Chronic Fatigue

Hopelessness We Can Believe In

There's a new Nutrisystem commercial on the air now, and it's one of the most shocking TV commercials I've ever seen. 

The spot opens with a haggard looking middle aged woman talking to camera about the dramatic weight loss she achieved with Nutrisystem.  Nothing remarkable about that – just another standard Nutrisystem real person "before and after" testimonial. 

But then the woman says something stunning:  "I just feel if you're fifty years old and overweight, there's no hope for you."

She doesn't smile when she says this.  There's no nervous laugh that indicates she's trying to be funny, or is intentionally exaggerating to make a point.              She delivers the words with a deadpan, dour expression.  She really means it:  There's no hope for you.

The moment she delivers this bombshell – just as you're wondering if you really heard her correctly – oh no she didn't! – they cut away to perky spokesperson, Marie Osmond.  Marie, of course, gushes about the woman's transformation on Nutrisystem, telling her how fabulous she looks (I fully expected Marie to congratulate the woman on just narrowly escaping an utterly hopeless existence).

Now, I'm usually less than thrilled to see Marie Osmond in these commercials    (or anywhere else, for that matter).  But I gotta tell you, I was actually relieved when they cut away to her; she's the overly perky antidote to the dire pronouncement we've just heard about...no hope.

There's no hope for you.  The statement is both shockingly clear-cut and            curiously vague.  No hope about what?  Of ever losing weight as you get older?      Of ever looking attractive?  Of fitting into your clothes?  Of controlling your cholesterol?  Is that what she means?   

Or...does she mean "no hope" in a bigger sense?  There's no hope of not losing your husband to a younger woman?  No hope of ever getting a job?  Of finding new love?  Of achieving even a crumb of human happiness?

Actually, I believe that's exactly what Debbie Downer is saying: That if you are overweight and over fifty, it's over for you.  Period.  Game over.  Better hurry and call Nutrisystem now or you're doomed to a life of misery and destitution, living under the freeway, wearing a tattered muumuu, sharing a can of Fancy Feast with your cats.

(Note to Nutrisystem: if you're going over to the Dark Side, why not go all the way and admit the real truth: that if you're over fifty in our society, there's no hope      for you, regardless of what you weigh).

Frankly, I'm amazed that this commercial made it on the air in its current form.  Most marketers bend over backwards to avoid even the slightest hint of "negativity".  They focus group every single word to make absolutely sure there's zero risk of offending even a single customer, of tarnishing their brand, or having their message misconstrued in any way. 

Did Nutrisystem think that older women would respond positively to this woman's startling admission that it's all over for the fifty-plus crowd if they don't lose their love handles?  Did they think that kind of blunt scare tactic would be compelling?  Or did they just not think about it?

I don't offend easily, but there's still something very unsettling about this commercial.  Maybe it's too honest?   Maybe there really is no hope.  Maybe we just can't handle the truth.

At the end of the commercial, bubbly Marie Osmond asks the woman what it feels like to lose 60 pounds with Nutrisystem.  The woman says it's incredible...she's never looked better or been happier in her entire life.  Yet she looks tired, drawn and utterly miserable.  She actually looked healthier – and younger – in her "before" photo.

That gives me hope.

Turning Lemons Into Lulus

This morning, I walked past a sign in front of the Lululemon yoga apparel        store in downtown San Francisco.  The sign said, "Do one thing a day that scares you." 

Really?  Just one thing?

My day is already chocked full of things that scare me; from answering my phone to opening my cable bill or watching promos for "Keeping Up With the Kardashians".  I don't need to do more scary things; I've already met my daily quota – and then some (and if I want to do something truly scary, all I have to do is try on a pair of those Lululemon low-waisted stretch yoga pants.             That could traumatize me for weeks).

But what really scares me is this kind of precious, oh-so-self-conscious marketing parading as something else.  The harder companies try to appear "authentic", the more phony-baloney they seem – and the more manipulated     I feel.   I don't shop at Lululemon.  Horror of horrors, I don't even do yoga.      But I do know that Lululemon is a wildly successful brand with a cult-like following (known as "Luluheads").  Their founder, Chip Wilson, has a reputation for being a marketing genius.

