OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
Last week, I took a walk in Brooklyn. As I made my way up Tillary Street past Flatbush Avenue, I noticed an incredible commercial message from Charles Schwab adorning a bus stop: "We want to make a difference, not just a buck. Let's make a difference together."
I beg your pardon? Do investment houses really care about making anything more than a buck? Why do people invest money in the first place? To turn one buck into two or more bucks. It's all about making bucks. If investing makes any "difference," it's a differential between the amount invested and the amount returned. And everyone wants that differential to be positive.
But let's leave investors aside for a moment. Let's focus on the institutional guys. You know, the investment bankers who craft bewildering "portfolios" designed to churn fees and hopefully yield a nifty profit for the client. Now, an investment banker exists to do two things: (1) To maximize the monetary return on a client's investment; and (2) To maximize his own fees by selecting appropriate transactions. To be blunt, it is all about money. In fact, investment bankers are more than mere employees; they are fiduciaries. They must subordinate their own interests to their clients' interests. They can even be sued for failing to make enough money, because that shows "they did not sufficiently have their clients interests at heart."
In that light, it is preposterous for Charles Schwab to suggest that investment bankers care about anything more than "making a buck." If they cared about anything else--like "making a difference"--they would lose their jobs, clients and everything else they value.
And what does "making a difference" really mean? Have investment houses suddenly lost their collective minds? Do they want to open soup kitchens or something? Do they want to build houses for the homeless? How about pay for health care for indigents? Is that the kind of "social difference" they want to make? The phrase "making a difference" implies broader service to the public, or even ethical purity. It rings with selfless nobility. Yet such things are completely antithetical to an investment house's primary mission: To make profits for themselves and their private clients. There is nothing "public" or "noble" about that enterprise.
Recent stock market scandals only weaken Charles Schwab's pitiful attempt to appear altruistic. Did Lehman Bros. care about "making a difference" when they lured investors into placing money on a housing market they bet would fail? The bottom line is that people expect investment bankers to engage in dirty dealing. It is par for the course. Worse, most investors would prefer their bankers to engage in the most barely legal conduct possible so long as that conduct yields a maximal return. That is what it means to "make a buck," not "a difference."
Commerce is about making bucks, not a difference. That is just the way it works. And it is the height of disingenuousness for anyone to suggest otherwise, let alone massive investment banks that personify the commercial spirit. If investment banks choose to "make a difference," chances are they do so in order to gain tax advantages, not to soothe their conscience.
Put thematically, the clash between "making a buck" and "making a difference" is a clash between commerce and ethics. It is also a clash between ends and means. Commerce is about ends; ethics is about means. A commercial man only cares about the bottom line, no matter how he gets there (provided he does not risk criminal sanction). An ethical man cares about the way he achieves his goal. When a person commits to making bucks, he has a distinctly result-oriented motive. But when a person wishes to make a difference in the ethical sense, he is as much concerned about the way he brings about positive change as he is concerned about the change itself.
In commerce, means are secondary. Investment houses like Charles Schwab know that. If it suddenly adopted "making a difference" as its primary business model, its clients would leave in droves. And the company's shareholders would angrily vote off the "insane" directors who approved such an idiotic way to do business. In their place, the shareholders would quickly appoint directors with a more sensible business model, namely: "Making a buck."
And the new directors would immediately yank those ridiculous posters from the bus stops.
Hey, at least they would be honest.
Showing posts with label Advertising. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Advertising. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
TEXAS ANNOUNCES "WORLD WAR I THEME" FOR UPCOMING EXECUTIONS
TEXAS TALKBy : Mr. Brad Livingston, Executive Director, Texas State Criminal Justice Agency (Austin)(2005-present); Former Chief Financial Officer, Texas Board of Criminal Justice (1997-2001); Former Deputy Director, Financial Services Division, Texas Department of Criminal Justice (1997-2001); Accounting Expert; Christian.
Here in Texas, capital punishment works. We are not afraid to swiftly execute offenders. Our prosecutors, judges, legislators and administrators are all on the same page on this: We don't have mercy for killers, rapists, drug dealers and thugs. So we get them out of the community in the surest possible way we can: By lethally injecting them after a couple pointless appeals.
Our State criminal justice system is the best in the Nation because Texans support it. Criminal justice doesn't work without strong backing from the community. Thankfully, our system is both effective and efficient because every Texan knows where criminals belong: Strapped to a gurney in the Huntsville death house. Here at the Corrections Department, we think like Texans. We don't forgive and forget. We inject first and ask questions later.
Capital punishment works in Texas because it brings our community together. Texans love a good execution. Although we do not hang people in public like we did in the old days, we nonetheless widely publicize our executions "21st century style." Texans can stay current with day-to-day executions by logging into our "Executed Offender" database. See http://www.tdcj.state.tx.us/stat/executedoffenders.htm. That site provides accurate information about offenders who got their judicially-prescribed dose of potassium bromide. It shows their faces. It describes their crimes. It tells you what they said before they bought the farm. It even tells you what they had for dinner before taking a mosey down the death chamber. Basically, if you want to hear about the latest about executed offenders in Texas, just click on the link and you will get the whole story. Enjoy!
We are committed to bringing Texans a satisfactory capital punishment experience that is both invigorating and entertaining. At the same time, we must note that executions are not cheap. Although the State provides executions free of charge, our capital punishment delivery system has historically operated at a loss. We recently made that fact known to Texans in a local television broadcast. To our great relief, we found that millions of Texans were willing to pay a price to watch a good execution. We even received substantial voluntary donations from private citizens. Those donations defrayed our costs. As Director of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, I can assure you that Texas will always give you the executions you expect and deserve.
We are thankful that Texans support our criminal justice system. We also know that many Texans wish to directly participate in future executions. We have received many letters from victims' family members requesting the opportunity to push the button that releases chemicals into the offender's bloodstream. Other citizens have requested introducing some new execution methods "just to spruce things up a little bit." Still others have petitioned for larger spectator venues to accommodate all the people who want to see an offender die.
