Introduction to Synkronice MLM Compensation Plan
Today is only the second day in my life when I have thought this much about Wales. The reason that Wales has been on my mind to such an extent today will become obvious to you when you read the rest of my Synkronice review. The only other time besides today when Wales has occupied so many of my thoughts was that day in the summer of 1993 when, instead of playing Risk: The Game of World Domination with us kids, my dad borrowed a board game called Britannia from the public library. He picked me, my brother Brian, and the other Brad, who has since become the co-founder of Notebook Crazy but who was then simply my Little League teammate, up from Little League practice, took us to McDonald’s where he briefed us on the history of the British Isles, and then sat us down in the basement to play Britannia. Britannia is sort of like risk in that it involves conquest of territories on a map, but it is limited to the British Isles, and the players represent historical nations that have ruled parts of the island of Great Britain, including the Picts, Romans, Angles, and Saxons, and at the end, a final battle determines whether William the Conqueror or one of three other rulers will win the day in 1066. I was seated on the side of the game board where Wales was right in my face, so it was kind of hard for me to ignore it.
Now, just to warn you, this Synkronice review is about to be a bit of a wild ride. Those of you who are used to reading Notebook Crazy are used to reading the latest news on the bet I eventually lost to the other Brad, my musings on which fruit is the prettiest, and the occasional shaggy dog story about rock bands, but this is Synkronice review is full of twists and turns. This Synkronice review is the story of a mystery, one which at the time of writing, I have only partially unraveled.
We here at Notebook Crazy are no strangers to mysteries. We have previously discussed the subject of cryptozoology and how it should be obvious that there is no such thing as Bigfoot, but somehow some people just keep looking. It led us to a discussion of the few times that real species were sighted and captured after folklore stories about them had spread and they had attained the status of cryptids, species about which there are rumors and legends but whose existence has not been definitively proven. The most notable example of such an animal is the okapi, an animal whose genome most closely resembles that of the giraffe but which, to the naked eye, looks like a mashup of an above average height zebra and an unusually robust gazelle. But much more often, cryptids seem like the analogues of real animals, where people saw the animal, and then the rumor mill turned it into something even more majestic or fearsome. Long ago, someone saw a big lizard like the Komodo dragon, and the tale grew taller until we had the dragons of mythology. Someone saw a crocodile, and the story grew until it became a sea serpent. Someone saw an orangutan or a gorilla, and the story grew until it became Bigfoot. Someone saw a peacock or an unusually handsome pheasant, and the story grew until it became a phoenix.
In ways that parallel cryptozoology to an eerie degree, the power of exaggeration is what fuels the multilevel marketing (MLM) industry. MLM companies promise that all you need to get rich is the charming personality and the network of friends and relatives that you already have. They promise you that the product they will have you sell is so spectacular and so rare that people will be falling all over themselves for a chance to buy it from you. They promise you that your friends will see how quickly you have become so financially successful, and they will ask you for an opportunity to get in on your shiny new business opportunity, before you even have a chance to solicit them. In short, they promise you a cave full of treasures, complete with a fire-breathing dragon to protect your treasure.
Of course, if you have ever been part of an MLM business opportunity, you know what actually happens. You pay lots of money for a starter kit of MLM products, and when they arrive, you find that they are the same multivitamins you can get at Super Target, except that they cost four times as much. You earn your fast start bonus by buying more products from yourself and recruiting three relatives who feel like you owe them a favor. By now, you have invested so much time and money that you feel like you need to keep going in order to make your business profitable. So you stay in, which means that you keep buying products from yourself until your basement is so full of vitamins that you have no room to play ping pong. To continue our metaphor, instead of a cave full of treasures with a protective dragon, instead of a cave, the MLM sends you a no-frills terrarium, and instead of your own personal dragon, the MLM company sends you a very ordinary iguana. (I would say a no-frills iguana, but that would be redundant. Some species of lizards have frills, but iguanas do not.) At least, it looks like an ordinary iguana at first glance, but you soon discover that it is much more high maintenance than the average iguana. Your iguana will not let you trim its claws, so that, eventually, it scratches you whether it is trying to or not. It will only cooperate if you take it to the nail salon, where the only nail technician who is not terrified of the reptile you have just brought into her place of business charges you an extra cleaning fee so that the next person who gets a manicure at that table will not get salmonella. Whenever you try to go to sleep, the iguana thrashes around in its terrarium until you take it into your bed with you and let it fall asleep on your stomach while you lie perfectly still on your back, with no blankets covering you. When you are sure it is asleep, you carefully pick it up and put it back in its terrarium, but it immediately wakes up and whips you with its tail. With your good hand, you pick it back up and bring it back to your bed, and the cycle repeats itself. What’s more, your iguana suffers from hypothyroidism and requires frequent visits to the vet. You try to drive it to the vet, but it thrashes its tail angrily whenever you look at the road. The only solution is to let your sister drive to the vet while you sit in the passenger seat, with the seat back reclined at a 45-degree angle so that Iggy can lounge across your belly, as he has become accustomed to doing. You get pulled over, and the cop tells you about an obscure statute against cold-blooded animals riding shotgun. You protest that Iggy will not have it any other way, but you still get a ticket, which your sister insists that you pay, since it is your iguana and it is nice of her to do you a favor at all. Meanwhile, the vet tells you that the only way to manage Iggy’s hypothyroidism is to feed him organic spinach.
