Dear Mr. Rebane:
Here is the revised copy. I agree: the first line IS fairly flat -- I understand you wanted something with more pop than "one more place to shop". But I think it could work and if you continue reading, you'll see that it leads immediately into the whole consumerist dystopia theme, which we thought was fairly clever. Thank you -- I agree, the rest of our work is top-notch!
BB&W Ad Agency
PS. In light of today's mishap in the cinema, our team came up with an addition to the rotating slogans: "Solaris. Now with even more cool exposed ductwork." What do you think?
The new Solaris Centre in Tallinn -- just one more place to consume merchandise.
Or is it?
Don't be fooled: it's not a shopping mall. Solaris is an entertainment and lifestyle centre.
Ah, but whose entertainment and lifestyle: yours or that of the sociologists on a distant planet who are monitoring you as you shop for the contents for your next round of landfills?
We're not telling.
Sure, we may not throw in a good mood for free like the competition, but we do promise self-insight. And that is far more valuable and unsettling.
Don't take the entertainment and lifestyle bit too seriously, of course -- we've also gone to great lengths to make Solaris recognizable as a shopping mall.
When we built Solaris, we started with a building that was once called a Marxist-Leninist cathedral. We tore as much of it down as we could. Then we contracted it out to the lowest bidder and rebuilt it at a cut rate.
Like the Viru Centre shopping center next door, there's a food store anchor tenant on the 0-level, designer goods stores on the next two levels, and a large book store.
Cinamon, which we'd again like to point out is a pun and not a misspelling, offers a selection of many of the same films shown at Coca-Cola Plaza, and modular construction techniques.
On the upper levels, speciality shops and a second, arthouse cinema are elusively inaccessible, manifesting an artistically ephemeral quality, because we didn't get them ready in time for the opening of the rest of the centre.
That's right -- in a world of brand-new shiny obsolescent things, we went one step further and opened something that is so brand-new that it isn't even finished.
Like the chefs in the foreign-chain eateries, the open concept extends to the glass elevators, where you can catch a glimpse of workmen welding important metal pieces and counterweight assemblies.
"We gave these people jobs," is what we are trying to tell you. "Look at how we're working to get things right -- even on your time."
Tired of bored security guards at other malls? The lack of signposts or a site map in Solaris also encourages you to talk to our staff.
When you enter Solaris, you're not in the darkest autumn of the recession anymore. Safe inside the stable, 1980s-style hull -- in one of the cafes, shops or construction areas -- you'll be anchored in some sunnier cove of the galactic sea, where jobs are plentiful and distances are compressed by warp drive.
We carry almost the complete catalog of a small southern Estonian organic dairy. And then we fly in Ben and Jerry's every week. Not because it's better and Estonian dairies can't, but because we can, and Estonian dairies won't.
You'll still be puzzling that last sentence over as you ride the escalator to the level 3 food court, where Lido -- Estonia's Latvian Nokia -- brings you a food court unto itself, with 156 comfort food options, all labelled with a price and a weight in grams. How do the servers know that they are giving you the right weight? Do they have bionic scales? No -- Solaris Centre's variable gravity environment automatically makes adjustments to bring the mass they dish out to the proper weight.
Solaris. Now with even more visible ductwork.