The ChickClick.com lunchbox in all its glory

I don't pretend to have lofty journalistic ideals, but I never pictured myself reviewing a lunchbox.

I'd probably better clarify this point. Given Splendid's range of coverage, I never really expected to find myself reviewing a lunchbox. I don't even know if I'm qualified. Back in the seventies, I carried my lunch to school in a Speed Buggy lunchbox -- made, apparently, of solid steel -- which managed to survive from first grade through sixth grade. At the end of sixth grade, long sans handle and coated in the sticky detritus of a dozen layers of stickers, it was consigned to the big lunchbox rack in the sky with appropriate respect -- but also eager anticipation of the hot cafeteria lunches Junior High would bring (oh, what a fool I was). And that's pretty much my CV, lunchbox-wise.

Now my sister, she knew lunchboxes. I seem to recall that she was always losing them, dropping them, burning them, accidentally tossing them into the core of active nuclear reactors and otherwise stimulating the midday-meal-containment-device market...and by the time the eighties rolled around, lunchbox manufacturers had realized that they only needed to make their products as strong as children's interest in the shows that appeared on their sides. So really, my sister might be more qualified, lunchbox-wise, to write about the ChickClick lunchbox, as would the several goth women I knew in college, for whom lunchbox equalled combination purse and lethal weapon.

We received this lunchbox to publicize ChickClick.com and their conglomerate of associated websites. If you haven't stumbled across ChickClick by now, let me quote you the pertinent facts from their press:

"ChickClick.com launched in February, 1998 as a way for hip, progressive women's sites to establish themselves as a unified advertising and editorial force. Since then, we've signed on dozens of affiliates and are reaching millions of readers each month."

and...

"We ARE our demographic...a group of barette-wearing, iMac coveting, cell-phone toting, highly-educated, urban-minded gals. We're fascinated by consumer culture, bored by mainstream media, obsessed with 'zines and books, driven by our passions and mystified about our relationships."

Get the idea? Now, for what it's worth, I can safely claim to have had some interest in at least some of ChickClick's sites prior to receiving this laudable lunchbox, being mildly addicted to Fametracker, Hissyfit, Mighty Big TV and even, on occasion, Disgruntled Housewife. What can I say -- I spend a lot of time online. Without turning this into a puff piece, I can honestly say that ChickClick sites are of consistently high quality, design and content-wise, so you should give them a look if you haven't already.

The lunchbox divulges its secrets

There's not an actual lunch in this lunchbox. Thank God, since we've had it since before Christmas (it took me a while to figure out how to review it). So what's in it? Our lunchbox, crafted of opaque orange plastic, contains ChickClick postcards and shiny stickers, a ChickClick disposable camera, a handy ChickClick cheat sheet for press types (I quoted from it above, as you might have guessed), a cool-looking steno pad from shewire.com and some ChickClick body glitter. You see, it's one of those hipster gal lunchboxes, intended more as a retro-stylish purse-analog than a means of toting your peanut butter sandwich and Odwalla Superfood to work or school.

At first, I considered gathering up a few of the other local Splendid staffers and going on a ChickClick-inspired blitz. We'd load up on the body glitter and wander around town writing postcards and defacing local businesses' windows with the stickers, quoting loudly from the ChickClick cheat sheet and recording the event for posterity with the disposable camera, while sketching out a rough draft of the subsequent Splendid article in the steno pad. But every writer I called about this told me to go to hell, and one of them even quit, citing my call as "the last straw".

So instead, I've decided to give it away to the Splendid reader who, in the next seven days, e-mails me the most creative request for it.

Oh, and you'll have to share copies of the pictures, too.

About a month after we got the lunchbox, we also received a lovely ChickStars t-shirt, also by way of promotion. It didn't even fit over my head, but looks lovely on my wife, who praised it as a rare case of Splendid actually benefitting her for a change.

-- George Zahora