Well, Chip, you certainly got my attention with that sign of yours.  I'm sure it was meant to prompt some long overdue introspection – and send me running into your store to buy a $100 hoodie.  Instead, it immediately set off my bullshit detector.  I wanted to run as far away from Lululand as I could get.

Frankly, I resent having a retailer that sells overpriced yoga pants and sports bras doling out unsolicited advice on how to find enlightenment and improve self-esteem (you really want to boost my self-esteem?  Try raising the waistlines on those damned pants).

But I get it: what that sign was really saying was:  Lululemon is an authentic, unique brand...we don't sell clothing...we sell self-improvement, personal empowerment and one-size-fits-all spirituality.  Oh, and we're also just so darned irreverant and playful!

What I didn't realize was that the cheeky advice on the store sign is only the tip of the Lululemon self-improvement iceberg. When I checked their website, I discovered an entire Lululemon "Manifesto".  For sheer wacky-ness, the Manifesto is the motherload – a splendid mishmash of the practical and the downright wierd.   Some of the items are clearly related to yoga, health and exercise:

"Sweat once a day to regenerate your skin."

"Breathe deeply and appreciate the moment."

"Stress is related to 99% of all illness." 

"Drink FRESH water and as much water as you can."

Those seem harmless enough.  After all, if you sell yoga clothes,  it makes perfect sense to espouse tips about health, exercise and stress-reduction.         But the Lulunuts don't stop there.  Because then the Manifesto veers off into a bizarre mix of cutesy, philosophical and utterly random gems such as:

 "Dance, sing, floss and travel."  

 "Communication is COMPLICATED.  We are all raised in a different family with slightly different definitions of every word."

"Listen, listen, listen, and then ask strategic questions." 

They've also included some helpful retirement planning advice:  "Don't trust that an old age pension will be sufficient."

There's this radical notion (inspired, no doubt, by a fortune cookie or Suze Ormon): "Friends are more important than money."

And this lulu of an insight: "Nature wants us to be mediocre because we have a greater chance to survive and reproduce.  Mediocre is as close to the bottom as it is to the top, and will give you a lousy life."

Yogis tell us to "live in the question".  After reading the Lulu Manifesto, my only question is: "WTF?!?"  I guess what I'm supposed to think is, "Those wonderful, selfless people at Lululemon aren't even interested in money.  They care about me and share my values.  Wow.  That's so cool."   Instead, all I can think about is how this cagey company managed to earn a cool $350 million last year by yuppi-fying yoga wear and serving it up with some quasi-New Age hogwash.

For all I know, maybe the Luluheads embrace this BS with the same devotion they have for the Lulu Groove Crop Pants ($86) and the Push Ur Limits Tank ($52).  Or, maybe they just enjoy the clothes and the cachet.

As for me, I have a sudden need to breathe deeply and chant very quietly, "Spare me.  Spare me.  Spare me."

But hey, at least I did one scary thing today:  I took a closer look into the dark soul of Lululemon.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miracle Whipped

What does your mayonnaise say about you?  It's not a question I had pondered a lot.  That is, until I saw the latest round of Miracle Whip commercials.  

These spots feature attitude-inal twenty-somethings dancing, hanging out and occasionally munching on sandwiches made with Miracle Whip.  Against an aggressive music track, we hear a flat, in-your-face young male voiceover snarling, "Don't go unnoticed.  Don't blend in.  Don't be ordinary...boring...or bland.  WE are Miracle Whip and WE will NOT tone it down.  Don't be SO MAYO."

Wow.  I'm "too mayo".  Who knew?  I used to think that jar of Hellmans in my fridge was just bad for my cholesterol.  Little did I know it was also bad for my image.  I never realized my brand of mayo carried a stigma.  Now I know better.  Oh, the shame.  Quick!  Hide the jar behind a milk carton and pray no one sees it.

Of course, the marketing folks at Kraft clearly aren't talking to me.  For reasons      I can't quite fathom, they've decided to target the youth market.  Maybe young people don't eat enough mayonnaise.  Or maybe young people are the only ones who can actually afford to eat mayonnaise, because they're not worried about consuming a gazillion calories and the words "artery-clogging" haven't yet entered their vocabulary.