In response to these queries--and to reward Texans for their support--we have decided implement some positive changes to our capital punishment delivery system. Effective immediately, we hereby designate 2010 the year for "World War I Fun" in the Texas criminal justice department. Until further notice, we will execute offenders with vintage World War I weapons. Additionally, we will allow victims' families to directly participate in the execution for a small administrative fee. We believe that this program will bring Texans even closer together, while at the same time teaching a valuable history lesson about World War I. It will give families the chance to take personal revenge on offenders, deter future misconduct and raise funds for the State. In sum, we believe that "World War I Fun" is a "win-win" for both Texans and Texas.
But we need your support to make "World War I Fun" work. To that end, we would like to introduce the various new execution methods available under our new program. If you are a crime victim or a crime victim's relative, carefully review this information to determine which method best suits your needs and your budget. Although we wish we could allow every crime victim to choose the most expensive execution method, we must always observe budgetary constraints. For that reason, we list execution methods in ascending order of price.
1. TRENCH SHOVEL - $50 per execution
Get back at your girlfriend's murderer with this trusty old steel spade. For just $50, you can grab this vintage 1917 shovel and smash that convicted varmint to your heart's content. Notice that the shovel has a sharp edge as well as a flat surface. It also has a good heft for crushing skulls or severing arteries. At just $50 per execution, the trench shovel is an economically wise--yet emotionally fulfilling--way to exact justice on a real Texas bandit. If you wish to bring a friend (or parent) to the execution, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice will provide another shovel for just $25 more--that's a 50% discount! With two shovels, you and your friend can really give the convict a walloping. After you've finished clubbing the criminal to a bloody pulp, corrections officers will add insult to his injury by using the brain-smattered shovels to dig a grave for him out back.2. BAYONET - $100 per execution
Cut right to the chase with a REAL World War I bayonet! You'll make a slicing impression with this genuine German antique. Your mother's killer will be trembling in his socks when he sees you coming at him with a foot-long silver blade. He'll wish he never raped and shot your mom as you thrust the shiny bayonet into his abdomen. Imagine how scared he'll be as he sits there helplessly strapped to a chair as you slash and stab him to death. You can do anything you want with the bayonet. You can scalp the criminal. You can stab him through the top of the head. You can saw off his fingers. Hell, you could even cut open his stomach and stuff his kidneys in his mouth while he's still alive. Go ahead! Knock yourself out! Do justice! We'll even throw in rubber gloves and a wetsuit for just $50 more so you won't get your nice clothes all bloody.3. SPRINGFIELD MODEL 1903 - $250 per execution (plus additional ammunition beyond 5 rounds)
If you prefer firearms to close-quarters weapons, then the Springfield M1903 is the choice for you. Don't get your hands dirty. Be an old-fashioned Texas marksman. Line the child rapist up in your sights, get the range right and BLAM! There goes the back of his head. As an added bonus, the Texas Criminal Justice Department will provide an ENTIRE CLIP of ammunition for your amusement; it is our way of saying "thank you" for your support. That means you can take your time with your criminal. You can fire your first shot through his shinbone. Then the next through his hand. You know, whatever you like. Give him a nice gutshot and ask him how he likes it now. But if you do not finish the convict off in five rounds, you must pay $10 per additional bullet. Despite the cost, we are certain that all you Texas sharpshooters out there will really appreciate going round for round on a scumbag with a Springfield. Go for it! Ready, aim, fire!4. MUSTARD GAS - $500 per execution
Maybe you liked chemistry in high school. Maybe you'd rather use science on a punk than a gun or a knife. If this fits your bill, then Texas Corrections has the solution for you: A genuine mustard gas grenade. For just $500, you can REALLY make a bank robber squirm by tossing some lethal chemicals directly into an airtight container. You can watch him squeal like a pig as he tries to hold his breath. But you'll just laugh, because the mustard gas will burn away his skin at the same time. That'll teach him to touch little girls at the playground! At the same time, you'll learn why most countries outlawed mustard gas after 1918! For the more adventurous citizens out there, mustard gas is the way to go. In Texas, we don't just shoot 'em, beat 'em or stab 'em. We gas 'em, too!5. MAXIM MACHINE GUN - $1000 per execution (includes 250-round ammunition belt)
If you're a marksman but prefer rapid fire, don't settle for a single shot. Get behind this VINTAGE 1911 Maxim machine gun and UNLOAD into a child molester with a full belt. Learn how the machine gun changed the face of warfare as you demonstrate what 250 30-caliber bullets can do to a Mexican gangster tied to a chair. Have fun with it! Hold down that trigger and roar! Let the machine gun do the talking. Cut the bastard in half if you want to. We regret that the Maxim costs more than other execution methods. It is difficult to find working models that do not jam. Additionally, it takes time to set up the Maxim and calibrate it; this thing weighs a lot. Your $1000 contribution helps defray all these costs. And believe us: Once you squeeze the trigger on this baby, you'll say: "It was worth every dollar!" So what are you waiting for? RAT-A-TAT-TAT, bitches!NOTE: If the Maxim jams at any time before you complete your 250-round belt, we pledge to refund your $1000 contribution pro rata ($4.00 per round) depending on how many rounds remain in the belt. We also pledge to lend you a Corrections Officer's service pistol to administer a final shot to the offender free of charge.
