Girl Power

Competition among established publicists is subtle but fierce. Because there are a limited number of high-profile, monied accounts to go around, there’s a fair amount of poaching. And though the Public Relations Society of America discourages its members from saying mean things about one another, the firms find subtle ways to make digs.

“You’re not going to see me wearing Chanel at a ball in the Square,” says Clare Pelino, tacitly implying that her Profile Public Relations company is nothing like Kelly Boyd’s. Or Nicole Cashman’s: “We could throw a party and spend the time and money doing that, or we could use that budget to build a lasting image for our client.”

Cashman pitches it right back: “A lot of people have been with Profile for too long. We’ve been getting calls. People aren’t happy.”

Of course, there is some question whether clients may be tiring of all the firms — as Cashman must know. Several months after we spoke, Wayne Shulick of Denim and Smith Bros. dropped off of Cashman’s client list, saying he just didn’t need the help anymore.

“More and more, I’m starting to think it doesn’t have any effect on sales,” says George Reppert, the local representative for Future Brands LLC, which distributes Vox vodka, among other liquors that have in the past been poured like water at marketing events. “A lot of the publicity companies, they have their mailing lists, and the goal is to get a lot of people to an event. But that same group will be drinking another vodka next week, in a different venue. They’re very loyal to the promoter, but not to the product.”

Not that the PoweR Girls are not trying to adjust. As Cashman and Boyd clones proliferate, publicists who built their reputations as social connectors are now attempting to rebrand themselves as strategists. This past year, the public relations department at Temple was reorganized under the newly named “Strategic and Organizational Communications Department” (a “fancy name for public relations,” admits PR professor Gregg Feistman, who’s taken to telling his classes, “It’s not about how good you look in a little black dress.”) Witness Krista Bard’s 20-year-old company, lately Bard Associates, which is now called Bard Strategies.

And one of the main tenets of the strategy group? Make the client, not the PR firm, the star.

But sometimes a girl just can’t help herself. It’s February, and Cashman & Associates are working the Philadelphia premiere of the film The Woodsman. Seats cost $250 and up, though many of the guests have been comped. Upstairs, the likes of Ed Rendell and Patti LaBelle sip wine and nibble on hors d’oeuvres from Global Dish. “I had a lot of people bitching me out about wanting to cater this,” says Nicole Cashman, as Jacqui Frazier-Lyde and Khaliah Ali float by. “But I told them, ‘It’s the privilege of being a client.’”

The room is packed with Philadelphia names trussed up in formal wear, but no other local PR people are in sight. Not even Kelly Boyd is here — strange, as it’s her kind of thing: three charities to support, great outfits, the Governor. Cashman, for one, doesn’t notice her absence. There are Hollywood players here tonight, and the presence of actual celebrities undoubtedly will cement her status as a player — no, as a celeb herself.
Outside, a red carpet has been set up, on which Main Line moneymakers Dawn and Brook Lenfest pose with Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick. As the group breaks up to come inside, Cashman, in a peacock-colored top and spiky heels, hurries toward the bank of photographers.

“Hi. Can I get a picture?” she asks. The actors look politely bemused.

“Nicole Cashman. Cashman & Associates,” she says, with a barely discernible hint of irritation. “We did the party.”