According to Tim Nudd’s marvelous piece in Adweek, this Secret deodorant commercial debuted on the season premier of The Bachelorette -a show I deplore but my wife and daughter’s adore.  I’m not going to get into a rant on that but I do recognize the genius of this media buy. Like the Bachelor, the Bachelorette is a reality show about choosing a mate for life. Though such outcomes rarely happen long term for these contestants, the show acts as if it most certainly will. And that mythology is a potent one for lots of women and, I suppose, a fair amount of men. Whatever. This commercial flawlessly plays off and pays off the proposal ritual.

Instead of a rose, we get a fortune cookie. And the result is charmingly messed up. I won’t go into the plot. Watch the film yourself. It’s fabulous storytelling. Nudd’s analysis is spot on:

It’s a sly mix of comedy and tension, with great casting and subtle acting that really lets the scenario build nicely. When the reveal happens—even if you see it coming—it feels believable, and like a breakthrough, because of the obvious stress of the situation. Which by the way makes for a fine connection to the brand, even if inverting gender roles to sell product can still feel icky, however pure the motive.

The craft is first rate as well. Directed by Aoife McArdle for Wieden + Kennedy, the realness is laudatory – far more authentic than the Bachelorette that’s for sure. Everything about the spot rings true. (Not faux true.) The cast. The location. Direction and acting. It all works. I especially love the woman. Rather than get into specifics, let me just say it feels like we’re eavesdropping on a totally genuine moment and one that is delightful, romantic and full of life. Real life.

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Must…Consume…Content…

In certain gothic vampire mythologies, the undead, being immortal, develop a profound indifference to learning anything about current events, save for what they must know in order to feed. Over the decades, they tire of newspapers and books and then all that information on the Internet. Unless it pertains to their hunger the passing moors of people are just that: passing. Why bother keeping up with the current population when there is another one coming. And another. And another. Often what happens to these creatures is that a profound ennui settles over them. Memories blur into one long existence. When at last they are staked or caught by sunshine or silver, they welcome the true death. Enough is enough.

Why am I writing about such macabre things? It’s so I can offer you this metaphor: Many of us have been bingeing on so much content that we’ve become inured to anything else accept work, which provides our sustenance. Do you, like me, like the vampire, find yourself coming home from work and, after maybe kissing the wife, walking the dog, tucking the kids in, settle into a TV show only to move through episodes, one after another, until you collapse?

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Do you feed this way? Are you addicted?

Game of Thrones. True Detective. Breaking Bad. Penny Dreadful. So much delicious prey! Maybe you feed on reality TV, which I think tastes like shit. No matter, the pathology is the same.

We are content zombies. But with one profound difference. Unlike those rapacious feeders, we are aware. We know what we are doing. Ergo, we are vampires. Cursed in the knowledge that what we crave ultimately will consume us. And so, every night, all over the world, more and more of us pounce into our screen of choice, and stay there…

Food for thought next time you pick up the remote.

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Girls, Girls…

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And more girls.

A while back, Kim Kardashian made a sex video with some random bozo and became improbably famous, fetishizing her big boobs and ass. Shortly thereafter, the E! network launched the “groundbreaking” reality series, Keeping up with the Kardashians, fetishizing not only Kim’s big boobs and ass but her sisters as well. We also met her mom and dad and other bozos and ding-a-lings.

Later, Kim has sex with a decidedly non-random bozo and new husband, Kanye West, creating a baby, enabling her/them yet even more fame…if that’s even possible.

But stop the presses!

Because now her stepfather, Bruce Jenner has officially changed his sex to female, breaking the Internet. A “Sideshow Bob” for years on The Kardashians, “Call-Me-Caitlyn” Jenner is now the biggest get since, well, Kim Kardashian.

What do they all have in common? Sex. Having it. Changing it. Selling it. The entire Kardashian dynasty is built on sex. I don’t know if that’s cool or pathetic. Likely both. But it’s a stone-cold fact.

Sex sells. Nothing new about that. And in the first years of the 21st century nobody does it better than the Kardashians.

But what provokes me is the cloak of gravitas so many people are wont to attach to this collection of fetishes. The Kardashians are entrepreneurs! Kim is a social media expert! Caitlyn-Bruce Jenner is a brave pioneer. I’m not denying they have untold fame, followers and fortune I’m just calling bullshit on the agenda. The Kardashians want attention on an epic scale. If along with the material benefits come various side effects resembling social change so be it. It gives the Today Show a new angle into this clan morning moms can appreciate.

The Kardashians are nothing without parlaying their boobs and asses. Which now includes Caitlyn.

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At a restaurant the other day I overheard a woman paraphrase the famous Andy Warhol quote, “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.” She was referring to a video her son recently posted on You Tube. She told her rapt friends it had “hundreds of views!” For her, and likely her boy, that meant fame.