6. FLAMETHROWER - $2000 per execution
It's time for an old-time Texas barbecue! Take fiery revenge on your wife's lover by toasting him like a stuck hog. For just $2000, we will give you an ORIGINAL 1918 flamethrower with a full tank. Don't mess around with shovels or pistols. Burn the sumbitch alive! Light up the starter, twist on the fuel flow and reduce him into a pile of ashes. Don't worry: He won't turn into ashes before he struggles in vain to escape the flames. Torch him! If you really want to make him regret what he did, don't hose him down right away. Shoot a fireball above his head first. Make him sweat. Then shoot another burst to his left, then his right. Finally, give him just a little scorch. Make him live for a while with peeled-off skin. See how he likes being a victim now. See how fun flamethrowers can be? Nothing says "Ouch" like a full-body burn. And you can only give a full-body burn with a flamethrower. So get in there and start cookin'!7. BIG BERTHA - $5000 per execution
For Texans who have some money to spare, why not blast a criminal to smithereens? Chances are the offender changed your life forever. Chances are he stole something from you that you can never replace. You probably want to make his life as empty as yours, don't you? If this is the way you feel, BLOW HIM AWAY WITH A BIG BERTHA ARTILLERY GUN! When you pull the firing cord on this baby, there won't be anything left of the man who ruined your life. There won't be anything to bury. Nobody--and no body part--walks away from a 16-inch, 2100-pound high explosive direct hit. When you really just can't stand criminals, nothing says "I hate you" more than landing a Big Bertha shell on his head. For just $5000 (credit available), the Texas Corrections Department will set up a secure firing range, as well as the VINTAGE 1908 "Big Bertha" artillery gun. It will load the weapon, place the offender downrange and allow you to say "FIRE!" before pulling the firing cord. Then, via closed-circuit television, you can watch in slow-motion as the shell falls on the offender. One moment he is there. The next moment he is gone. We will even give you a complimentary DVD recording so you can watch the moment as often as you like for the rest of your life.In closing, I would like to personally thank Texas for its commitment to criminal justice. Here at the Department of Criminal Justice, I can assure you that we will continue to make executions accessible to the public in a way that is both emotionally satisfying and economically sensible.
Thanks again for your support.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
REVERSE STEREOTYPING IN ADVERTISING : MORE INSULTING THAN REGULAR STEREOTYPING?
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
Stereotypes fascinate me because everyone taught me to revile them. It is a dirty word. You are not supposed to stereotype anymore. But what is stereotyping, actually? It means making generalizations about particular people or things, then exaggerating those generalizations in a pejorative way.
Stereotypes are pernicious when applied to "disfavored" groups. They are even worse when a person in "superior social position" directs the stereotype against a person in an "inferior social position." In other words, it is "politically incorrect" for a wealthy white man in America (i.e., a person with a historically "superior social position") to stereotype against a poor black man (i.e, a person with a historically "inferior social position"). Yet when people in traditionally inferior social positions stereotype those in superior social positions, it is somehow more forgivable. After all, who gets up in arms when black comedians say all white people are awkward? No one: Because everyone knows that white people have historically enjoyed a "superior social position" over blacks in America. In this sense, stereotypes are objectionable only in context: They are "bad" only when directed downward from a superior social position against an inferior one.
Still, it is hard to talk about stereotypes without inviting anger. Even outside the racial context, stereotypes raise emotions because they depend on uncomfortable--and sometimes remotely true--assumptions about others. No one likes to be mocked for their intrinsic characteristics, even if their intrinsic characteristics are less than praiseworthy.
It is even difficult to analyze the stereotyper. Ten years ago, I angered the American government when I applied for a Federal scholarship to study the systematic way in which American media stereotypes Germans. I did not get the grant. Apparently, the Federal government did not want to fund a paper that would tell it how shortsighted, ignorant and simplistic most Americans are when thinking about Germany. At the time, I was disappointed I did not get my grant. But it taught me a valuable lesson: Neither the proponents nor the victims of stereotypes like talking about them.
Whether or not the Federal government chooses to recognize it, stereotypes are everywhere in this country. They surround us. We even buy into them without even knowing it. To start, it is hard to watch American movies without encountering some condescending racial, sexual or national caricature. Even in a sci-fi action movie like Transformers : Revenge of the Fallen, the "hip" robots have black voices and banter in ebonics. Most gay characters are pathetically effeminate, with the lisps, hair and flamboyance to match. And people from other countries? Forget it: Germans are merciless, icy, calculating, humorless villains (Schindler's List; Hellboy II). Italians are lusty, hairy, slicked-back tough Guidos who use big hand gestures and talk about their families all the time (Saturday Night Fever). Russians are crafty, suspicious tyrants with thick accents (Rambo III; Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull). The French are perfumed, well-dressed, snotty, red-lipped, arrogantly petulant metrosexuals with perfect hair who usually wind up buying baguettes or espresso at some point in the movie (The Matrix : Reloaded, Ronin)(Jean Reno is the default American choice for a Frenchman). The British are absurdly prim, polite, insistent on protocol, silly or villainous (The Patriot). Arabs are maniacal terrorists who wear turbans, shout "Allah, Ackbar!" and blow things up (True Lies). Asians are generally kung-fu-fighting, sword-wielding comic relief with funny accents (any Jackie Chan movie).
Of course, not all American movies support racial, sexual and national stereotypes. There are exceptions in every category. But the fact that so many mainstream films thrive on stereotypes means something. It means that America has an appetite for them. They like laughing at smooth-talking black robots and silly gay men. They expect Italians to be gangsters and Germans to be killers. After all, stereotypes are easy to grasp. They distance "us" from "them." They allow "us" to feel secure in our identities by condescending toward the way "they" speak, act and move. Stereotypes unite through ignorance.
Hollywood films are not the only medium that supports rank stereotypes in the United States. Even so-called "neutral" news networks reinforce racial and national generalizations. Whenever news agencies report on street crime, they usually point out that the suspect is a "black male," or they just show his face onscreen: Just another scary-looking black guy with unkempt facial hair. Whenever news agencies report about China or Russia, they usually make ominous comments about sinister motivations and repressive governments. And when they report about destitute Third World countries, typically they focus on some ridiculous sideshow, like peasants cooking dirt shavings or worshipping a river bank.
In short, Americans get their stereotypes from multiple sources. Stereotypes help them order their world. They help them remember who "they" are. Yet no matter how much Americans love their stereotypes, and no matter how often they buy into them, they also hear a countervailing message: "Stereotyping is bad." Students learn that it is wrong to make sweeping generalizations about ethnic, national, sexual and religious groups. Even corporations instruct their employees that it is "wrong" to generalize about "others." It might not be wrong to exclude "them" from the workforce or relegate "them" to the mail room. You just can't make callous remarks about their low station.
