Published in Beat Magazine, June, 2004

I am more than a little sick of the world trying to sell me things.

Watching ads is now a disturbing experience. Ask anyone in marketing, and they’ll tell you the job is not to sell a product on its merits, but to make people feel something about the brand. Take the brain out of the equation, and tug on the emotions. Here’s a revolutionary thought - I don’t want to respond emotionally to objects. Spot me in a sports store… aw, stop laughing, it’s a hypothetical situation. Spot me in a sports store holding a pair of shoes, I’m not looking for inspiration. I’m not looking for a collection of rubber and leather to reach into the innermost part of my being and send my soul to the heavens. I’m not looking for the tying of a pair of laces to transform me into Athlete, God of Sweat and Muscle Ripples. I appreciate the offer of a spiritual awakening, Mr Swoosh, but comfortable will do, thanks.

All of these shenanigans started with Edward Bernays a lot of years ago. He had a theory that a small group of influential people could affect how the greater populace made decisions. One industry provided the funding to test his theories – tobacco. See? Even then they knew that sucking on burning vegetation was an odd practice to sell to people, especially as there is a far more interesting plant to set fire to than tobacco. At Bernays’ prompting, the industry footed the bill for opera singers to claim that smoking soothed the throat. Those opera singers were soon to become blues singers, then obscene phone callers, then tracheotomy patients, as their voices were soothed into oblivion. Doctors were also paid to spruik, using their qualifications to convince people that smoking aided digestion. Cut to the present day, and actual qualifications in ads have been concentrated into the form of a white coat on an actor, taking the viewer to such esteemed institutions as Cussons’ laboratories (remember the old Morning Fresh dishwashing liquid ads, with the aristocratic-sounding actor, ironically advertising a product no-one of her implied social class would touch directly), and the infamous Ponds Institute.

No qualification talks as well in advertising as fame, however. It doesn’t matter where their renown comes from, they are instantly presented as experts on everything. When looking for an air conditioner, apparently the ideal consultant is a cricketer. I can’t say exactly where those skill sets overlap… it would be an unusual team that sent a Fujitsu in to open the batting, and I doubt that the AIS Cricket Academy in South Australia trains electricians. Singers – excuse me, pop stars – also get in on the act. Person after person who needs to concentrate to make his or her heart beat becomes an authority on what we need to make us happy, successful and sexy.

The language is also getting corrupted – or “enhanced”, depending on your viewpoint. After all, advertising gave us such words as “irresistavertible”, and my personal favourite, “Australiumptious”. That last one came from an American-originated company, too… frankly, I’d like to give its inventor an Australioken nose. Even words that have been kicking around for a while are being bent in interesting directions. I checked out www.botox.com for a bit of research. You know Botox, don’t you? That substance derived from the botulism virus, that allegedly sane people pay others to inject into their faces in order to stop lines being caused by pesky things like facial expressions. The website describes the effect as causing the facial muscles to “relax”. To put it in perspective, Christopher Reeves is similarly “relaxed”.

But then who needs an expressive face, when you can buy things to express your mood instead? Moments are no longer touching, or memorable, or sentimental. They’re Kodak. We don’t need a stiff upper lip to face a problem; we need a Mintie, right before a Mentos gives us an unorthodox solution. I’m not sure it’s possible to be fun and outgoing these days unless you drive a hatchback.

There was a court case many moons ago that, in hindsight, went the wrong way. In the early days of television, an ad for a laundry powder showed lemons bursting out of the box. Someone complained, then sued, as her detergent blatantly refused to explode in a citrussy way… did you pick that this happened in America? The detergent maker and their advertising gurus successfully applied the “what are you, a dickhead?” defence (I’m sure it has a fancy Latin name, but that’s the gist). However, what was a victory for common sense at the time opened the stable doors, and the horses bolted in a swirl of brand identification and image management. Can you imagine the precedent that would have been set if our lemon-obsessed friend had been victorious? A mobile phone wouldn’t be a key to untold freedoms and funkiness, it would be for communication and the occasional game. Cars would be limited to, you know, driving. Ads could only persuade through information, not image, celebrity or cleavage. And, in my lifetime, I would’ve bought a lot less useless shit.