The Next Big Thing


By Brock Bybee

In 1958, Ty Warner made an attempt to go to college in Kalamazoo Michigan. He wanted to be an actor, or a lawyer, or something important that a fancy stamped sheet of paper would recognize as knowing a generalized amount of minimal information. After dropping out his sophomore year, he came to the realization that higher education was not a territory he was engineered to handle. This is the part where you want me to tell you that Ty Warner became a very successful gas station attendant in southern Michigan who made his living off rich people giving him tips for filling up their Bentleys.

Instead, he made a stuffed animal beanbag in the shape of a little piggy and walked away with $2.6 billion.

We read stories like these all the time in motivational seminars created to stimulate our senses to the point where we want to quit clocking in at our nine-to-fives, and “stick it to the man”. Richard Branson couldn’t read words properly on a sheet of paper without sounding out the individual syllables in an ugly English accent, but went on to found billion-dollar conglomerate, Virgin Records. Mary Kay Ash didn’t think college was going to benefit her as a woman and dropped out to create one of the most well-known makeup companies worldwide. As a freshman pre-med student at the University of Texas, Michael Dell sat in his dorm room and tinkered with the idea of putting together upgrade kits for personal computers. He didn’t care about his philosophy test, or his math quizzes, or his mid-term essay on Interpersonal Communication with a lady whose breath smelled like week-old tuna, he cared about fixing computers. He was a regular geek in a digital age trying to get by in this dog-eat-dog world. When college life became a distraction, he quit and pursued his own endeavors in personal computers. $15.9 billion later and who is the failure now?

You want to know what separated all of these people? They were not content. They were not satisfied. They never looked themselves in the mirror when they hit their mid-life crisis at age 30 and said in a disgruntled voice, “I am fulfilled with what I have become at this point. I shall now go have a nervous breakdown and buy a Miata.” That is not who they were. For years, many people were content, they were satisfied. They were the epitomes of mediocrity. And then Al Gore invented the Internet and all hell broke loose. 

Our society has advanced at an absurd rate over the last two decades that at points suggests the idea that Marty McFly’s hoverboard is on the verge of reality. The web has given us online journals where people can post DIY ideas and out-of-this-world desserts. We have digital profiles with thumbs up icons, places to post pictures and statuses, all with a sky blue header and a giant letter F. We make collages of the finest pictures and videos from across the world, ranging in filters from Aden to X-Pro II. And there are opinions and wisps of information whittled down to only 140 characters at a time. This is the social media recipe that has been brewing for years, and will only continue to take over each and every one of our lives.

Every day we are looking for the “next big thing,” that new digital concoction where someone who is not content with the status of their life, raises the bar and sets a new standard that will keep society occupied and enthralled with the scrolling of their thumbs.

Gigg is that “next big thing.”

We all have some type of stake in social media. Everyone has a Facebook profile, or an Instagram feed, or a gathering of Twitter followers. And if you say you have not partaken of this delicious addiction, I’m willing to say you’re the kind of person who thinks Pete Rose never bet on the Cincinnati Reds. We all have different avenues of staying in contact with each other, but is there a method to this madness? Is there a way to have some type of structure to our social media outlets? Is there a way to actually generate money through using all of these different channels?

Yes, and it’s Gigg.

Founder, Scott Warner envisioned Gigg as a way for personal or business brands to market in a real and authentic way, all while monetizing daily interactions with a following. Whether you are a music artist, model, mommy blogger, fitness junkie, sports enthusiast, actor, or a brand, Gigg can personalize a distinguished marketing method for you. Gigg is changing the way advertising is done.

Gigg provides you with a genuine way to market yourself to your hordes of followers and allows you the mobility to keep track of what is relevant. It is the brainchild that allows you to see what people like, what people don’t like, or how, when, and what words and posts they will respond to. It is the architect for deciding what is trending and what could potentially go viral. A tool that no one has been able to harness until now.

“Every company dreams of its message going viral. However, there is a great deal of chance in what takes hold of the imagination and what doesn’t. Perhaps the harder companies try to make their message viral, the less likely they are to succeed,” says Steven Skiena, a professor at Stony Brook University in Long Island, New York.

Three years ago that quote would have been relevant, but when you now have the ability to track what type of content is trending on every single one of your social media outlets, all on one main hub, it puts Steve’s words in the same category as Darryl Zanuck saying that TV is going to die because who’s going to sit around at night staring at a plywood box? Gigg gives you the ability to mass-produce your content, to market to millions of followers, and to generate trendy ideas and make you a more merchandised product.

In 1967, Carl Jenkins was a slightly below average high school student who enrolled at a small town community college in Eastern Ohio. Midway through his spring semester he began toying with the idea that there had to be a smarter, cheaper, more convenient way to store and watch movies. He debated the idea in his head that VHS cassette tapes were on their way out, and that there was an untapped goldmine of technology that would allow motion pictures to be stored and transferred in a new digital age, and so he dropped out of Columbus State Community College to pursue a life-long ambition of being a successful entrepreneur who got started with that one “really great” idea in hand.

He was satisfied. He was content.

Carl Jenkins is a professional cook for the Waffle House on 33rd and State Street in Trotwood, Ohio. And he is the failure that most people remember.

Gigg is not Carl Jenkins. Gigg is not content. Gigg is not satisfied. Gigg is the next big thing.

See for yourself.

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