Ever been confronted by a product ad that just, for some reason or another, rubbed you absolutely, completely the wrong way? I’ve never been consumed by commercial hate so intense that I felt the need to blog about it just to get it off my chest, but today… I just can’t take it anymore.
Of course the commercial in question is for a “feminine hygiene product.” Somehow, those are always the worst; they have a tendency to focus on the inane (Oh, look! I’m running around in this freshly mown field, and somebody gave me a bolt of cloth to play with! Wheeee! Periods are THE BEST!!!) and in the past have even spawned sarcastic backlash (“Ever get that not-so-fresh feeling?”). Still… the genius minds at work for the ad agencies, who doubtless make more money than I do for coming up with the crappiest ideas EVAR, have never quite gotten the idea of what takes a commercial out of the realm of mere annoyance and into pure white-hot hatred territory. The ad that’s making me want to blow my own brains out this morning is for a tampon called “Tampax Radiant.” Periods as a rule don’t make me feel radiant, and I don’t know why this particular tampon thinks it’s so special– they’re pretty much all the same, some cotton on a string– but the commercial has pushed me over the edge. And I’m not even on my period, or PMS’ing. Grrr.
Anyway, the offending ad features a bubbly “street artist” and the legend, “If walls could talk, this one would sing.” While an irritating chorus of female singers squeal and burble out what sounds like the Muppet Show theme in French, the “artist” scrambles around on a ladder in high heels with pink socks (a disclaimer proclaims “Dangerous! Do Not Attempt!”– I’m not sure if they’re talking about the ladder or the socks) sticking big raindrops made out of construction paper on the wall with tape. (Her high heels mysteriously morph into ballet flats for about a millisecond, and the giant pink bow in her hair disappears and reappears throughout.) Then she opens a frilly parasol and her “work” falls down around her as she giggles insanely, twirls the parasol and scampers away (I swear to God, she doesn’t run, she SCAMPERS), leaving her litter to blow away in her wake and my poor brains falling out of my ears onto the keyboard.
Why do I hate it so much? Well, the music is grating, for one. The street artist looks so peppy that I have the urge to punch her in the throat, kind of the same effect mimes have on me. (Oh wait– now I understand why customers who don’t like me at my “service job” call me “the HAPPY one”.) It could be that I see a bit of my overly fluffy self in her– I would wear her outfit, hair bow and all, were it not for the socks– though I certainly wouldn’t wear a dress and heels to climb around on a ladder. (The continuity problems with her wardrobe– especially the shoes– unaccountably bug me as well; can’t they hire a proper film editor?) There could be a smidgen of the bitter frustrated artist in me– I have a misused talent for sketching in charcoal and pastels– that resents construction paper raindrops being considered “art” outside of a kindergarten classroom. Maybe I don’t like the mess that she’s making. Did I mention the music is TERRIBLE? Also that I’ve had to sit through it SEVEN TIMES this morning. That has a lot to do with it. Yeah, that might be the main thing. Besides that godawful earworm of a song, anyway.
I truly bear no ill will towards the street artist featured; I noticed she has a blog, which I might have to go check out as penance for this rant. I don’t often level this much indignation at anyone or anything, but at least I feel better now. And this is a wake-up call to gaming sites everywhere (I’m looking at YOU, Shockwave) to CHANGE. UP. YOUR. ADS.
The offending commercial (yes, thank me very much for inflicting it on you):