Catherine Clack - the unconscious power of image

[Catherine Clack]

Does anyone remember the movie “Demolition Man,” with Sylvester Stallone and Sandra Bullock? It included a scene where they were listening to the “all commercials” radio station and singing the Armour Hot Dog song. I sing along every time I hear it; same with the Band-aid tune, “I am stuck on Band Aid brand cuz Band Aid’s stuck on me.” And still, my initial response to the question “How much does advertising really affect you,” was short and quick: not much. I figured since I don’t really pay conscious and significant attention to advertising, that it had little to no affect on me. I thought I wasn’t at all interested in what was being said in commercials (except during the Super Bowl when, lately, that’s all I’ve been interested in), unless some new product was being introduced. And I don’t mean “new and improved,” I mean never before been on the market. (It’s how I got sucked into buying a Swiffer sweeper, but that’s another story.)

Turns out my initial response was me in denial. To be honest, I have to admit I know the catch phrases to far too many ads to which I swear I’m not paying attention. And yet, I’m not brand loyal to much of anything. I’m a woman who looks for cheap. For instance, I have never seen an ad for “Suavitel” fabric softener. But when I needed fabric softener to remove some wallpaper, I bought the cheapest brand and discovered it was great. So now I use “Suavitel.” For me, if it’s cheap and works, I’m gettin’ it. If it’s on sale, I’m buying. My motto? Store brands are your friends.

The more I chewed on it, however, the more I began to wonder just how immune I was to advertising. I bought a magazine subscription years ago, simply because it was for and featured “real women.” That meant the ads and clothing lines targeted what the fashion industry calls “plus size,” (basically any size in double-digits) and since the average American woman is a size 12, that’s the overwhelming majority of women. Fashion models, however, are typically size 0 (zero) or 2 (two). I’m not fashion savvy, don’t follow trends, and discovered that I couldn’t afford the designer lines typically depicted in that magazine, but I was nonetheless, determined to support it and help ensure it’s success. I read few of the articles and don’t think I ever bought anything that was advertised in it, but always browsed the pages and then prominently displayed the magazines in the magazine rack in my guest bathroom. (Yes, I’m one of those who regularly read in the bathroom. In fact, I do some of my best thinking there.)

At any rate, the magazine failed after a couple of years, despite being seriously plugged on “Oprah,” and I found that I felt a sense of failure and defeat I didn’t understand. Turns out I was much more affected by images in the media than I was prepared or willing to acknowledge. I had rejoiced in a magazine that depicted “real” women; that showed women who looked like me were beautiful. I didn’t know that I had been longing for something to say I didn’t have to be super thin and leggy to be beautiful or attractive or get a date. Turns out, despite by armor of feminism and self-confidence, images were getting through to me, even if words, and brand names were not.

Another case in point is a commercial from the 90s. I honestly cannot remember the product, but think it was Coke or Pepsi. The African American woman in the commercial, however, is as clear as day. She had very dark skin and a natural Afro, which struck me as much as the line she uttered; something to the effect of “the ad said everyday American beauty, so I figured, why not.” I can’t remember the words specifically, but I do remember a period of surprise followed by a swelling of pride. And it was not just for her saying “Guess what? I’m an everyday American beauty,” it was that she was very dark-skinned, and she didn’t have long, flowing hair (or a weave). She was so far from the images of beauty that have been thrust upon me my entire life, that I swear I felt like crying every time I saw her. She was stunning! I’ve never forgotten her face, but can’t for the life of me remember the sponsor.

So, in reality, I have to admit that I am a sucker for the images that are put before me. That many of those images are able to touch my psyche. I admit I tear-up or cry like a baby at every Hallmark commercial, at the beauty and majesty of the Budweiser Clydesdales (STILL cannot watch the 9/11 tribute without getting chills), or any commercial involving puppies or laughing children. And I acknowledge that I know the catch phrases to more funny commercials than I care to admit (“I can’t believe I ate the whoooole thing.” “Here’s to you Mr. giant taco salad inventor.” “Look Harvey! Mexican ta-mails!”). And despite the fact that products and brands are often lost on me, and that I’ve never been tempted to switch brands, buy a car, invest online, etc. because of an ad, they still have had the eerie ability to sneak into my consciousness. I wish I could fully explain why that bothers me. After all, isn’t that their job?