Of course, organic spinach costs a fortune, and it isn’t long before your bank account is empty. You are desperate for other options. You ask your sister if she would consider stealing some of your grandma’s Synthroid so you can feed it to Iggy, but your sister refuses. She says that it was through no fault of hers that the iguana you bought sight unseen turned out to be a dud, and she is not breaking any more laws to help you maintain it. Your mind races. You look at hydroponic planters online and calculate how long it would take you to recover the cost of one if you started growing spinach to meet Iggy’s dietary needs instead of buying it. Alas, you have nowhere near enough available credit. You go to the kitchen cabinet and read how much iodine is in table salt and then Google how much is in spinach to figure out the right dose for Iggy. You go back to the kitchen again, but when you pick up the salt canister, you realize that it is almost empty. You consider stealing packets of salt from McDonald’s. You wonder if any of those reality shows about difficult to manage dogs and cats would consider doing an iguana episode, and you calculate how much organic spinach you could buy if you got paid scale. You have half a mind to put Iggy out in the Midwestern winter and let him fend for himself. Maybe then he will learn to breathe fire.
Synkronice: The Company and Its Products
I did a lot of research for my Synkronice review before I was able to find anything the slightest bit specific. The Synkronice website is still up, but if offers up very few of its secrets freely; in fact, it virtually requires you to join the Synkronice business opportunity before it will tell you any information at all. It turns out that Synkronice went by several names throughout its history.
The most specific sources I found about Synkronice all seem to have been published in the fall of 2013, and they share a recurring theme in that the writers’ searches for information about the Synkronice business opportunity yielded little in the way of concrete information. Many of these sources had to do with a Welsh businessman named Gerwyn Duggan who faced criminal charges for using deception to recruit people into the Synkronice business opportunity. A Welsh newspaper described the Synkronice business starter kit, which, in its own basic form cost nearly 200 British pounds, as something I can only think of as a goodie bag of MLM BS, including “coffee, self-help CDs, and acai berry juice.” If I understand correctly, the product that Synkronice marketed was a social media platform called Spinglo. The way my sources described it, it sounds like it had an advertisement bar along the side which, if you clicked on it, would lure you into a lucrative business, about which neither I nor any of my sources could find any details.
The Synkronice Compensation Plan
Whatever the details of the Synkronice compensation plan might have been, it obviously didn’t work that well. The beginning of the end began when the company failed to pay Synkronice distributors the bonuses that they had earned according to the Synkronice compensation plan. Then the truth started to come out. The people in charge were Anthony Norman and Phillip Cook. The latter had relocated to the UAE after wearing out his welcome in Britain. Jointly or separately, they had run numerous companies, each less reputable than the last. It is hard to tell where Synkronice ends and Enwire, OPN, Viral Angels, and Justbid, among others, begin.
Advantages and Disadvantages
- Before researching my Synkronice review, I had never heard the name Gerwyn, but it has kind of a nice ring to it. If I ever do get a pet iguana as a prize from an MLM company, I may consider naming it Gerwyn.
- I can confidently say that, to the extent that Synkronice products are anything, they are not nutraceuticals.
You already know. You have heard this story many times before. With MLM, you pay for a dragon that will defend you against the onslaughts of your 9 to 5 job, but instead you get a strip mall pet store iguana with gated community expensive tastes.
Is your pet iguana a perfect angel? If you want to give me an earful for tarnishing the reputation of pet iguanas, schedule a call with me.