We have lived in the era of "political correctness" for several decades now. Some people have gotten in trouble for breaking the official rules about stereotypes, like Don Imus and some other indiscreet white men. But despite the "official" stance against stereotyping, it survives. It lives on in men's hearts. People can dutifully watch what they say in public without privately abandoning stereotypical thinking. It is very easy to be "politically correct" in observance, yet politically incorrect in spirit. Even the worst bigot can navigate the sparse minefield of forbidden phrases that demarcates "politically correct speech." You just need some minimal public discretion.
But what happens when traditional stereotypers try too hard to show their political correctness? In advertising, for instance, I have noticed an increase in so-called "reverse stereotyping," namely, painfully obvious attempts to portray traditionally stereotyped roles in the opposite light.
Take these examples: A major garment company runs an ad showing a married black man in a very nice home choosing a white starched shirt from a hickory-paneled closet. In the next ad, a home security company shows an affluent black family in a very nice home being terrorized by a white burglar, then calling police. In another ad, a life insurance company hawks its wares by showing an extremely well-dressed black man behind a desk in an office building. He is an "insurance executive;" and a desperate-looking white man calls him to ask about life insurance options. In yet another ad, a trade school notes that "times are tough," then it shows an unemployed white man struggling to find a job. It suggests that he get an education in order to stop receiving public assistance.
What is significant about these ads? In my view, they are even more condescending to "disfavored political groups" in America than flat-out stereotypes. After all, pernicious stereotyping generally operates in a "downward" manner, from people in a "traditionally superior social position" against people in a "traditionally inferior social position." In all the social contexts relevant to these ads, black Americans generally occupy the inferior position: They do not have nice homes; they do not wear button-down shirts; they are not even married; they are the burglars, not the ones who call police; they do not buy life insurance, let alone run the insurance company; they are unemployed and need educations to get off welfare. A flat-out stereotype would have shown white people buying button-down shirts, calling the police on black burglars and running an insurance company. But here the ads simply reverse the stereotypes, placing black people in the traditionally superior positions, while white people fancifully occupy the traditionally inferior positions. This "racial reversal" so obviously contradicts predominant social realities that it invites scorn.
It is easy to see why the corporations did this. They did not want to "appear stereotypical" by portraying blacks in "traditionally inferior social positions." They wanted to comply with "political correctness." But in attempting to avoid stereotypes, the corporations came off as even more patronizing than they would have had they simply stuck with the generalizations everyone expects to see. Americans expect to see black burglars; that's what they see on the news all the time. Americans expect to see white insurance executives; after all, insurance executives are basically all white anyway. And Americans expect to hear about unemployed black people on welfare; laziness is a classic racial stereotype that has long fueled resentment between racial groups in America.
In sum, anyone can see that these ads do not correspond to social reality in the United States. That fact confirms that Americans like their stereotypes. It makes them uneasy--and even disbelieving--to see black people portrayed outside their traditionally inferior social positions. No one will ever believe that black people will run insurance companies. Nor will anyone believe that white Americans will commit street crime in the same proportions as black Americans. Americans are too comfortable with their stereotypes. A few advertisers will not change anyone's assumptions by reversing stereotypical roles that have existed in Americans' minds for generations.
No, Americans still have a voracious appetite for stereotypes. Just go to the movies or turn on the news. And ironically, attempting to be "political correct" only worsens stereotypical thinking. That's because telling Americans that "stereotyping is bad" is like telling a star baseball player that baseball is bad: Stereotyping is what we do--and we really like it. Telling us to stop doing what we like will result in confused, disingenuous absurdity, just as we see in these ads.
Stereotypes fascinate me because everyone taught me to revile them. It is a dirty word. You are not supposed to stereotype anymore. But what is stereotyping, actually? It means making generalizations about particular people or things, then exaggerating those generalizations in a pejorative way.
Stereotypes are pernicious when applied to "disfavored" groups. They are even worse when a person in "superior social position" directs the stereotype against a person in an "inferior social position." In other words, it is "politically incorrect" for a wealthy white man in America (i.e., a person with a historically "superior social position") to stereotype against a poor black man (i.e, a person with a historically "inferior social position"). Yet when people in traditionally inferior social positions stereotype those in superior social positions, it is somehow more forgivable. After all, who gets up in arms when black comedians say all white people are awkward? No one: Because everyone knows that white people have historically enjoyed a "superior social position" over blacks in America. In this sense, stereotypes are objectionable only in context: They are "bad" only when directed downward from a superior social position against an inferior one.
Still, it is hard to talk about stereotypes without inviting anger. Even outside the racial context, stereotypes raise emotions because they depend on uncomfortable--and sometimes remotely true--assumptions about others. No one likes to be mocked for their intrinsic characteristics, even if their intrinsic characteristics are less than praiseworthy.
It is even difficult to analyze the stereotyper. Ten years ago, I angered the American government when I applied for a Federal scholarship to study the systematic way in which American media stereotypes Germans. I did not get the grant. Apparently, the Federal government did not want to fund a paper that would tell it how shortsighted, ignorant and simplistic most Americans are when thinking about Germany. At the time, I was disappointed I did not get my grant. But it taught me a valuable lesson: Neither the proponents nor the victims of stereotypes like talking about them.
Whether or not the Federal government chooses to recognize it, stereotypes are everywhere in this country. They surround us. We even buy into them without even knowing it. To start, it is hard to watch American movies without encountering some condescending racial, sexual or national caricature. Even in a sci-fi action movie like Transformers : Revenge of the Fallen, the "hip" robots have black voices and banter in ebonics. Most gay characters are pathetically effeminate, with the lisps, hair and flamboyance to match. And people from other countries? Forget it: Germans are merciless, icy, calculating, humorless villains (Schindler's List; Hellboy II). Italians are lusty, hairy, slicked-back tough Guidos who use big hand gestures and talk about their families all the time (Saturday Night Fever). Russians are crafty, suspicious tyrants with thick accents (Rambo III; Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull). The French are perfumed, well-dressed, snotty, red-lipped, arrogantly petulant metrosexuals with perfect hair who usually wind up buying baguettes or espresso at some point in the movie (The Matrix : Reloaded, Ronin)(Jean Reno is the default American choice for a Frenchman). The British are absurdly prim, polite, insistent on protocol, silly or villainous (The Patriot). Arabs are maniacal terrorists who wear turbans, shout "Allah, Ackbar!" and blow things up (True Lies). Asians are generally kung-fu-fighting, sword-wielding comic relief with funny accents (any Jackie Chan movie).