But is that what Andy Warhol meant? Yes and no. Remember, he was looking at fame through the lens of mass media. Warhol and his Factory defined popular culture, essentially creating it. Before him fame via artistic creation (be it painting, literature, photography or films) was the providence of a precious few, those who earned it with their talents and/or exquisite connections. After Warhol, fame could mean anything from getting a bad haircut to getting arrested.

I won’t belabor the obvious. The Internet and social media have made getting famous a whole lot easier for the rest of us. In this sense Andy was a prophet.

And yet.

In a world where everyone and their teenaged sons are famous for a few minutes, what exactly does “fame” mean? Are there a certain number of views, likes and followers that can deliver one into fame? Surely, it’s more than several hundred. But even gaining many thousands of online friends can’t equal the popularity of the most random of reality TV stars. And, in turn, can one honestly compare a reality TV celebrity with, say, Audrey Hepburn or Jack Nickolson?

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For 15 minutes…

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Forever…

As more people become sort of what is considered the pinnacle and whom would we find there? George Clooney? Bono? Ghandi?

Hard to say. But surely Joe the Plumber (remember him?) or some opera-singing five-year old wouldn’t be there. Or might they? After all, aren’t those the knuckleheads Andy Warhol was talking about when he said his famous bit about fame? And besides, wasn’t Justin Bieber just a Canadian falsetto on You Tube?

I wonder. If everyone today is capable of being famous can fame even exist anymore? By definition don’t we need lots more un-famous people in order to appreciate the ones that already are? Remember your Dr. Seuss. As soon as all those Sneetches finally got stars on their bellies the stars lost all of their meaning.

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Back in the day my father said his 15 minutes came when the Wall Street Journal rendered his portrait in those iconic black dots. That trumped merely just getting his picture in the paper, which, by the way, used to be the quintessential determiner of fame.

I recently read a blog post talking about “access” being the new standard for wealth. In other words, one doesn’t need to own things in order to be considered wealthy -just have access to them. Is fame like that, too?

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Forgive me for I have hated…

Since I began Gods of Advertising almost a decade ago (!), I’ve carefully avoided demonstrating hatred of any kind to persons, places or things. When I was critical, say of an ad campaign, I tried to look at it from all angles, positing why, perhaps, an advertiser or agency would put something so questionable into the cosmos. Most of the time I have succeeded in being personally true to my feelings while maintaining respect for other points-of-view. (My last post bemoaning Selfies is a good example.)

When I’ve (perhaps) crossed a line you let me know. And I’ve published virtually every comment to that effect, unless they were patently offensive or obscene. Take a look at a piece I wrote about an ad campaign for Walgreens, featuring the cloying (in my opinion) voice-over talents of John Corbett. 62 people came to John’s defense, condemning me for being rude, cynical and worse. Precious few take my side. Either way, a new comment to this post shows up in my inbox every month or so. I publish all of them.

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I’m just not that into you…

While I seldom defend myself I don’t freak out either. We have a conversation. I’ve written far more interesting pieces. Yet precious few engender as much feedback as the Corbett story. Proving, yet again, everyone loves or hates a critic.

As an experiment, I tried come up with three things I hate unequivocally. My one criterion (or do you say “criteria?”) was to limit selections to only matters germane to advertising and popular culture. God forbid, I drift into politics or anything particularly important.

As cynical as I am it was harder than I thought. I came up with three.

1. Laugh tracks. Oh my God, how I loathe laugh tracks. A remnant of the Golden Age of Television, the laugh track is, for me, an utter and complete turnoff. Now mainly a staple of kid’s TV, they elicit the exact opposite effect in me: one of utter and complete revulsion. I find all programs that use them guilty by association. A pass is given to the many inane sitcoms of ancient times, like Green Acres or Gilligan’s Island. That shit’s funny.

2. Auto Tune is to popular music what the laugh track is to TV. Why this dopey audio implant isn’t as reviled as lip-synching I’ll never know. A million years ago Peter Frampton Comes Alive came out to boffo reviews and went mega-platinum, largely because of his “Wa-Wa” infused number, Do You Feel Like I Do. I hated it then and make-out nostalgia aside I still do now.

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Is Auto Tune his fault?

3. My most controversial and final selection is the current spate of faux premium lagers, like Bud Light Platinum or Miller Fortune. Who’s kidding whom? These variations on a theme are nothing more than marketing ploys to upsell customers, who are dumb enough to fall for them. Like the so-called Ice beers of yore, they come in gaudy bottles that supposedly evoke class and distinction. They are anything but. I consider these brand extensions the Ed Hardy of beers. A badge for douche bags.

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#douche-y

4. Honorable mention goes to Reality TV. This much-reviled yet inexplicably popular genre is far too low hanging fruit to make my list. None of these shows are real. They’re just shitty.

So, that’s my hater blog for 2014. I hope you liked it, or hated it, as the case may be. If you have something to add, this is the time and this is the place.

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“Two Miller Fortunes…and a f–king lime.”