A great headline can pull a person in to learn about a product. A great tagline? They’re not only memorable, but also can creep into everyday vernacular (How many times have you seen Got milk? turned into Got [insert product here]?) But there are a lot of other places a company can follow through on their brand. And without a photoshoot, flashy app or big-budget television spot in sight.

Take Goldfish Crackers.

While munching on them makes my children happy, the ingredient list is what brings a smile to my face. That, and the fact that the fish on the package is wearing sunglasses, of course.

Yes, I voice dial. Yes, I call my husband with it. But the funny thing is that I don’t have “dad” programmed on my phone. I use my husband’s first name. This means he wasn’t copying me; he was taking the technology I use and adapting it to his needs.

And while my son may have already mastered the art of voice dialing, he may eventually have to look up “rotary phones” on Wikipedia to see one. That amazes me in a way the latest microcomputer moonlighting as telecommunications never can.

Is this is how the horse and buggy generation felt when their children began playing with toy cars? I don’t know. What I do know is that I won’t be surprised when my son voice dials SpongeBob.

And I wonder if McCain will ever extend the product into winks, frowns, and poker faces.

My Big Top Cupcake is not a cupcake. According to the box, it’s “Silicone Bakeware” that creates a large cake in the shape of its daintier cousin. While watching the commercial for the umpteenth time the other day, it dawned on me why I bought one. I’m fascinated by it.

In Sally Hogsheads’ book, Fascinate, she defines the 7 “triggers” that captivate our attention and persuade us to act (or in this case, purchase): Lust, Mystique, Alarm, Prestige, Power, Vice, and Trust.

An enormous cupcake? You might think that’s clearly Vice at work. Not so fast. There’s more than one way to sell an oversize baked good. If you haven’t seen it already, watch the commercial. Even if you avert your eyes (and you may want to), the male voiceover is hard at work, doing his best to captivate and persuade with all 7 of Hogshead’s triggers. Yes, all 7.

First off, he hits you with a threat of negative consequences, which Hogshead calls the Alarm trigger:

Tired of looking like a fool when your cakes aren’t cool?!

Uncool cakes? The last thing I want is to be mocked by cupcake connoisseurs. Or worse, a room of 4 year olds. From there, he rolls right into using the Mystique trigger, which lures with unanswered questions:

And why do tiny cupcakes take so long to make?

Hmm. Is he referring to how hard it is to pour batter into teensy cups? Or the length of time it takes to do all the frosting? Who knows? He moves on without answering.

Get in the spotlight with Big Top Cupcake!!!

Never again will I be upstaged by a Jello mold! With this gigantic cupcake, I can be the star of the show. Or its ringmaster. (Whichever metaphor I’m in the mood for.) This is the Prestige trigger, of course. But in case I prefer to eat my cake over putting it on a pedestal, he uses the trigger we all knew was coming, Vice.

The fast and easy way to make colossal cupcakes that are up to 25X bigger!!!

I mean, if I’m going to spoil my diet, I might as well do it with a forbidden fruit of colossal size, right? And let’s face facts, lots of people are ruled by their sweet tooth. That’s probably why he uses the Power trigger to up the ante, highlighting the cupcake’s potential to influence others who like to eat their cake, icing and, well, more cake.

Everyone’s face will light up when you make a king size cupcake house!!!

Clearly, the Big Top Cupcake marketing people are crafty bunch of bakers. Anyway, if I didn’t respond to the Power trigger, maybe the Trust trigger would do the trick.

Grab your camera to remember those giant cupcakes your family makes together!!!

I’ve got to admit, there’s something nice and natural about bringing together baking and family. Kind of like lemonade and summer. Or babies and bathtime. And utilizing familiarity is what the Trust trigger is all about. Anyway, next up is the Lust trigger. And if it’s wrong to go from Trust to Lust, the Big Top Cupcake doesn’t want to be right:

Look! Nothing’s more thrilling than a chocolate filling!!!

Made easy with our magic center insert!!!