Regardless of the rationale, Miracle Whip wants this demographic.  And they're willing to alienate  the rest of us in the process.  Actually, they may even be turning off the young folks they're trying so desperately to win over;  a quick search on YouTube reveals that this commercial is being dissed - and spoofed like crazy.  My faith in young people has been restored!   Check out this hilarious rant by my new hero, "boydman 117":

The strategy behind the "don't be bland" message is transparent; it surely came out of an ingredients story.   Miracle Whip has always positioned itself as a tastier alternative to mayonnaise.  Maybe it has a tad more flavor or is tangy-er than other brands of mayo.   In the past, they would have said Miracle Whip tasted "zesty" or "zippy".  Corny, perhaps, but I'd rather stomach a few, dumb adjectives than have to watch these unbelievably odious spots.

I thought the launch spot in this campaign was bad.  But now, the miracle workers at the agency have whipped up a new spot that's even more obnoxious.  In this latest commercial, they really throw down the gauntlet.  Same edgy twenty-somethings.  Same droning, confrontational voiceover.  But this time, the commercial ends with a challenge, asking "Are YOU Miracle Whip?".  The graphic on the last screen simply says, "Are you MW?", as if they couldn't be bothered to spell out the whole name (if you have to ask, this mayo is definitely not for you).

In other words, are you a rebellious, hip, young person who is on the cutting edge of condiments?  Or are you a tired, old BORING person who is willing to settle for anything -- in life or on top of your Turkey Club?

All I know is, every time these commercials come on, I just want to gag.          Thanks for asking, but I am so not Miracle Whip.  And thanks to these utterly tasteless and offensive spots, I am so not going to buy it.

Tolerable TV (Now That's Progressive)

I love writing about bad tv commercials.  It's lots of fun - and there is certainly never any shortage of material.

But let's  face it, with so many crappy spots polluting the airwaves, critiquing them is a bit like shooting fish in a  barrel - it's good for a few, cheap laughs, but it's not exactly a challenge.

Good commercials are a lot harder to come by.  And a lot harder to create and sell.  So once in a while, I like to give credit where credit is due and applaud a campaign that got it right.

Which brings me to the Progressive car insurance spots. You know, the ones with the quirky, brunette spokeswoman, "Flo" (apparently, her name is "Flo", although this fact had somehow escaped me).

The main reason I'm giving this campaign high marks is because it could have gone so horribly wrong. The "Ongoing Spokesperson/Character" is a classic, tried-and-true advertising technique that's been around forever.  When it's done really well, this genre can be extremely effective and memorable (think "Jack" from Jack in the Box or the Geico Gecko).  But most of the time, it's just utterly annoying and obnoxious.

This is one of the hardest types of campaigns to pull off, because so much hinges on the appeal of the spokesperson.  The casting in the Progressive spots is brilliant; "Flo" is played to quirky perfection by Stephanie Courtney, a Groundlings improv actress with heaps of oddball charm and impeccable comic timing. 
I can't help wondering what would have happened if she didn't show up for the casting session that day.  Was there anyone else who could have played this character and made her palatable?  And if there wasn't, would the campaign have been scrapped?  Would they have gone ahead and produced the spots anyway?  Perhaps the scripts were even written with this actress in mind - I'd love to know. 

Let's just say it was a gamble (another gamble was deciding to give Flo a campy, retro look that screams "Look at me - I'm just so quirky!".  There's absolutely no rhyme or reason for this choice, but it somehow works).

Then there's the writing.  I enjoy watching these spots because they're written with a deft, light touch. The dialogue is always fresh, the humor is never forced, and the scenarios play out in a somewhat unpredictable way.  I don't know if Stephanie is responsible for any of this - perhaps she improvised some of the lines? -  but whomever is writing these scripts deserves a lot of credit.  I don't even own a car, and I always pay attention.  On the other hand, I'm not sure these scripts ever looked so great on paper...they rely so much on the performance.

The other reason these spots are effective is because they don't take themselves too seriously and they don't make any attempt at realism.  The setting is a totally make-believe, highly stylized world with a simple white, seamless backdrop and minimal propping.  Can you imagine how painful it would be if they'd played it as a real Progressive office and pretended "Flo" was an actual employee?  Yikes.

It's not that these are really great commercials.  They are fairly traditional. 
I'm sure this campaign won't win any industry awards.  It's not "edgy" enough
and there are no gratuitous special effects.  But that's exactly why I like it; the advertisers manage to serve up a lot of dry information in a simple, clear and entertaining way.  Hey, in my book, any TV spot that I don't automatically mute
is a winner.

