Generation Magazine

By Melissa Wright

I get really pissed off at commercials. Cue the white, clean marketing hue ala Mac. The music that makes you feel like we’re all in this together and you just donated all your life savings to charity. HSBC is the World’s Local Bank and American Runs on Duncan.

Of course now, with the recent economic meltdown, so much of the marketing is directed toward saving money, tight budgets, and a real down-home concern for your wallet. Avoiding the economical concerns, let’s just focus on the psychological. Commercials feign camaraderie, that girl-next-door, I know what you need (come on down to Applebee’s) suspension of our consuming disbelief.

I think it’s that feigned suspension that ticks me off so much. This aesthetic coating over a very tangible product. And the more money the corporation makes, the better they seem to get at convincing us that by buying their product or using their service, we are joining a community, a way of life, a shared experience. And this isn’t so bad, is it? Humans crave a sense of connection, inclusivity.

Quick caveat before I get into Walmart. Walmart obviously has a public service: they offer affordable stuff for folks who may not have the privilege to shop at local stores, where prices simply are not as competitive. However, when the residents of Alden, N.Y. were polled on whether they needed the items in Walmart (as there were serious moves to build a Walmart on a marsh in the town), the survey came back with telling results. Residents claimed that they, on average, did not need the majority of the products sold at Walmart.

I recently saw a Walmart commercial with the mom redecorating her living room (which would still rack up a decent bill, even with the rolled back prices, which is one of the most mocking gimmicks, because it continuously points to the vanishing value of the products themselves and the labor/cost of production) and I tried to picture myself as a mom, relating to this woman, her son very concerned that her “steal” was not literal stealing.

Marketing confronts us on all these angles: an ethical push from her morally enriched son, a flare for the cute pillow cases, and of course, the “mom on a budget” media love story. Sounds way too cynical yet? OK, you ask, so what’s the alternative? Yes, I try to shop at local businesses, but cannot always resist the neon lights and sprawling accessory racks of Target. But what if, just once, a commercial actually came clean: Our corporate stockholders and overall economy needs your business. We know that our products were not made with ethical consequences in mind, but the world is harsh and you are lucky enough to live in America, sucka!

And then there are the spaces within our cluttered, technological lives that aspire to offer peace, meditation. I see the yoginis on Elmwood, walking down the street with their mats, sipping fair trade green tea at Spot, making life feel like a lovely pasture of organic soymilk and bike rides to the local book store. Yoga is really good for you. I practice. You meditate. You breathe. You hold the weight of your body up on your tippy toes as sweat pours from every crevice. The jingle from that commercial you heard yesterday pops into the way back of your head. Push it away. Push it all away.

And then you leave, fully exhausted yet refreshed. “So are you going to buy a yoga package?” Of all things, I would think that yoga could resist the painful solicitation, reminding us the bottom line of this transaction.

But life is material. My resistance is almost childlike, holding on to an idealized understanding.

All I can say is that I really wish more of those cheesy car salesmen, low budget commercials were on more often. At least they don’t pull any smoke and mirrors from the reality of what they’re doing (selling shit, man).

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