Of course, not all American movies support racial, sexual and national stereotypes. There are exceptions in every category. But the fact that so many mainstream films thrive on stereotypes means something. It means that America has an appetite for them. They like laughing at smooth-talking black robots and silly gay men. They expect Italians to be gangsters and Germans to be killers. After all, stereotypes are easy to grasp. They distance "us" from "them." They allow "us" to feel secure in our identities by condescending toward the way "they" speak, act and move. Stereotypes unite through ignorance.
Hollywood films are not the only medium that supports rank stereotypes in the United States. Even so-called "neutral" news networks reinforce racial and national generalizations. Whenever news agencies report on street crime, they usually point out that the suspect is a "black male," or they just show his face onscreen: Just another scary-looking black guy with unkempt facial hair. Whenever news agencies report about China or Russia, they usually make ominous comments about sinister motivations and repressive governments. And when they report about destitute Third World countries, typically they focus on some ridiculous sideshow, like peasants cooking dirt shavings or worshipping a river bank.
In short, Americans get their stereotypes from multiple sources. Stereotypes help them order their world. They help them remember who "they" are. Yet no matter how much Americans love their stereotypes, and no matter how often they buy into them, they also hear a countervailing message: "Stereotyping is bad." Students learn that it is wrong to make sweeping generalizations about ethnic, national, sexual and religious groups. Even corporations instruct their employees that it is "wrong" to generalize about "others." It might not be wrong to exclude "them" from the workforce or relegate "them" to the mail room. You just can't make callous remarks about their low station.
We have lived in the era of "political correctness" for several decades now. Some people have gotten in trouble for breaking the official rules about stereotypes, like Don Imus and some other indiscreet white men. But despite the "official" stance against stereotyping, it survives. It lives on in men's hearts. People can dutifully watch what they say in public without privately abandoning stereotypical thinking. It is very easy to be "politically correct" in observance, yet politically incorrect in spirit. Even the worst bigot can navigate the sparse minefield of forbidden phrases that demarcates "politically correct speech." You just need some minimal public discretion.
But what happens when traditional stereotypers try too hard to show their political correctness? In advertising, for instance, I have noticed an increase in so-called "reverse stereotyping," namely, painfully obvious attempts to portray traditionally stereotyped roles in the opposite light.
Take these examples: A major garment company runs an ad showing a married black man in a very nice home choosing a white starched shirt from a hickory-paneled closet. In the next ad, a home security company shows an affluent black family in a very nice home being terrorized by a white burglar, then calling police. In another ad, a life insurance company hawks its wares by showing an extremely well-dressed black man behind a desk in an office building. He is an "insurance executive;" and a desperate-looking white man calls him to ask about life insurance options. In yet another ad, a trade school notes that "times are tough," then it shows an unemployed white man struggling to find a job. It suggests that he get an education in order to stop receiving public assistance.
What is significant about these ads? In my view, they are even more condescending to "disfavored political groups" in America than flat-out stereotypes. After all, pernicious stereotyping generally operates in a "downward" manner, from people in a "traditionally superior social position" against people in a "traditionally inferior social position." In all the social contexts relevant to these ads, black Americans generally occupy the inferior position: They do not have nice homes; they do not wear button-down shirts; they are not even married; they are the burglars, not the ones who call police; they do not buy life insurance, let alone run the insurance company; they are unemployed and need educations to get off welfare. A flat-out stereotype would have shown white people buying button-down shirts, calling the police on black burglars and running an insurance company. But here the ads simply reverse the stereotypes, placing black people in the traditionally superior positions, while white people fancifully occupy the traditionally inferior positions. This "racial reversal" so obviously contradicts predominant social realities that it invites scorn.
It is easy to see why the corporations did this. They did not want to "appear stereotypical" by portraying blacks in "traditionally inferior social positions." They wanted to comply with "political correctness." But in attempting to avoid stereotypes, the corporations came off as even more patronizing than they would have had they simply stuck with the generalizations everyone expects to see. Americans expect to see black burglars; that's what they see on the news all the time. Americans expect to see white insurance executives; after all, insurance executives are basically all white anyway. And Americans expect to hear about unemployed black people on welfare; laziness is a classic racial stereotype that has long fueled resentment between racial groups in America.
In sum, anyone can see that these ads do not correspond to social reality in the United States. That fact confirms that Americans like their stereotypes. It makes them uneasy--and even disbelieving--to see black people portrayed outside their traditionally inferior social positions. No one will ever believe that black people will run insurance companies. Nor will anyone believe that white Americans will commit street crime in the same proportions as black Americans. Americans are too comfortable with their stereotypes. A few advertisers will not change anyone's assumptions by reversing stereotypical roles that have existed in Americans' minds for generations.
No, Americans still have a voracious appetite for stereotypes. Just go to the movies or turn on the news. And ironically, attempting to be "political correct" only worsens stereotypical thinking. That's because telling Americans that "stereotyping is bad" is like telling a star baseball player that baseball is bad: Stereotyping is what we do--and we really like it. Telling us to stop doing what we like will result in confused, disingenuous absurdity, just as we see in these ads.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
CELEBRATE BLACK HISTORY MONTH : DRINK HEINEKEN
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
You might think that title is a joke. It isn't: I actually saw it printed on a New York City bus.
I thought I had seen everything in advertising. I thought I had cataloged every species of commercial dishonesty. But I should never underestimate commercial speakers: Their innovation knows no bounds. They push the limits every time. And in cases like this, they push straight into the surreal.
