mad Men” by nearly two decades. But somehow the wizened beast lives on long after the Draper era of scotch-soaked brainstorming sessions faded away.

Here’s my beef (and it’s a familiar one): USPs are typically derived from inside-out analysis. “Here’s what our product or company does better than anyone, and here’s why that’s good for you.”

The problem is that in today’s drive-through, express-line world, few USPs retain their “U-ness.” And consumers have grown increasingly skeptical of one-upsmanship claims.

A far better strategy: Find a UBI (Unique Buyer’s Insight). You can own it more easily. It’s expandable across products and brands. UBIs have legs.

The ad campaign P&G has been running during the Winter Olympics is a gold-medal example (see video above). The UBI: We’re always our mom’s little boys/girls. With a single viewing, this ad shouts loud and clear: No one understands what makes moms tick better than P&G. Nice. 

Call me dark, but I love Arthur Miller plays. So it was a treat to see “A View from the Bridge” with my wife on Valentine’s Day.

There’s nothing funny about “View.” But there is a comic scene in which Rodolpho, an Italian immigrant, explains that with a motorcycle in Italy “you will never have to starve any more.”

In Rodolpho’s mind, a motorcycle is essential to his dream of being a message courier for wealthy hotel guests. With a motorcycle, you’re credible. Without one, scram.

It’s a rich metaphor—and good lesson—for every Loman-esque “salesman” or marketer knocking on doors for business today. What makes you and your company’s sales pitch credible to a potential customer? What’s your blue motorcycle? Here’s an excerpt of Miller’s droll dialogue:

Rodolpho: “Messages! The rich people in the hotel always need someone who will carry a message. But quickly, and with great noise. With a blue motorcycle, I would station myself in the courtyard of the hotel, and in a little while, I would have messages.”

Eddie (Liev Schreiber): “Why can’t you just walk, or take a trolley or something.”

Rodolpho: “Oh, no, the machine is necessary. A man comes into a great hotel and says, I am a messenger. Who is this man? He disappears walking, there is no noise, nothing. Maybe he will never come back, maybe he will deliver the message. But a man who rides up on a great machine, this man is a responsible man, this man exists. He will be given messages.”

Athletes often turn to advertising for income.

But seldom do they turn themselves into advertising, as speed skater Apollo Ohno did last night in an interview with NBC’s Al Michaels prior to the opening ceremony of the Vancouver Olympics.

What was Apollo thinking strapping this billboard on his forehead? What was NBC thinking, allowing him to wear it for the interview?  (I certainly know what 8 Zone, a nutrition supplement company, was thinking—Ka-ching!)

I’m not naive: We’ve come a long way from the days when being an amateur athlete meant “for the love of” (amo, amare, amavi, amatus).

But that doesn’t mean that Olympic athletes, in competition, should be allowed to start plastering themselves with any other logo but the flag of their country.

Need I say it: It’s a slippery slope. Oh, no…….

Be careful if you watch CNBC, even with the sound down. Because aliens are after your hard-earned money.

Or so it seems, seeing this ad for MFS Investment Management on NBC’s business news channel recently.

Not sure which is creepier. The hyper-real, freckled-complexion lighting. Or the pulsating rectangle pupils.

Probably not a great investment when the mutual fund manager’s primary brand differentiator is the geometric shape in its logo.

But, then again, people sure seem to like talking babies.

How can you possibly top the Betty White/Abe Vigoda Super Bowl ad?

Snickers just did, launching this new half-minute masterpiece, starring Aretha Franklin and Lisa Minnelli.

The brilliant creative speaks for itself. But the insight-driven strategy is the catalyst for that brilliance: “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

As a result, these new ads aren’t just going to generate smirks, they are going to drive sales. Big time.

I bet agents of B-actors are on the phone to Snickers right now.