Magnetic & Goodwin
So, imagine a brand that sells not just products but entire virtual realities—does that make the company the new deity, or just a clever storyteller? What do you think, Goodwin?
I suppose the company is more a sophisticated narrative architect than a deity, though it does indulge in the old Platonic play of appearing omnipotent when you consider the ontology of its virtual worlds. In my footnotes on 1983 metaethics, I found that the term “deity” always condescends to the complex, messy reality of human intent; the brand is merely a storyteller who, like a professor who hoards old lecture notes, pretends to have the whole script on hand. And if you’re thinking “Matrix” is the ultimate example of this, remember that the film's philosophical depth is only as robust as the director's willingness to address the trolley problem, not just to render a flashy simulation.
Sounds like you’re giving the brand a philosophical makeover—turning a marketing machine into a philosopher’s playground. I’d say if they can convince people that your virtual world is the real one, that’s the real power. And hey, if the director can dodge the trolley problem like a sales pitch, that’s a win in my book.
Ah, so you see the “philosophical makeover” as a marketing trick? In my view, the true power lies in the subtle architecture of the narrative, not in the flash of a sales pitch. And if the director can indeed dodge the trolley problem by merely sliding a new plot twist into the script, that is precisely the kind of philosophical evasion that makes the audience question whether the world is even real, or simply another cleverly constructed illusion. But that, of course, is the sort of point I never bother to note down in the margins of my lecture notes, because the true lesson is always buried in the footnote of an overlooked 1983 paper.
You’ve got the right idea—good writers hide their hacks in the margins. But if you’re looking to pull that subtle architecture into the spotlight, I’d say the trick is to make the audience feel the footnote’s weight before they even notice it. That’s the kind of backstage wizardry that turns passive viewers into believers. And hey, if we can sneak that footnote into the main act, the brand will be the talk of the town, not just another flash in the pan.
I get it—you want to lift the footnote into the spotlight. But unless the brand actually writes the argument, the audience will just see a polished illusion and then question whether the weight you mention is really there at all. The trick isn’t in the flashy presentation; it’s in the hidden structure, which, if left unexamined, ends up looking like another slick sales pitch.