Bland

The past month and a half have been abuzz with plenty of PR and advertising on the Chillies (no need of introduction, no? If you're local or logged into Kottu, then surely you already know what the Chillies is.).

Aney why? Why create such a gynormous hype over something so very... un-spicy?

Disclaimer : These views are MINE and MINE alone, ah. I don't represent the rest of the ad-frat, and I certainly don't claim to know it all. Must make a point of saying that, lest I have to entertain not-so-diplomatic responses to my blog.

Anyhoo, I went for my very first Chillies Award night two nights ago. Having attended all the forums, seminars and workshops that preceded it and having being duly impressed by the calibre of the jury, I was raring to see this wonderful spectacle that much hype had been made about.

The Run-up

I didn't realise how big a deal it was until I accidently walked in on three of our female staff members trying on their outfits (WITH make up, hair AND accessories, mind you...) and modelling them to each other in the office bathroom three days before the event. At first I just smothered my snigger until I left the loo, and then went to my desk and guffawed on the sheer ludicrousy of the 'latwalk' to a friend. She, however, didn't seem to share my mirth, and petulantly informed me that of course, one MUST be sufficiently prepared for the awards night. Society, it seemed, became snobbier and more fashion conscious at the event, and you should rather choose to die than be not snapped up for the Hi! magazine. Therefore, due detailed attention to dress should be decided on and carved in stone by the time the event night came around.

I had two looks on my face when she told me that. One was a thoroughly amused "WTF?!?", and the other was an "OMG-I-haven't-thought-of-my-outfit-yet". I usually have an issue with the whole planning ahead thing when it comes to dressing up. Which means that 9 out of 10 times, I panic two hours before I'm supposed to be somewhere. And now I had begun to panic, albeit three days early, which gave me a running start.

Everyone else seemed to be shopping for new wardrobes for the night, but I was too lazy and broke to think of it, so I settled for a home-made version of jazzing up an already-available sari. problem is, I decided to jazz it up only on the morning of the event, which meant much time was spent running around looking for something to pass off as a jacket (The last time I'd worn the existing one, I was 20 pounds lighter) and a frenzied bout at a nearby salon to trim hair that hadn't been cut in too long. Half an hour before the awards ceremony was due to start, I was finally ready.

The Awards Night

Next came the mad dash for parking at the SLECC. I'd been told that one was expected to be early, because the Chillies have historically started bang on time Surprising, I thought, for something bourne of the advertising industry. I was even more surprised to find that I was one of the four vehicles that had actually come on time.

Once we finished standing outside the SLECC with the BF for twenty minutes, breathing in the sexy fragrance of the nearby Beira Lake (also by which time the newly cut and carefully styled-and-sprayed hair had been brutally raped by the wind), we were let into the hall via security body checks. Wasn't I pleased when the Hi! photographer asked us to pose for him. (On afterthought, probably due to the fact that we were one of the few people actually present. But nevertheless...)

The hall itself looked quite nice, in a very disco-party kinda way. The tables had been done up with colourful glowing toys that were swiftly stolen and taken home by most of the participants of the night. I have one under my pillow as we speak, mostly because there isn't anywhere else to keep it. Each table had branded exercise books (five of which are also somewhere near my pillow) and a complimentary Hi! mag. The stage looked promising, as did the rows of buffet ware lining the back of the hall. I took my seat and eagerly waited for the night to begin.

And that's where all the excitement and build up ceased to be.

For 6 hours from then, my face took on various shades of boredom. I saw nothing worth writing home about. The same three agencies kept winning (my congratulations go out to them), but kept shrieking at each win like it was their first one. After a while, it was like watching re-runs. The ads themselves, I felt, weren't all that. It's true what the judges said... Sri Lanka has MILES to go before they can even breathe the same air as the international agencies. Lets hope the anti-scam treatment and harsh judging works in favour of this industry, and we only get better.

The entertainment lacked...well... entertainment value, except for the final drag show that did wonders for my listless spirit. But even that was slightly lack-lustre, in comparison with with drag acts they've put on before. Note to organisers - next time you put on a show, invite more of Lou Ching Wong and Jerome, and less of Sangeetha's exposed belly, please. Either that, or get her into a flattering outfit that doesn't kill what the alcohol has built up.

Once the awards were given out and each winning agency had behaved like they were the ONLY cat's whiskers around, the after party began. Again, it bored the life out of me. Here I was, having waited for over a month to see what all the fuss about this infamous 'Chillies' Night was, only to be throughly deflated at what I expected to be a feverish carnival partai. All I saw was people getting drunk and gyrating in an unsightly manner with other people who they'd probably sleep with before the night was over, only to forget that they did the next day. Nothing exotic or funky about it. Sweat, liquor and filth. Oh yeah... and oodles and oddles of hypocracy floating around. Maaan... I felt almost lucky to be an unknown entity in the circle, because I could see the fake 'hallo dahlings' (said with the expected boru accent) and air kisses being spread around like STDs.

The only thing I found worth my ticket money was the array of fashions there. Versace would die. Oh wait... he already did. Galliano, then. I learnt of ten different ways one can wear a sari, and moreover that dressing up isn't really about what makes you look good or you're comfortable in. I lost count of the balloon-like get ups that passed by, and the half-grunge, half-insane look that the younger boys favoured. Then there was the mass aping of Mahinda, where most of the men sported a long self-coloured shawl around their necks.

And this is where my long blog stops. All in all, the Chillies had much to be desired. I expected more than I got out of it. I wasn't awed. I wasn't motivated to win the next time around. I wasn't inspired to better my craft.

I was just sleepy and bored to death.