A magically-inclined cupcake with the power to thrill? At one amazingly low price of only $19.95? This dessert certainly knows how to build anticipation with what Hogshead calls “a promise of pleasure.” But that’s not all! There are bonus gifts with purchase, not to mention an extensive overview of all the fillings. But I’ve covered all 7 triggers and I have baking to do in order to rationalize my purchase.

Now, does anyone know where I can get my hands on some giant cupcake liners?

So what would I call a starburst on an ad for rhinestone sweatshirts? Redundant.

They had me at their window display with this one. “Save Planet Earth,” said the Toy Story alien with his beady little eyes looking up at me. All three of them.

Turns out they have t-shirts, aluminum bottles, and even tree planting kits with this extraterrestrial environmentalist. Sure, it’s consumerism and more stuff for the landfills. And, oh yeah, Toy Story 3 is coming out soon, along with its merchandising. But they’ve got kids learning about recycling and the environment, so in many ways, it’s a promotion that has more heart than all the Disney princesses combined.

And, yes, I bought a reusable bag. The green guy is awfully cute.

Though, I did manage to talk myself out of getting the aluminum bottle. I have one and that would have been wasteful. Unlike, say, buying Toy Story 3 when it comes out on DVD.

I’m not a pocket person. There’s just something about putting what you need all together in a bag and grabbing it by the hand. Canvas totes. Leather clutches. Courier bags. They all have a place in my wardrobe. And with my pregnancy, the door opened to the mother bag of them all: the diaper bag.

Diaper bags have come a long way. They’re no longer hideously pink or blue with protruding pockets. (Though, you can still find those). They’re streamlined and ergonomic. Husband-friendly colors? You got it. Some don’t even look like diaper bags at all.

Forget stroller envy. I have diaper bag envy.

It’s no surprise that by the time my first son was born I had carefully selected a diaper bag. What was surprising was how little I enjoyed packing it.

Gone were the days of gathering a few things, throwing them into a bag, and heading out the door. Toss my keys into my diaper bag? No way. I could lose them.

At any given time my ergonomic-pocket, gender-neutral-colored diaper bag contained the basics: diapers, diaper cream, pacifiers and wipes. Soon I learned it should also have a bunch of other stuff, including onesies, antibacterial wipes, infant acetaminophen, petroleum jelly, alcohol swabs, bibs, burp cloths, that snot squeezie thing and a spare shirt (for myself, of course). It was heavy, but unless I wanted to use the drive-thu napkins as a burp cloth, I had to be prepared.

As if all that weren’t enough, I also carried around plenty of unnecessary things. Like teethers for a baby months away from actually cutting teeth. Oh, and toys. Newborns don’t get bored.

Eventually, I ditched the non-age-appropriate toys and carried two or three extra diapers instead of five or ten. Things were lightening up. Then my maternity leave ended.

On that day, if I could have stuffed myself in his diaper bag as I dropped him off, I would have. I had carried around my baby for months in the best-packed carrying case in the world. My uterus. And, in a way, my diaper bag and its contents had become the next best thing. No wonder it was hard to let go.

But I did.

And, eventually, I found that when you learn to let go once and awhile, it makes picking it all up again that much more enjoyable. Plus, my new diaper bag has stroller clips and insulated side pockets. Super handy.

As a freelancer, I work for myself. But all it takes is trying to make a business call to remind me who my boss truly is. And he wants string cheese. Bad. So this parenting analogy has been created with the help of the old SAT. Because, today, I felt tested.

And in the spirit of the SAT, I whipped out my #2 pencil and created some more analogies you might be able to relate to. (But don’t get me wrong. I’d much rather be a parent than a junior in high school.)

Toy : Music :: Crack of Dawn : Jackhammer

Newborn : Sleep :: Miner : Oil

Television : Fingers :: Metal : Magnet

Kid : Candy Store :: Kid : Candy Store

“But why?” : “But why?” :: “Wine?” : “Yes.”