Don’t tell my mother I work in an advertising agency — she thinks I play piano in a whorehouse.

Seguela’s quip is a deliberately outrageous piece of self-mockery about the moral suspicion that often clings to advertising. By joking that his mother would prefer believing he played piano in a brothel, he implies that “respectable” society can view advertising as uniquely manipulative—selling illusions, manufacturing desire, and dressing persuasion up as truth. The line also captures the adman’s cultivated persona: witty, provocative, and aware that his profession depends on transgression and performance. Beneath the humor is a critique of reputational hierarchies: some forms of vice are seen as honest or straightforward, while advertising is cast as a more insidious kind of deception.