Whether you love or hate the Progressive commercials, the campaign must be working, because they keep airing new spots.  A cursory Google search reveals that Stephanie Courtney is garnering tons of attention and fans.  She must be raking in the residual checks.  I'm sure she'll have her own sitcom soon (I'll bet they're working on a pilot as we speak).

In spite of all these kudos, I don't think this is a campaign that can go on forever.  Even this character's schtick begins to get old after a while.  A little quirky goes
a long way.  The spots air so often, they're already beginning to wear out. 
Viewers will soon tire of Flo and her antics and demand something new.
And the poor Creative team that created her will be back to the drawing board (don't be surprised if Flo gets a sidekick).

But for the moment, I'm just relieved that I don't have to reach for the mute button every time these spots come on.  I guess I'm just grateful for small miracles.

 

And yes, it's our brand name!

One of the unavoidable side effects of working in Advertising is that you view commercials with a very jaundiced eye, to say the least.  When I watch a commercial, I don't just see the commercial on the screen; I see the whole back story; I can picture the client meetings...the pitch...even imagine the focus group feedback that influenced the final concept (usually for the worst).  More often than not, I can easily guess the Creative Strategy and the "core idea".  It's usually pretty obvious; most commercials are no more than thinly-disguised Strategy statements.

It's also easy to spot a client with a "branding problem".  For whatever reason, the client has decided that their brand name has lost its former luster, or that their brand is losing market share to the competition.  One time-honored solution - favored by many clients -  is to mention the brand name often, and in as obtrusive a way as possible, in their tv commercial. 

My favorite current example of this syndrome is the new Glade air freshener campaign.  I'm fascinated by this campaign in part because of its retro, 1950s "Happy Housewife" feel.  In the spots, a perky suburban housewife introduces her less sophisticated friends to the joys of a fresh, Glade-scented home.  When her buddies drop by for yoga practice, they are greeted with the wonderful scent of "Apple Cinnamon", "Jasmine" and "Clean Linen" wafting through their host's home.  Glade Lady's smug secret?  Glade Scented Gel Plug-Ins, of course.  A few, strategically-placed "Plug-Ins" have transformed her domicile into a fresh-smelling oasis (presumably just in the nick of time, before her sweaty friends get going on their yoga poses).

What intrigues me most about the spots is their blatant "branding device"; at the end of every spot...after we've heard the name "Glade" mentioned at least a dozen times...Glade Lady turns directly to the camera and winks, "And yes, it's Glade."  I'm always fascinated by the "And yes" part of the line.  Were we doubting that these wondrous new air fresheners were from Glade?  Did a focus group, upon seeing the air fresheners, express surprise that Glade, of all people, turned out such delightful and effective products?  Was Glade getting a reputation for dragging their feet in the innovation department?  I always thought Glade was synonymous with "air fresheners"...but who knows, maybe Air Wick has been cleaning their clocks.

The latest spot in the campaign is by far my favorite.  It's for Glade's new, "Sense & Spray" Motion Sensor plug-in.  Yes, you heard that right.  Obviously, consumers didn't like the idea of their air fresheners working continuously - even when they're not in the room.  Glade to the rescue!  This new item only emits a puff of fragrance when you walk by.  It's like a mini, plastic Mount Vesuvius, magically emitting a puff of fragrant mist from the top of its white, plastic cone-like container...but only when needed.  Let's hear it for American ingenuity.  The R&D team at Johnson & Johnson must have been working overtime on this one...it's pure genius!  Who says America is out of good ideas?

I can just picture the poor Creative team when they were handed this assignment.  By this time, they had already established "Glade Lady".  What to do?  The solution: have her sneak around her own home, peeking in windows, and around corners, trying to outsmart the Glade Motion Sensor.  Will she catch it working when she's not in the room?  Of course not!  Ample proof the precious, Glade scented mist isn't being wasted on an empty bathroom - thank God - it's only there when you need it.

And yes, at the end of the spot, we are reminded once again who makes this irresistible new product. "And yes, it's Glade", chirps the knowing, slightly smug, odor-fighting housewife.  How do I know she's a housewife?  Who else has time to stay home all day, sneaking around the house, checking on air fresheners?