When a canvassing Jehovah's Witness stealthily slipped a pamphlet under my girlfriend's door recently, I saw it as a sign from God—a sign to critically examine the marketing prowess of the J-Dubs.
In one of the sadder examples of sycophantic censorship, Adrants notes that Entertainment Weekly has bravely refused to run ads for coatier Cloudveil Mountain Works — meant to run during Sundance — that made almost undetectable fun of breast implants and scientology. These are not edgy, border-pushing ads, but apparently EW has no interest in even slightly offending the large-bosomed theta-fighting demographic. The injurious ads are after the jump; click to enlarge for the full horror.
Note the beauty of this ad for the third iteration of Radar, which appeared in Monday's WWD. While aesthetically pleasing, we found its message somewhat confusing. We spoke to an expert in the advertising industry who agreed to comment on the condition of anonymity.
Well, sure, if your idea of the best show on earth is a snuff film.
Monday night's broadcast of NBC Nightly News featured a modern incarnation of old-school advertelevision — the entire broadcast was "underwritten" by consumer electronics concern Philips, resulting in fewer commercials, thus longer segments. The show only had to stop for three commercials, totaling a scant 1:15 rather than the typical 7:00 of ads for drugs and sensible sedans. Newswatchers were so thrilled with the change that they're buying up new pacemaker batteries by the gross, even if Brian Williams had to pause and briefly demonstrate the BG2020 Men's Bodygroomer by trimming his taint.
Beano. Gremlin. Gawker. In addition to making up product benefits, making up product names is also part of an ad copywriter's job. Over the last 15 years, I've made up thousands of names for copiers, cupcakes, wines, stereos, vitamins, breakfast cereals, a client's daughter's babysitting business, etc. And not one of my submissions has ever been used.
The Wall Street Journal casts a regretful eye on the seedy world of stock photos, pointing out how often the images are recycled, even among competitors. Various banks love to use images of nonthreatening, multicultural folks smiling at laptops, or laughing together while relaxing on the sofa with their mutual fund paperwork. But sometimes, those same photos get used for different products, implying that there might be no actual connection between Stripey Shirt Man and Met Life and/or Pfizer! If you can't trust generically themed imagery of general contentment, stability, and success, how can one properly absorb media and marketing semaphores? How can you know whether that black guy and his kid are really checking their online statement at Bank of America, or Key Bank? Send more unqualified signifiers, please.
It's that time of year again. Time to observe how ad agency and "brand architects" Team One—part of the Saatchi & Saatchi billion dollar clusterfuck of agencies, which is part of the even bigger Publicis global ad conglomerape—attempts to lure middle class consumers into further debt by gifting a fucking Lexus.
According to this classy (albeit flash-marred) bathroom stall ad, "A Durex penis is a superpower in your pants." Okay, well, not getting chicks knocked up or polluting them with your STDs is kind of a superpower, but what other superpowers would you even want your penis to have? Not invisibility, that's for sure. Controlling the weather might come in handy. But . . . for the penis? We guess we'll just have to cut it out and see what happens.
There's little weirder than the psycho-adverto-mysticism of Getty Images' "MAP Reports" (or "[what] Makes A Picture Reports"). Pitched mostly to commercial photo buyers, these reports combine a shamanistic entrail-reading of search trends of the Getty image archive with conceptual forecasting that borders on the nonsensical. Consider this passage from the latest MAP, entitled "One Life" (excerpt here):
OK, the pork obsession is indeed out of control. This print ad from the Philippines exhorts the viewer to help feed hungry children, but really: pork milkshake? Not something we needed to consider. Interesting to see that many of the more visually arresting print campaigns lately come from social/charity causes, such as the headless sexing ("I Am African" being the exception to the rule).
All advertising bends the truth. The Fake Testimonial bends the truth over its knee and savagely fists it. It is the lowest form of advertising. That's real low.
There's something so wonderfully, anachronistically chauvinistic about blatant attempts to market to the ladies in an ersatz-Jane magazine sort of way. To wit: the color-based personality assessment promoting Kleenex's new oval-shaped containers.
"Here is a photo of Cobrasnake streethorsing in his underwear." Just a few short years ago, you would have no idea what that meant, and you likely still don't understand half of it. "Streethorsing" is the wacky brandvertising concept/campaign from Euro clothing retailer WESC ("We Are the Superlative Conspiracy" — think American Apparel but a little less jailbaity). In brief, streethorsing involves participating in a fun-crazy pretend subculture of riding horses in the city, putting on a sort of Vice-style bravado punk persona thing. To support the drive, WESC has released a book chock fulla streethorsing-related photoshoppery, catalog porn, and fringe types doing vaguely horsey things as in the accompanying photo. Our deluxe version of the book came with a golden horseshoe, T-shirt, and moustache kit. The book can be found in WESC stores or ordered online (in Europe); we didn't have the heart to check the price.
It was weird and off-putting enough when Reuters dispatched tech reporter Adam Pasick to establish a "bureau" in virtual world Second Life. But with the creation of church, of course, comes state — advertising is the bestest new thing in Second Life, which should complete the process of making that magical place just as tedious as the real world. In particular, agency Ad-Option recently built a virtual home for American Apparel, stuffed with scantily clad employees no doubt rolling around in cheap apartments. Now, they're putting together a facsimile of Times Square, set to open just in time for a re-creation of the New Year's Eve ball drop. And oh yes, there will be ads — big garish billboards of every description, for sale immediately to credulous buyers. Probably no room for the quarter-driven porn booths of yore. Can a virtual Meatpacking District be far behind?
We're a little gun-shy of "visible from space" advertising hijinx after the Maxim cover prank, but hey — anything for Colonel Sanders. The decades-dead KFC spokesman takes another dignity hit with a tweak to his look — no longer is he wearing his white plantation jacket, but instead dons an apron. Excuse, but the Colonel doesn't make the chicken, he eats the chicken. He's a goddamned officer! Anyway, to commemorate the change, corporate parent Yum! Brands today unveiled a Sanders visible from space, if you're a high-resolution spy satellite. The 87,000-square-foot billboard rests in the Nevada desert, inviting alien munchie runs from throughout the quadrant.
Isn't AIDS advertising so fucking sexy? It is the hippest, hautest disease advertising in the world. And African children with AIDS advertising? O. M. G. So. Fucking. Hot. Gwynnie. Heidi. Penelope. Bowie. Stingy. The sexiest of the coolest A+ celebs are all over that shit like the white on the rice that African children with AIDS don't have to eat.
Interesting news on the personal grooming front:
