Hey, i am absolutely thrilled to announce a new advice column – the Plutonic-Uranian Accountant will now be available to answer YOUR questions re corporate politics & vocational voodoo.
Obviously, i strive to provide good dates and timing tips + a morale boost in the Horoscopes et al & the Sun Tzu bit of the Oracle is stunning for work insights BUT as someone who works at home in a Feng Shui environment with cat, constant laundry (Mars in Virgo likes it) and music, i am not brilliantly equipped to dish out office-corporate advice.
But, as i am sure you will agree after reading his initial missive to me below, the Plutonic-Uranian Accountant is seethingly expert at maneuvering the corridors of power.
So if you have corporate/career type questions, please email to him via me with the subject heading “Plutonic-Uranian Career Advice.” Get your Zap On. And read on to be properly introduced to our new site Career Mentor, the Plutonic-Uranian Accountant.
To continue our conversation, I work for a global multi-billion-dollar Beauty firm as an accountant, financial analyst, and controller, yes, all those things. I had first written you to contend your mention in a post that “the accountants killed beauty”. You will see that this is not the case. As a truly accidental accountant with over a decade of industry experience, I will tell you how.
We, the financial controllers of the corporate earth, are anointed by ritual to conjure and dispel false mind-edifices. This is done via logic, math, and the bold realization that neither logic nor math dictate human affairs. We separate ourselves from others in order to better focus the blade to the opening. We compete for the right to claim ownership over rows of data.
Corporate Math is a blood sport, strikingly akin to pit-fighting or Tuesday-night poker with Russian gangsters. For myself, it requires that I daily associate with the hissing daughters of Chinese underworlders, and Sons-Of-Italy card-sharks, along with the typically tanned, boozily-lurching Captain Americanas, the ditsy, the fascist high-born, the usual smattering of corporate sociopaths, etc. but we all answer upwards, through layers of process approvals, consultancies, filters, agencies of graft, executive councils, investment funds, shell organizations, and holding companies, to some ancient European clan guardians at the mount of a human pyramid perfectly positioned to reap the rhythmically-upward-gushing harvests of collected effort. I can, but do not, exaggerate.
That my calculations travel as beams of light to guide the High Priests of Industry’s ponderings and (occasionally) bend the flows of hundreds of millions of dollars has not changed the fact that I toil in obscurity amongst the mid-floors of a gigantic steel and stone needle fortress in midtown Manhattan, a tourist attraction no less, a symbol of something or other, a commercial zoo where serfs-on-credit come to view the Wild Things as seen on TV.
I am also a bit of a monk in this regard: I illuminate closely-held spreadsheets for secretive dissemination amongst the shape-shifting cabals of internal power-brokers. I have thus carved runic symbols into the back of my Sharp calculators, and draw upon them names such as “DreamKiller” and “WishSlayer” and “StormEqual” for self-affirmation (which is crypt for psychic protection). I have many war stories – all true, however elaborated – in which your readers curious about the beauty business or money or magic may value. Let’s alloy.
My first gig was in the service of a Nordic Witch, at a large Swiss firm whose products you likely catch a whiff of daily, as her junior hatchet-holder, a role which I matched with comedically honest enthusiasm. This Witch – a beautifully aggressive but tragically magnetic creature – had earlier ascended to a power position via alternating invigorating massages of and spontaneous kicks to the be-testicled groins bumbling in and out of the many offices and bored rooms. She took a murderous revelry in her manipulations of one young dumb male – yours truly. Her aforementioned drastic alternations (in my case, between language programming and emotional punishment) left me exhausted, confused, exhilarated, and utterly manipulated. Ours is a Plutonic love story that merits a deeper investigation; let’s leave her be for now.
In a hidden office folded within an impenetrably modern building I one day diving stealthily into the witch’s credenza uncovered the evidence of a seminal event. You may be familiar with patchouli oil, from either an industrial perfume (by “industrial” I mean 99% of what you are able to buy) or from the strong stuff ladled upon hippy skin for the purpose of “grooving”. It was in the late 1990’s that some (probably false-flagged) turmoil in Thailand coincided with a sharp spike in the price of Thailand’s chief export, patchouli, right when it was not only in neo-hippy resurgence but also found in everything from shaving cream to dish detergent.
In business, as in astrology, a single precise dewdrop (transit) sends ripples across the entire pond, from hidden shore to hidden shore, and that very tiny perturbation may reveal in a flash a cowering multitude suddenly defined against the backdrop – setting the predators to motion. Likewise, the patchouli price spike (nicknamed “The Patchouli Crisis”) set the aromachemical companies’ focus towards analysis and synthesis.
Find the alternative to natural patchouli, or lose your profit, which reduces your marketing spend, which effects your ability to reach consumers, which wounds your market share, which causes you to lose sales, which costs you your livelihood and ejects you from the game. So began a wild quest of research and development – a venturing inward to molecules and outward to rain forests to understand how nature builds her array of scent. In the diving deep, there were no dead ends, only unintended discovery. Many secrets were learned, and today, many compounds are synthesized.
There is always, you must also know, pioneering innovation and things just done right. The companies that were able to discover often did so at great cost, and, sometimes, languishing in debt but rich in patents and breakthroughs, were assimilated into the larger corporations – who, with networks of fibrous roots drawing in and storing sustenance precisely to abide price shocks, allowed others to seize the scientific day in relative calm.
It’s a jungle out there. Let me tell you more.
The PlutonicUranian Accountant
Email if you would like the Plutonic-Uranian Accountant to answer any of your business, corporate politics, career, money or power questions on the blog.
Image: Georgia O’Keeffe
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