Melbourne’s racing into Grand Prix fever

It’s a strange concept whereby people that are so absorbed in event or product brands, start to smell things that don’t exist because they remember what is is like to be there or from a products point of view, taste or smell it.

It’s like McDonalds. I can taste a cheese burger without being within a 100km radius of a McDonalds restaurant. I wonder if anyone else is the same?

To be able to ignite this type of memory in consumers is such an amazing ability. Imagine if I could get clients to feel like they have won the lotto when they think of Marketing Eye. Now, that would be a great brand association!

It is also not so dissimilar to when a woman goes out and buys a new dress. If the dress makes you feel sexy, seductive and importantly skinny, you remember how it feels, not so much how the dress looks. Everytime you think of that dress, it takes you back to that feeling. You might not remember the frill down the bottom, or how tight the zipper is against your bare skin, but you will remember how many approving glances you get from the opposite sex or from people you meet in the street.

I transgress. This blog really is about the Grand Prix although elements of fashion does come into play. Think Grid Chicks.

When in Melbourne, I live in an apartment on the 13th floor of a building called Yve. It overlooks Port Melbourne, part of the city and the very famous Grand Prix track.

When the Grand Prix is on, I am everyone’s best friend. I get calls from people I haven’t seen for the entire year. Like almost every major sporting event in Australia, people who may not normally be interested in sport, become fanatics. They get absorbed in the idea of watching F1 drivers race around Albert Park, burning rubber and making quick pitt stops.

For the 5 seconds you actually get to see a car race around the track, it seems absurb to tackle traffic, public transport, expensive tickets and dust to head down to the track, yet tens of thousands of people do this each day over the 4 day event.

Melbourne comes alive at Grand Prix time. Last night, I was celebrating the birthday of a good friend at a little french restaurant in South Yarra, and the entire restaurant was almost feverish about the Grand Prix. There on one side was the Renault team enjoying Melbourne’s finest french cuisine, who may I add, weren’t exactly shy in asking our table if we would like tickets to the event.

We politely declined, but secretly wanted to say ‘yes’. At least I did! The thought of being seen as groupies was not on the agenda and given that none of us really cared about cars racing around a track helped make this decision easier. I am going to the Virgin Team event on Sunday for corporate reasons, but if there is fun to be had, let me tell you, I am not adverse to going on other days – if and only if, the invitation is good enough.

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