"This is their oasis." I continued "They're picking tribes here, having fun, socializing. And you?" I pointed at a baby-faced MBA student in the front row. "You're the weird chaperone trying to sell a Shampoo at a rave."
"Want in?" I advanced to a slide of Axe body spray's Bom Chicka Wah Wah campaign. "Don't sell deodorant. Sell the idea that spraying this chemical garbage on your pits makes you the guy who crashes prom with a motorcycle. Is it true? Who cares."
A graduate student raised her hand. "Isn't that manipulative?"
"Yes," I said. "Next question."
More laughter, looser now.
I clicked to the next slide showing Google's AdWords hopage. "Look at this," I continued. "Google AdWords is like a slot machine—every click is a gamble. It's about creating a sense of urgency. ssages like 'Don't miss out' or 'Last chance' make you act quickly because you fear being left behind."
I saw nods around the room, and even a startup founder in a Y2K hoodie was scribbling notes.
Then I clicked to a split screen: left side showing Apple's Think Different campaign, right side a GeoCities page titled Microsoft SUCKS!!!.
"Steve Jobs didn't sell computers. He sold a holy war against Bill Gates." I said. "You think those 'I'm a Mac' ads were about specs? Please. They sold the thrill of hating sothing bigger than yourself."
I lowered my voice, pacing the stage. "Here's the cheat code nobody's giving you: Controversy isn't a risk—it's a delivery system. That kid in Nebraska making PlayTube rants about how Mountain Dew tastes like radioactive piss?"
I pulled up a grainy still fra of the video, view counter blazing 250k.
"He's doing your R&D for free. Lean into it. Release 'Radioactive Citrus' flavor. Watch the little anarchists buy it just to film themselves chugging it in the school parking lot."
The startup founder in a Y2K hoodie choked on his Red Bull.
"Ethics!" barked a silver-haired man in the back—Professor Clay, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon. "You're encouraging exploitation of minors!"
I grinned. "I'm encouraging listening to minors. They've been screaming into AOL chat rooms for years. Smart brands don't talk—they curate the scream. Ever heard of PostSecret? It's so art project where people mail in anonymous confessions. Got 10 million hits last month. Cost? Zero. Why? Because real people—ssy, angry, bored people—are better writers than your ad team."
Charlotte raised her drumstick in mock salute.
The clicker advanced to a stark black slide with white text: HATE IS A VIRUS (AND YOU'RE PATIENT ZERO). Read latest stories on My Virtual Library Empire
"Let's get ugly. Abercrombie & Fitch's CEO just told Salon they don't make clothes for fat people. Sales up 22% this quarter. Why? Because every girl who buys their jeans isn't buying fabric—she's buying a way to direct their anger You want loyalty? Give them soone to hate.."
I paused and then said, "The future isn't polished or neat. It's ssy and driven by young people who are not afraid to challenge what's normal. Your task is simple: find a topic that grabs attention—even if it creates a little controversy. It doesn't have to be about hate; it just needs to spark conversation. When people start talking about your product, you don't need to spend a fortune on advertising. You get free, word-of-mouth publicity."
I took a breath and added, "Sotis, a strong reaction—even a negative one—keeps your brand in people's minds. Controversy and debate make people pay attention. You need to connect with young audiences, get them excited, and make them part of your story."
I let the silence settle for a mont, then shifted gears. "Now, here's another approach. Instead of using hate, why not use inspiration? In 2004, studies tell us that nearly one in five young people are facing depression and feeling disconnected. Now, think about that. Yeah, sure... it's a problem, but it's also an opportunity."
"Imagine offering them not more reasons to be angry, but a vision of a better, advanced future. One where technology and creativity co together to solve problems, and where every innovation is a step toward a brighter tomorrow. When you show them that there's a way out of the struggle, what you're selling is hope."
"This kind of ssage stirs up controversy too, but in a positive way. It challenges the status quo and gives people sothing to rally behind. In a world full of negativity, offering a promise of progress is revolutionary. That's the kind of story that gets talked about and shared without you having to spend a di on ads."
I looked around the room, eting eyes that were both thoughtful and fired up. "In conclusion, we have a choice. Use the anger to divide, or channel that energy to inspire."
During the Q&A, soone asked, "Aren't these tactics risky?" I replied, "They can be, but if you want to stand out, you have to take so chances. Rember, even if your approach stirs up controversy, it ans people are talking about you. And that's free advertising."
Finally, I ended my talk with so afterthought.
"Look… I know what you're thinking. 'This guy's a sellout.' 'A capitalist vampire.' Maybe you're right." I paused, letting the admission hang. A freshman in the back lowered his iced coffee mid-sip.
"The thing is—hate works. It's cheap, it's sticky, it's fun. But I worry. If we all start chasing outrage because it's easier than building sothing real? Well. Maybe we end up with a world where the loudest lie wins."
"So, as you build your brands and shape your ssages, I hope you will build sothing that lifts people up, that offers hope, and that leads us to a better future."
At that, the room erupted in applause.
I stood there for a mont, "Thank you, everyone," I finally said before stepping away from the microphone and leaving the stage.
As I walked off, my thoughts drifted to a chapter from my past—a ti in the late 2020s when hate began to overpower inspiration. I rembered how, during the rapid rise of AI, technology accelerated our progress but also amplified our worst impulses, fuelled anger and mistrust.
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