What the fuck does Dutch beer have to do with African-American identity and history? How does Heineken in any way relate to the black experience in the United States? How does Heineken reflect this country's poisonous racial legacy, or in any way symbolize it? I have no doubt that many African-Americans like Heineken beer. But would an average black man in America instinctively associate Heineken with black issues?
I can understand associating George Washington Carver, Crispus Attucks, Martin Luther King, Jr., Scott Joplin or even Snoop Dogg with Black History Month. All those men achieved prominence in American life through the decades. But Heineken? Where was Heineken during the Freedom Marches? Where was Heineken during the Civil War and Reconstruction? And where the hell was Heineken during the L.A. race riots?
Heineken is not African-American. It is not even a person. It is a beer. What role could it possibly have played in a Nation's development?
To suggest that blacks should celebrate their history in the United States by breaking open a Heineken is just asinine. After all, it was a Dutch merchant who brought the first African slaves to Virginia in 1619. That's not to say that Heineken reflects modern Dutch views about slavery. But the fact remains that the Dutch played a very dark role in the history of American slavery. In that light, it is especially perverse to suggest blacks should celebrate their history by drinking Dutch beer.
Heineken's ad is not just historically incongruous. It also shows just how little taste--or sense--most advertisers bring to their work. In this case, the advertisers did not ponder the embarrassingly weak connection between African-American history and Heineken beer. No, they merely identified a potential market (i.e., African-Americans), then matched their product to an important month in the "African-American calendar." Perhaps Heineken intended to forge a mental link between "African-American pride" and Heineken. Perhaps they wished to dupe African-Americans into believing that Heineken played a substantial role in their history. Maybe Dr. Dre likes Heineken. Maybe Duke Ellington drank it after his shows in the 1940s. Who knows?
Heineken simply concluded that African-Americans represent a "market:" Namely, a discrete body of potential buyers and sellers at a particular time and place. Any advertising that incites a market to spend money on the advertiser's product is worth the price. It does not matter if the message is crass, off-color, inappropriate, incorrect, counterfactual, counterintuitive, silly, ridiculous or just wrong. Those concerns pale next to the advertiser's mandate to generate profits.
In the end, advertising is not about consistency. It is not about respect, either. Rather, it is about implanting mental connections so that people spend money. In advertising, facts need not be accurate. Indeed, facts are not even necessary at all.
And taste? That's the least concern. If taste mattered, what self-respecting student of American history would dare to assert that Heineken beer has anything to do with the plight of African-Americans in this country? The thought is almost too embarrassing to entertain.
But that didn't stop Heineken from entertaining it. There is no shame--or dignity--in commerce.
That's another reason I'm not good at it. Damned ethics!
You might think that title is a joke. It isn't: I actually saw it printed on a New York City bus.
I thought I had seen everything in advertising. I thought I had cataloged every species of commercial dishonesty. But I should never underestimate commercial speakers: Their innovation knows no bounds. They push the limits every time. And in cases like this, they push straight into the surreal.
What the fuck does Dutch beer have to do with African-American identity and history? How does Heineken in any way relate to the black experience in the United States? How does Heineken reflect this country's poisonous racial legacy, or in any way symbolize it? I have no doubt that many African-Americans like Heineken beer. But would an average black man in America instinctively associate Heineken with black issues?
I can understand associating George Washington Carver, Crispus Attucks, Martin Luther King, Jr., Scott Joplin or even Snoop Dogg with Black History Month. All those men achieved prominence in American life through the decades. But Heineken? Where was Heineken during the Freedom Marches? Where was Heineken during the Civil War and Reconstruction? And where the hell was Heineken during the L.A. race riots?
Heineken is not African-American. It is not even a person. It is a beer. What role could it possibly have played in a Nation's development?
To suggest that blacks should celebrate their history in the United States by breaking open a Heineken is just asinine. After all, it was a Dutch merchant who brought the first African slaves to Virginia in 1619. That's not to say that Heineken reflects modern Dutch views about slavery. But the fact remains that the Dutch played a very dark role in the history of American slavery. In that light, it is especially perverse to suggest blacks should celebrate their history by drinking Dutch beer.
Heineken's ad is not just historically incongruous. It also shows just how little taste--or sense--most advertisers bring to their work. In this case, the advertisers did not ponder the embarrassingly weak connection between African-American history and Heineken beer. No, they merely identified a potential market (i.e., African-Americans), then matched their product to an important month in the "African-American calendar." Perhaps Heineken intended to forge a mental link between "African-American pride" and Heineken. Perhaps they wished to dupe African-Americans into believing that Heineken played a substantial role in their history. Maybe Dr. Dre likes Heineken. Maybe Duke Ellington drank it after his shows in the 1940s. Who knows?
Heineken simply concluded that African-Americans represent a "market:" Namely, a discrete body of potential buyers and sellers at a particular time and place. Any advertising that incites a market to spend money on the advertiser's product is worth the price. It does not matter if the message is crass, off-color, inappropriate, incorrect, counterfactual, counterintuitive, silly, ridiculous or just wrong. Those concerns pale next to the advertiser's mandate to generate profits.
In the end, advertising is not about consistency. It is not about respect, either. Rather, it is about implanting mental connections so that people spend money. In advertising, facts need not be accurate. Indeed, facts are not even necessary at all.
And taste? That's the least concern. If taste mattered, what self-respecting student of American history would dare to assert that Heineken beer has anything to do with the plight of African-Americans in this country? The thought is almost too embarrassing to entertain.
But that didn't stop Heineken from entertaining it. There is no shame--or dignity--in commerce.
That's another reason I'm not good at it. Damned ethics!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
NEIGHBORS ARE RARELY GOOD, AND EVEN MORE RARELY THERE WHEN YOU NEED THEM
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
I reserve especially harsh criticism for insurance companies. In the past, I have mocked them in satires and rebuked them in essays. I know what insurance companies are all about: Demand money from you, then stubbornly refuse to pay when disaster strikes. Neither cockney-speaking GEICO® geckos nor ditzy discount-dishing Progressive® saleswomen nor confident black men telling me "Allstate's® stand" will ever persuade me that insurance companies are anything other than what I already know: Insatiable, vicious, unsympathetic private profit machines that capitalize on human qualms about the future.
