ABC has ordered four more episodes of Shark Tank, so there will be 28 shows this season. It’s a Christmas miracle!
Among this evening’s holiday-themed pitches are a colorful magnetic strand of lights; a “Christmaskah” item for those couples who want to horrify at least one of their grandmothers even more than they did when they announced their engagement; and a “witty take” on Christmas sweaters, which will be challenging since the standard ones are pretty damn amusing. A model and hairstylist will also present their clip-in hair extensions, sure to be a big hit with Mr. Wonderful. Then there’s an update on how the RuckPack nutrition drink from Season 4 is managing.
The opening clips make it look like it’s going to be a tough night for the presenters. And for us as well, as at least two ladies have long, Farrah hair paired with vacuous expressions, and one guy is wearing a Santa hat.
We began with a Texan who has a solution to a typical holiday headache. Not giving up mulled wine, I hope. No, it’s tangled strings of lights that are a bitch to put up. He’s invented Lite-netics, which are magnetic at the base of every socket. As the Sharks observe glumly, he demonstrates how they stick to the metal on your house, since many Americans live in Quonset huts or gardening sheds. Lori points out that they don’t adhere to aluminum, eliminating their use in most of Brooklyn’s ungentrified homes.
Magnets are expensive, Lori also explains. Apparently so, as these lights are $70, and they don’t even come in cool shapes like snowflakes or the baby Jesus. The Sharks aren’t too into this product, the Grinches. But Daymond counters Kevin’s standard obnoxious offer with a less severe grab at the profits. The pitcher wanly tries to negotiate more of a stake back. No deal, and he passes. Lites out.
We see some completely natural-appearing footage of the next pitcher’s family enjoying the holidays at their house. Morri’s wife celebrates Christmas, while he observes Hanukkah, he tells us, tearing apart the very fabric of their relationship during the winter months. So he invented something to bring interfaith families together, besides Chinese food and guilt. He wants 50 grand for this Hanukkah tree-topper, which is merely a blinged-up Star of David. One version lights up, which could have the added benefit of treating Seasonal Affective Disorder in rabbis. He forgot to address the disparities of the competing Easter/Passover season. I suggest he market a seder plate with a section for a chocolate egg.
A bunch of Morri’s ferkockteh chotchkes have sold in big-box stores, but Mr. Wonderful hates seasonal items. He’s out. Lori agrees there isn’t a big enough market. Tell that to my aunt, who is convinced that every nice Jewish boy is marrying a shiksa. Mark drops out next, then Robert. Can Daymond be interested? Is he hoping to develop a Kwanzaa-themed topper? He’s offering $50K for 35%. Mr. Wonderful sneers. Morri dithers. Tension mounts. The deal is made! Mazel tov.
Now for an update on the energy drink RuckPack. The developer sold his soul to–I mean, made a deal with–Kevin and Robert, and now the product, which apparently everyone and his tired uncle is slogging back, will be in Walgreens nationally. There just can’t be enough versions of these drinks, it seems. Soon Sleepy’s will go under with everyone revved up 24/7. At least all those mattress salespeople will have enough energy to find new jobs.
The next pair of lady presenters offer a “way to enhance a woman’s beauty.” What a novel concept. For these two, the secret is real-hair extensions, supplemented, in their cases, with lots of cosmetic surgery. They’ve missed the news that pixie cuts are back. After their monotonous spiel, the tall one removes the clips with her own extensions, revealing the shocking fact that she has only a normal amount of shoulder-length hair on her head. Supposedly the Cashmere clips are concealed by your own hair until you can have an awkward experience during an intimate moment with a new partner.
Mr. Wonderful questions the two closely about whether the hair might actually be from a yak, but you know, every yak I’ve seen has very lush and silky locks, so why not? Their sales are promising, and they expect social media to spread the word further. But no one likes their marketing strategy, which seems to consist of “We’ll tell everyone!” The ladies are hair today, gone tomorrow. Out in the hall, the short one starts crying. She truly believes in the importance of their hair. Go work with the poor, lady.
Next come two guys wearing doofy Christmas sweaters. Their company, Tipsy Elves, gives the consumer the option to own a tasteless, loud, and overpriced holiday sweater without resorting to eBay or Grandma’s closet. Apparently, there is a strong national interest in donning machine-knitted images of Santa. In 2011, the company was number 1 on some ugly Christmas sweater SEO analytics, according to the guy who left a $175,000 a year job to do this. I understand being committed to your dream, but really.
They want 100K for a 25% stake in their acrylic empire. Mark wants them to explain how they are going to grow, as there are only so many variations you can produce of a picture of Rudolph before people move on. Mr. Wonderful makes an offer. He wants $2 per $60 unit once he recoups his $100,ooo investment, then it drops to $1. Robert’s good for $100,000 for a 10% stake. Daymond reviews both offers, then hems and haws. He talks of the seasonal issue again, and something about retail, but then he’s out. Watch his company come out with the exact same thing next Christmas. The boys accept Robert’s offer. They joyfully leave the room. In a marvel of cross-promotion, one of the sweater models is wearing a Spirithood.
I hope someone will be here next week. After seeing that tree-topper, I needed some company.
