I used to walk past an old house on my block. A house as big as a tree.
One day as I strolled by this very big house, I heard a young man call to me.
‘Little girl will you buy me some milk, and some butter and cheese that I need.
I’ll give you these coins. Keep the change once you’ve paid. You’d be doing a very good deed.
I don’t leave my manor not at night or at day. No I never will leave this place.
If you do this for me I will pay you each time, he said with a smile on his face.
Off I skipped to the market to purchase the goods for as cheap as could possibly be.
I returned to the house. The grand old house. The one as big as a tree.
The young man was grateful. He hopped about. Thanking me once and again.
He asked if I’d come back next week for the same, at around a quarter past ten.
From then on, each Sunday at a quarter past ten, I’d stop past the house of the man.
I’d gather his list, his coins and his smiles and go off with my cash and my plan.
In my head, sometimes I would wonder why the young man never left his old place.
After weeks I decided I’d ask him, so I finished my chores with some haste.
When I got to his house and I asked the young man why he stayed in and never went out.
He looked confused and shifted around then said “what you talking about?
Of course I can’t leave. Can’t you see why? There may not be fences and chains.
But if I leave my old house, I could never come back, and that would cause me great pain.
My old house is lonely. It has only me, to keep it company all day.
And at night when it’s quiet my house needs a friend so this is the price that I pay.”
I nodded with earnest as though it made sense though he could have been speaking Chinese.
The old house looked like it had been there for years, and I could not hear its sad pleas.
“It pains me” he thoughtfully added “to stay in this grand house each day, but what can I do? It is lonely. I’ll have been here for six years in May.”
While I look at the other men working, and driving and visiting friends,
Don’t you think I am jealous and saddened? But I’m stuck in this house till the end.
It’s not my fault that I can’t leave. I do it for lack of a choice.
Poor old house would be lost without me.” he finished in a very small voice.
So I made him a deal. Yes I told him, that with his groceries I’d bring something more.
Tales of the world he was missing. To this I solemnly swore.
The young man was thrilled at the promise, of seeing the world through my eyes
He clapped and he danced and thanked me three times before we said our goodbyes.
So I brought him his eggs and his flour, I always made sure to include
A story of what I had seen through the week about friends, parties, people and food.
Oh how he loved all my tales. He said he’d had tales of his own.
Long before the old house needed him all the time. A time where such fear was unknown.
The old houses fear he assured me, was steady and strong as the night.
It wouldn’t you see, be fair if he tried, to resist or put up a fight.
As I grew, so did my stories. I shared them as best as I could.
I shared them each week and he soaked up each word and swore that he’d leave if he could.
During my stay in the media wonderland that is America, I can’t help but croon Aladdin’s soulful ditty. ‘A whole new world’ indeed. It’s the mecca of new age exploration. It plots the GPS coordinates for the rest of the world. So why do I get the sinking feeling we are getting a little lost?
With specific regard to advertising in the United States, I feel the urge to say (and thanks to blogging, my compulsion is gratified) that the American adverting arena has left me a little deflated. American advertisers have long held the reputation for being the industry heavyweights. But where there was once a plethora of thought provoking campaigns with brilliant concepts and game changing results, now rests a children’s school yard mentality, with a ‘my daddy’s gun is bigger than yours” approach to marketing. Its lazy advertising and I’m disgruntled.
I’m not a complete Neanderthal. I knew comparative advertising existed before I landed. But even so, when I see or hear it in a public arena, I still find it a bit shocking. It reminds me of that awkward feeling you get when you watch a couple snap at each other during a dinner party. Those are the moments when suddenly your fork becomes the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.
The first time I heard a really raw advert of this nature I was strolling down the aisles of one of the many planet-sized department stores in Miami. When the offensive advert aired over the sound-system I had to resist the urge to nudge the shopper nearest to me and whisper conspiratorially ‘did you HEAR that?” Having been here for a few months subsequent, I’m glad I didn’t. At one point, I considered getting the words ‘tourist’ tattooed on my forehead but I’m glad I didn’t do that either.
So it’s allowed here in America. Ok. I can appreciate that. I can watch television and witness the sponsored massacre of another brand while I merrily munch on my dinner. Let me re-phrase that. ‘I can pretend that I appreciate that. I can awkwardly gape around the room making wild hand gestures to the television and berate my fellow watchers for not being as agog and aghast at the disparaging remarks being made on live television." You know, up until the 5th century Gladiators entertained audiences in the Roman Empire in violent confrontations with other gladiators, wild animals, and condemned criminals. So I guess it’s not an entirely foreign concept. But don’t you think as members of civilized society we should have higher standards? And forget for a minute the brazen unsophisticated message these advertisements relay, what ever happened to thinking out of the box? What are marketing execs being paid for if this is the drivel they are producing?
Perhaps it’s my South African upbringing. Or perhaps it’s due to the carrot I can’t seem to dislodge from my ass, but I get all kinds of squirmy when I’m witness to this form of advertising. I’m also the nightmare audience for these brands because their public lambasting more often than not has me reaching for their competitors product. I always root for the under-dog.
I’m not naive enough to believe that a lot of the comparative claims made don’t have value. If product X is a lot better than product Y, I want to know about it. My issue lies in the fact that with the laxy-daisy guidelines to comparative advertising paired with subjectivity and soiled ethics, as the idiot staring at my television I’m being presented with a somewhat bias case. And in very bad taste I might add. My responsibility as a consumer is to manage the media swamping and reach my own conclusions. Not have a suit slop it up and serve it to me. Where is the fun in that?
I stand by the good ol’ ethics of pre-historic advertising. The guiding principle in all comparisons should be that products or services are promoted on their own merits and not on the demerits of competitors. As much as its results driven, advertising is entertainment, and as such, agencies need to work a little harder than ‘buy this product because that one sucks.’