Insurance companies advertise all the time. I use insurance advertising as a thematic backdrop for my criticism. I analyze insurance advertising to show inconsistencies between messages and practices. For example, I have analyzed GEICO®'s vacuous advertising several times to show that commercial actors rarely provide the most essential information to consumers, like information about prices, risks and even services. Rather, they merely create "visual candy" that forges a mental link between the product and the company. This implants a sensory impression in the viewer, which then yields an increased likelihood that he will remember the image when it comes time to buy insurance. This has nothing to do with educating the consumer about advantages and disadvantages between competing products. It is merely a cynical ploy to trigger a mental reflex to buy something in particular circumstances.
But this is what advertising is all about. It is not about education or even information. It is about sensory perception. For commercial actors, the end is always profit. To make a profit in the free market, you need customers. To get customers, you need to convince people to part with their money. To make customers part with their money, you need to make sure they know you have something they need or want. Advertising does that: It merely advises potential customers that a company has something they need or want. It shows it to them in a memorable way. It plays to their senses. Once it makes an impression, it increases the chance that they will spend their money in the right place. And that fulfills the profit goal.
Still, my purpose today is not to analyze sensory mechanics in American advertising. Rather, I am writing today to take a hard look at a particular advertising message on its own terms. In the end, I will reveal its absurdity.
Insurance companies use slogans to reinforce their visual advertising. In addition to leaving a visual impression with consumers, they also leave an audible one. For example, GEICO® not only hammers a visual connection between geckos and car insurance. It also pairs the image with the ever-repeated phrase: "Fifteen minutes could save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance." Allstate® uses the phrase: "You're in good hands." And State Farm® matches its imagery with: "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there." Sometimes State Farm even sings the slogan to make sure you remember it. Hey, they need to make sure you reflexively think State Farm® when you need some insurance. And people remember tunes a lot better than just spoken words.
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there." What a curious slogan. It reflects an incredibly naïve view of human nature. And that's ironic, because State Farm obviously does not hold that view. I know for a fact it doesn't. I have litigated cases involving State Farm, and I can tell you firsthand that they do not treat claimants--or their opponents--as "good neighbors." In fact, they treat them as mortal enemies whom they would rather see die than pay a red cent.
What is a "good neighbor," anyway? Do people really like their neighbors? Do neighbors actively help each other in this society? It sure doesn't seem so to me. In that light, I find it bizarre that State Farm adopted a slogan that equates its insurance service with the service you can expect from a "good neighbor." In my experience, I have generally found that my neighbors could not give a damn about whether I lived, died or prospered. Some have said hello. Some have not. Actually, most did not. Most just went to work, came home, locked their doors, attended to their own shit and went to bed without even looking at me in the hallway.
In fact, most of my relationships with neighbors over the years have been negative. If they knock on my door, it's usually to complain about something I'm doing. They never stop over to check on me or to ask how my life is going. They never volunteer to help me with anything. To the contrary, they just grumble about me and spread gossip if they suspect me doing something "inappropriate."
And they certainly don't make house calls if I'm suffering a crisis. If I have a problem, they'll never know about it. Even if they did, I seriously doubt they would rush in to help me.
And why should they? American law says that we are not our brothers' keepers. If you pass a person dying on the street, you have absolutely no legal obligation to render assistance, even if you're a doctor. That reflects our society's views about "neighbors" much more than any corny State Farm slogan. That is why I find it flat-out laughable for State Farm to equate its insurance service with the "help" you can expect from a "neighbor" in the United States. You might as well say that you won't provide any help at all, because that's how much help you'll receive from your neighbor. In truth, your neighbor is much more likely to complain about you or even report you to the authorities than help you in a pinch.
This is the world we inhabit.
If this is the level of support we can expect from neighbors, what can we expect from State Farm? State Farm says that it will be "there" for you "like a good neighbor." Well, no neighbor has never been "there" to help me with anything, let alone a "good" one. By that standard, I guess that means that State Farm will leave you hanging just the way your neighbors do.
But State Farm has a greater legal obligation to help than some undifferentiated neighbor. After all, if you pay money for a State Farm insurance policy, you enter into a contractual relationship. Contracts mean that two people promise to do things for each other on pain of legal penalty. Contracts create legal duties to act or refrain from acting. Neighbors have no such duties. In that sense, if you buy insurance from State Farm, you are buying something more than a neighbor's obligation. You are enlisting services for a fee. You are engaging in commerce. You are creating a legal relationship. If State Farm acts like a "neighbor" after you hire it as a "servant," it would violate its legal duties to you. Hey, you signed a contract so that State Farm would give you more than a neighbor would give. But that's still not that much, because neighbors have no obligation to give you anything at all.
Of course, State Farm does not want you to think this way. It wants you to think that neighbors help each other when they are in need. In fact, it wants you to accept the fantasy that your neighbors will actually sacrifice themselves to help you for no reward. That is an extremely Christian delusion; and State Farm fully exploits it. After all, Christian doctrine advises us to "love our neighbor as ourselves" and to help those in need without expectation of reward. State Farm taps into that notion to cast itself as a "magnanimous patron," not a profit-hungry private corporation. And State Farm knows that many consumers equate the term "neighbor" with selfless Christianity.
This is cynical exploitation at its worst. While Christ might have helped his undifferentiated neighbor without hope of reward, most neighbors are not Christ-like. In fact, experience tells us the opposite.
State Farm is no exception. During Hurricane Katrina, State Farm acted exactly like the neighbors I know: It refused to help out at all when people really needed help. State Farm wiggled out from paying "hurricane damages" because it said its policies did not cover flooding. In my own experience practicing law, I recall a case in which State Farm refused to pay its own customer's $60,000 medical bill because it disputed the doctor's belief that the injury was "permanent." So it left its "neighbor" holding the bag with a $60,000 bill and a deformed arm--even though the "neighbor" dutifully paid his premium every month. How's that for service?
