Wed, 11 Jun 2014 16:20:14 GMT
From the days of Elizabeth Taylor and Brigitte Bardot to modern day icons like Jennifer Lawrence and Angelina Jolie, Glamorous Cannes has long been a magnet for the beautiful people. But none, surely, are more beautiful than the glittering host of adlanders due to descend on the Croisette at the weekend. Who needs hundreds of thousands of dollars-worth of borrowed Tiffany jewellery and Alexander McQueen frocks when you’ve got free goody-bag t-shirts, flip-flops and morning-after make up? No matter how prepared you think you are, by the time Cannes is in full swing you will be a hot mess. A beautiful, hot mess. But what kind?
The Sleeping Beauty
You combine the very worst aspects of a two year-old toddler and a Victorian lady. Cannes brings out temper tantrums, fainting fits and just a general air of being ‘over-tired’. Your rather vocal internal body clock won’t let you function beyond bed time and you have even managed the unthinkable by grabbing 40 winks at the Gutter Bar. Just be careful when you decide to ‘rest your eyes’ – you can easily become an unwilling social media sensation as photos of you dozing into your risotto spread through Instagram. (I say 'you'; I might mean 'I'.)
The Rose-Coloured Glasses
Wine. Wine wine wine wine wine wine. Pink wine! Pink wine for breakfast! Pink wine for elevenses! Pink wine for lunch. And dinner. And for the plane home. Remember folks, it’s not a competition.
The Frank Underwood
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and downing booze and talking shite,
Then you will win at Cannes.
Quick question: who even wears lanyards OUTSIDE OF THE PALAIS? Seriously. You’re asking for a wedgie.
The Party Hound
Cannes, for you, is all about the parties. Even the ones you’re not actually invited to. Especially the ones you’re not actually invited to. You spend the week with one thing and one thing only on your mind – hunting out tickets. Spamming people for tickets. Stalking people for tickets. And if all else fails, devising ingenious plans to infiltrate the biggest events only for them to fail spectacularly. Hey, did you also know that there's also a big advertising festival happening between the piss ups? Just saying.
The Solar Powered Scorcher
We get it. You live in the UK, or Norway, or Germany and the sun is as novel as that gamified, 3D printed, Virtual Reality QR-code generator that just won Titanium. It’s your annual chance to bask outside and stave off Vitamin D deficiency, but don’t venture out without the Factor 50. Please. Just go with us on this.
The Guttersnipe & Carlton Carouser
In many ways, the Croisette is like a modern day Hogarth illustration. If the Carlton Terrace is the jolly old Beer Street, then The Gutter Bar, with its hoards of noisy, bedraggled street urchins, is Gin Lane. Or maybe it's the other way round?
Cannes Bro - a.k.a. The Creative Director
You rock up to Cannes like a superstar. No money, no printed out addresses, no clue – just a flustered PR organising some highly selective meetings, two thirds of which you’ll miss. You’re on first name terms with the local gendarmerie and A&E staff. Everyone else is sick-to-the-stomach jealous of you – but they’re all desperate to talk to you.
The Designated Sensible Person
You’ve booked everyone’s plane tickets, sorted out accommodation, planned out all the meetings and events, created colour-coded packs for your whole team, organised a last-minute party that your MD just decided to throw and now all you want to do is sleep. Tough news, kiddo. You’ve now got a whole week of finding phone chargers, calling for taxis, tracking down AWOL speakers and twitching manically ahead of you. If you’re in town for the full week, watch out for the ‘Wednesday Wobbles’ and make sure you book yourself an afternoon off.
The Death Sentence
Being asked to judge at Cannes Lions is an honour almost as great as winning one of the awards. But all things come at a price and the jury room demands your hoped-for suntan, your beach time, and if you’re very unlucky, your soul. And while Faust may have made a pact with the devil, he never had the misfortune of being locked in a darkened room with the most bombastic egos in adland and the air conditioning turned up to 'arctic'.
What better wingman is there than a hefty brass trophy? Nothing is guaranteed to draw the crowds and free drinks your way than strolling up to an event with your shiny new Lion under your arm. And yes, you might end up drinking your own body volume in Champagne and losing the trophy in the process but knock yourself out. You deserve it.
The Bitter Loser
The whispers from the judging room sounded positive, so you cleared space in your trophy cabinet and flew the whole team over, last minute... Oh. Maybe next year?
The Hot Mess
It’s Cannes. It’s hot. Sweat happens.