What about "the heartbreak of psoriasis" or those other moldy oldies, catchphrases designed to milk your insecurities of every last ounce of "jitters juice"until you're a desiccated bag of bones rattling in horror over your terminal inferiority? Did I mention the other schemes to also milk you dry via the flight of the last measly greenbacks in and out of your cowhide wallet? Remember "ring around the collar?" Could you ever face the world again if this sartorial faux pas was revealed to all? No? Then my friend, better cough up and grab a box of this or that extra concentrated laundry detergent. Or if you're a hoary and grizzled American consumer like this blogger, what about "Aren't you glad you use Dial? Don't you wish everybody did?"? Nothing like the specter of B.O. to trigger the clang-clang of emergency bells in your head and to spur one on to action, i.e. again, emptying your wallet and buying the above mentioned brand of soap: the antidote to antisocial phenomena like perspiration and bacteria that seem to enjoy ganging up on you and sending the fruit of their co-mingling: an awful stench wafting across towards that cutie who you imagined had just winked at you.
How about "Some guys have It! Some guys never will!"? The image of a certain bottle of cologne being pitched by this little ditty of nearly a half century ago was repeatedly drilled into our brains and the commercial was broadcast to great effect. It was, in fact, too good an ad. Some of the more scared rabbits among us took this jingle to mean that a Calvinistic pre-destination was the operative reality when trying to understand whose love life was going to be a successful one (and whose wasn't). The manly scent remained on store shelves in many cases where despair took root.
And speaking of roots, whatever happened to "Does she or doesn't she? Only her hair dresser knows for sure."? Aimed especially at gals and their insecurities over nature's first gray hairs, these lines became a national gag with numerous variations, e.g. "Does he or doesn't he? Only his capo knows for sure (trying to guess if some guy is a hitman or not)."
And what of halitosis, a damnable menace to world peace if ever there was one? Enter "Binaca." Remember that tiny little glass bottle about the size of your thumb that held the concentratedly potent magic potion that supposedly banished uber-doggy breath seemingly forever? The incredibly explosive and refreshing sensation of this product seemed to guarantee absolutely fresh breath. One could feel so good about the tingling in one's mouth that the seduction into a world of narcissistic delight could and did, easily distract one from noticing if there was any effect, positive or negative, on a potential job interviewer or sweetheart. Some earlier brands, particularly toothpastes, limited their claims to cosmetic improvements, as in: "you'll wonder where the yellow went, when you brush your teeth with (or 'when you go steady with': to keep firmly in mind the connection with romantic bliss and the joy of faithfulness to one's brand of toothpaste as well as one's darling) Pepsodent!"
All in all, the blatant appeals found in today's advertisements to one's baser instincts for say, recreational sex, greed and/or gluttony (think: sauce and cheese stuffed into the crusts of already generously topped pizzas) and subtler siren songs selling thinly veiled violence (the current ad extolling an automobile's virtues of speed and power comes to mind: "aggression in its most elegant form") were simply not predominant or were, arguably, non-existent in the television ads of my youth. One could appeal then to shame, conscience and the punishment of loneliness to sell a product. Avoiding sorrow and isolation, as promised by certain companies, whether their motivations were altruistic or not, gave a kind of heroic sheen to the blandishments of these pitchmen of yore. Of course, they were just out to make a buck, no different than today. But in order to improve their bottom line, they had to "toe the line" of society's norms of half a century ago and more. One did not wish to offend at mid-century. Cooperating with others was encouraged. And advertisers had to reflect this ethos. Counter-culturists of the '60s derided these views as repressive and limiting in what they viewed as a push towards conformity. But was it so bad, when people were enjoined not to hurt others' feelings, when cleanliness was not condemned as a psychological disorder or akin to fascistic intolerance, and when sexual success was linked to concepts like hygiene, love, family feeling and procreation?
And what of halitosis, a damnable menace to world peace if ever there was one? Enter "Binaca." Remember that tiny little glass bottle about the size of your thumb that held the concentratedly potent magic potion that supposedly banished uber-doggy breath seemingly forever? The incredibly explosive and refreshing sensation of this product seemed to guarantee absolutely fresh breath. One could feel so good about the tingling in one's mouth that the seduction into a world of narcissistic delight could and did, easily distract one from noticing if there was any effect, positive or negative, on a potential job interviewer or sweetheart. Some earlier brands, particularly toothpastes, limited their claims to cosmetic improvements, as in: "you'll wonder where the yellow went, when you brush your teeth with (or 'when you go steady with': to keep firmly in mind the connection with romantic bliss and the joy of faithfulness to one's brand of toothpaste as well as one's darling) Pepsodent!"
All in all, the blatant appeals found in today's advertisements to one's baser instincts for say, recreational sex, greed and/or gluttony (think: sauce and cheese stuffed into the crusts of already generously topped pizzas) and subtler siren songs selling thinly veiled violence (the current ad extolling an automobile's virtues of speed and power comes to mind: "aggression in its most elegant form") were simply not predominant or were, arguably, non-existent in the television ads of my youth. One could appeal then to shame, conscience and the punishment of loneliness to sell a product. Avoiding sorrow and isolation, as promised by certain companies, whether their motivations were altruistic or not, gave a kind of heroic sheen to the blandishments of these pitchmen of yore. Of course, they were just out to make a buck, no different than today. But in order to improve their bottom line, they had to "toe the line" of society's norms of half a century ago and more. One did not wish to offend at mid-century. Cooperating with others was encouraged. And advertisers had to reflect this ethos. Counter-culturists of the '60s derided these views as repressive and limiting in what they viewed as a push towards conformity. But was it so bad, when people were enjoined not to hurt others' feelings, when cleanliness was not condemned as a psychological disorder or akin to fascistic intolerance, and when sexual success was linked to concepts like hygiene, love, family feeling and procreation?
Reminding folks of their shortcomings and anxieties to help turn a profit with a good, bad or indifferent service or product is not unique to any age, but contrastingly, advertisers of the 21st century seems to continue to emphasize, and more intensely so, the trends of the waning years of the 20th: encouraging us to pay no heed to any checks on our appetites, or to any vestigial societal urgings toward self-improvement and finally, to welcome an infantile consumerism where getting over on others is now deemed a virtue (the spate of "reality" television programs brings this point home in spades). "Hooray for me and the hell with you" seems no longer the war cry of the spoiled brat of yesteryear who, one trusted, would receive his or her comeuppance with Dad's arrival home from work. Today Dad's not working and/or may not be in the picture. If he's part of the family, it's not a stretch to imagine that he is the culprit who taught such "Me Generation" behavior and "Me II" is poised to repeat the folly. Still, spontaneous retro-decency is not unheard of, and re-awakenings, both cultural and spiritual are, happily, not exclusively miraculous phenomena. Keep praying in any event, keep your powder dry and your meatloaf moist or the yolk'll be on you.
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