Bitch Goddess Advertising
THAT BITCH GODDESS, ADVERTISING
Reminiscence by Dean Christopher
Advertising is a profession in which smart people hire other smart people to do some very stupid things. One of the more infuriating of these is the use of patriotism to sell soap suds or beer or automobiles. It seems that whenever sales go down, the flag goes up; Old Glory is unfurled to succeed where the product, the marketing or the advertising have failed.
This appeal to nationalistic fervor is cheap, unimaginative and irrelevant. It is misleading and dishonest. But since when did that ever stop advertisers? If they could get away with it, most admen would claim that God Almighty endorses their client’s brand. The only reason they don’t is probably because Research learned that 61.2% of the 18-49 market thinks that the Lord is neutral when it comes to purchases—at least, in their client’s category. Besides that, the agency knows that the public knows that Universal Muffin or Acme Urinal Discs could never afford the endorsement fee of the Ruler of the Universe.
So their next best ploy is to state that America loves their client’s brand; that the product is “America’s” product; better yet, that the product somehow represents America itself. Thus they attempt to pre-empt for their deodorant or cereal or underpants the one thing no decent flag-fearing American can resist: Our Country.
Virtually every kind of company, at one time or another, has cringed behind the sheltering skirts of Mom America. If they can’t say anything good about themselves they grind out meaningless but impressive-sounding slogans like “We’re America’s Corkscrew,” or “DiGiovanni & Epstein Yeast: An American Tradition,” or “Whiff-o: The Great American Anti-Perspirant.”
One big league baseball club and one football organization simulataneously billed themselves as “America’s Team.” Why are they any more “American” than their competitors? And who are we supposed to think the other teams in their leagues represent? Peru? Sri Lanka? Burkina Faso?
A nationwide hotel chain claims to be “as individual as America itself.” A famous beer recently boasted of being “brewed the American way.” To my way of thinking, that’s about as persuasive as crowing about computer chips that are “Built the Paraguayan way.” Beer lovers want beer that’s brewed the German way, don’t they? But since Americans know lots more about America than we do about beer, who knows? the slogan probably worked.
During the 1974 oil crisis I worked on an ad campaign for a Detroit client whose claim was that their cars “make sense for America.” In those days most of the Motor City’s output still consisted of big block-long gas-thirsty hulks. Huge iron things built for Sumo wrestler car pools. Zero to sixty by next Wednesday. The loudest sound in the passenger cabin: the fuel guage sucking quickly down to “E.” Our client’s product was no worse, but surely no better than the others.
With this in mind I went to our ad agency’s company picnic wearing a joke tee shirt on which I had screened the slogan that the client’s cars “make sense for OPEC.” Nobody laughed, not even my friends. People shied away from me. Nobody offered me seconds on the potato salad. A few months later I didn’t work there any more. So much for the Great American Sense of Humor.
I guess if I had any brains I’d learn to keep my mouth shut so my bank account can stay open. Sooner or later I’ll catch on. But enough of this gloomy reminiscence. Look—my favorite TV commercial is just coming on, the one that makes me feel so good about myself. It extols the benefits of Ameri-Cat, “America’s Kitty Litter”—made the American way for America’s all-American kitty-cats and their 100% American doo-doo. Cats who use this brand are up to 99.9% happier than all those backwards un-American cats who still hunker down outside to poop—presumably polluting America’s amber waves of grain. I’ll buy some Ameri-Cat today. And I plan to get me a cat, too, real soon. Advertising makes it happen.
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Copyright © 1994, 2009 by Dean Christopher
The one I was thinking of was outside, nice weather, and Tom Adams (may he rest in peace) was wearing canary yellow pants and hit a home run during the company softball game. My tee shirt said specifically “Chevrolet Makes Sense For OPEC,” and my then wife had had it made especially for the occasion. Unfortunately, there were some clientoids at the event, who presumably commented to our management. Humorless bastards. Anyway, the actual firing was delayed when I ended up getting transferred to the L.A. office, where I hung on for a bit over a year before Davis (yielding to pressure from Somewhere on the 14th floor, possibly) sent Molly Hudson out to take me to lunch and fire me. He approach was something like,”You know, Dean, for some time we’ve had the feeling you’re not that happy here.” (Frankly, I was ecstatic to be divorced, living in L.A., and making at least some money. Ah well, I was still young.)
Comment by admin — May 24, 2009 at 13:06