I have always been a bit of a sucker for well-advertised products—sorry for the crudeness of the term, but it conveys my situation most aptly. I would be immensely more likely to buy a product, if its advertisement was good enough to make me swoon a little; I trust I’m not the only one out there, that suffers from these symptoms. Either way, the realization that advertising is perhaps the strongest supporter of consumerism, has struck companies hard and fast, turning the field into a billion dollar industry. As time progresses, so is the sphere of advertising: It is becoming more tailor-made; more personalized, in the subtlest way possible. The minute you purchase from an online store, its advertisements appear in as many ad slots as possible while browsing the web. If I’m completely honest, being the technologically-challenged luddite that I am, I thought it was a complete coincidence that the ads so closely matched my recent shopping—for you more internet savvy users, I’m sure you realize that this is not the case.
Advertising has become such a mastermind process that, depending on the interests you portray on the web (and no, I’m not talking about some dodgy sex site), the ads that you come across are simply for you. I don’t know if I feel more victimized or exalted; I don’t know what my bank balance feels either. Most times though, its depletion after a period of fabulous new ad campaigns (Christmas is always a killer for me), causes my heart to skip many a beat.
My point is that advertising is sometimes more effective than we realize. It doesn’t simply plaster the products on billboards—its genius is that it appeals to our fantasies. A cunning, and fabulous ad campaign shows us who we can be once we have the particular product that is being advertised. I recently came across Taylor Swift’s ad for her perfume Wonderstruck: not only does it have its own video, with a song especially composed to add to its lure, it also has a teaser trailer. I was first incredulous as to why a perfume needs an introduction to its actual ad campaign; it is, after all, only a scent and not a manual for one’s life. And then I realized that I was wrong: that it really was being portrayed as a kind of life; a life that is catalyzed by one spiff of this perfume. No, I haven’t bought Wonderstruck, and while I don’t plan on ever acquiring it, I have to admit, the world is seductive: on a terrible day, I too would like to don a puffy, beautiful pink ball gown and walk down the stairs of a manor with a back-light illuminating my stunning profile, and meet my mystery man in a gothic garden with chandeliers on trees. The advertisement gives us the fairytale—a potion which one must swallow, or in this case spray, in order to enter that exclusive world. Similarly, Beyonce’s Pulse is all about the mystery: the sexy, hip swing, strut attitude that makes Bey’s bootylicious swag, all yours.
Perhaps, then, advertising is a form of acting: the perfume you use, the bags you carry, the shoes you walk in, the clothes you run in, all allow you to be different people at different times. Advertising provides a chameleonic lifestyle at its finest: you don’t need to switch cities (or countries, or continents) to find a new life: you buy that new The Row backpack, and shimmy down SoHo with Raybans, and I guarantee you, you’ll feel “hella cool tonight,” in the words of Rihanna, and her scrumptious video, obviously.
In this world of temporary pleasures, and purchases that become obsolete in a few months, what is more effective than the advocacy of different lives, portrayed through innumerable seasonal campaigns? Perhaps one of the most iconic moments I can think of, through my personal experience, is Heidi Klum closing the 2005 Victoria’s Secret show, in a pair of killer lingerie, and even fancier wings. The catch? Seal was singing Kiss from a Rose. My jaw, and the jaws of my male companions around me, dropped in unison (although perhaps for very different reasons). I can’t speak for them, but I was speechless because, looking back, it was the ideal of a perfect life: an angel, literally, in bombshell attire, and a husband crooning longingly after her. It was more than purchasing the bra—it was being the person strutting down that glittered runway; it was about having her life.
The secret to, and trickster in, advertising, then, is that it is our modern day guru: it tells us what to wear in order to be who we want to be, on any day of the week. And the capitalization on this phenomenon has changed the world. Last year, during the Super Bowl (which I don’t understand anyway), Volkswagen put out its new ad campaign for the Passat. It shows a little boy, dressed in complete Darth Vader attire, finding magic in the world by believing that he used the Force to lock the car. Essentially, it was locked using the remote his father had in his pocket, but the boy doesn’t know it. While it didn’t make me go out and buy the car, it remains one of my favourite ads to date—it portrays the ability to find magic in the world, and the ability of those who create that magic. Through advertising, we, the consumers, find the magic, even though it is completely orchestrated. Using that magic, in turn, we orchestrate our lives. Needless to say, I’ve been forcing myself to avoid all Star Wars’ paraphernalia for the longest time. My son, if I ever have one, is not going to be so lucky.