But that's how neighbors treat each other. So I guess State Farm was just doing as it advertised: It was just acting like a neighbor.
I find it utterly shameless for State Farm to exploit Christian overtones in the word "neighbor" to lull customers into thinking it actually cares about their welfare. No private corporation cares about anything beyond its quarterly profits. That is the law. Corporations owe no duties to anyone except their own shareholders; and shareholders could care less about magnanimity toward non-shareholders. They want money; and they don't really care if they're "nice" about getting it.
Commerce and Christianity just don't mix. State Farm knows that. It simply proceeds on the assumption that consumers are too stupid to understand the same thing.
Then again, most advertising functions on that premise. If people were too smart, it would really hurt business.
I reserve especially harsh criticism for insurance companies. In the past, I have mocked them in satires and rebuked them in essays. I know what insurance companies are all about: Demand money from you, then stubbornly refuse to pay when disaster strikes. Neither cockney-speaking GEICO® geckos nor ditzy discount-dishing Progressive® saleswomen nor confident black men telling me "Allstate's® stand" will ever persuade me that insurance companies are anything other than what I already know: Insatiable, vicious, unsympathetic private profit machines that capitalize on human qualms about the future.
Insurance companies advertise all the time. I use insurance advertising as a thematic backdrop for my criticism. I analyze insurance advertising to show inconsistencies between messages and practices. For example, I have analyzed GEICO®'s vacuous advertising several times to show that commercial actors rarely provide the most essential information to consumers, like information about prices, risks and even services. Rather, they merely create "visual candy" that forges a mental link between the product and the company. This implants a sensory impression in the viewer, which then yields an increased likelihood that he will remember the image when it comes time to buy insurance. This has nothing to do with educating the consumer about advantages and disadvantages between competing products. It is merely a cynical ploy to trigger a mental reflex to buy something in particular circumstances.
But this is what advertising is all about. It is not about education or even information. It is about sensory perception. For commercial actors, the end is always profit. To make a profit in the free market, you need customers. To get customers, you need to convince people to part with their money. To make customers part with their money, you need to make sure they know you have something they need or want. Advertising does that: It merely advises potential customers that a company has something they need or want. It shows it to them in a memorable way. It plays to their senses. Once it makes an impression, it increases the chance that they will spend their money in the right place. And that fulfills the profit goal.
Still, my purpose today is not to analyze sensory mechanics in American advertising. Rather, I am writing today to take a hard look at a particular advertising message on its own terms. In the end, I will reveal its absurdity.
Insurance companies use slogans to reinforce their visual advertising. In addition to leaving a visual impression with consumers, they also leave an audible one. For example, GEICO® not only hammers a visual connection between geckos and car insurance. It also pairs the image with the ever-repeated phrase: "Fifteen minutes could save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance." Allstate® uses the phrase: "You're in good hands." And State Farm® matches its imagery with: "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there." Sometimes State Farm even sings the slogan to make sure you remember it. Hey, they need to make sure you reflexively think State Farm® when you need some insurance. And people remember tunes a lot better than just spoken words.
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there." What a curious slogan. It reflects an incredibly naïve view of human nature. And that's ironic, because State Farm obviously does not hold that view. I know for a fact it doesn't. I have litigated cases involving State Farm, and I can tell you firsthand that they do not treat claimants--or their opponents--as "good neighbors." In fact, they treat them as mortal enemies whom they would rather see die than pay a red cent.
What is a "good neighbor," anyway? Do people really like their neighbors? Do neighbors actively help each other in this society? It sure doesn't seem so to me. In that light, I find it bizarre that State Farm adopted a slogan that equates its insurance service with the service you can expect from a "good neighbor." In my experience, I have generally found that my neighbors could not give a damn about whether I lived, died or prospered. Some have said hello. Some have not. Actually, most did not. Most just went to work, came home, locked their doors, attended to their own shit and went to bed without even looking at me in the hallway.
In fact, most of my relationships with neighbors over the years have been negative. If they knock on my door, it's usually to complain about something I'm doing. They never stop over to check on me or to ask how my life is going. They never volunteer to help me with anything. To the contrary, they just grumble about me and spread gossip if they suspect me doing something "inappropriate."
And they certainly don't make house calls if I'm suffering a crisis. If I have a problem, they'll never know about it. Even if they did, I seriously doubt they would rush in to help me.
And why should they? American law says that we are not our brothers' keepers. If you pass a person dying on the street, you have absolutely no legal obligation to render assistance, even if you're a doctor. That reflects our society's views about "neighbors" much more than any corny State Farm slogan. That is why I find it flat-out laughable for State Farm to equate its insurance service with the "help" you can expect from a "neighbor" in the United States. You might as well say that you won't provide any help at all, because that's how much help you'll receive from your neighbor. In truth, your neighbor is much more likely to complain about you or even report you to the authorities than help you in a pinch.
This is the world we inhabit.
If this is the level of support we can expect from neighbors, what can we expect from State Farm? State Farm says that it will be "there" for you "like a good neighbor." Well, no neighbor has never been "there" to help me with anything, let alone a "good" one. By that standard, I guess that means that State Farm will leave you hanging just the way your neighbors do.
But State Farm has a greater legal obligation to help than some undifferentiated neighbor. After all, if you pay money for a State Farm insurance policy, you enter into a contractual relationship. Contracts mean that two people promise to do things for each other on pain of legal penalty. Contracts create legal duties to act or refrain from acting. Neighbors have no such duties. In that sense, if you buy insurance from State Farm, you are buying something more than a neighbor's obligation. You are enlisting services for a fee. You are engaging in commerce. You are creating a legal relationship. If State Farm acts like a "neighbor" after you hire it as a "servant," it would violate its legal duties to you. Hey, you signed a contract so that State Farm would give you more than a neighbor would give. But that's still not that much, because neighbors have no obligation to give you anything at all.
Of course, State Farm does not want you to think this way. It wants you to think that neighbors help each other when they are in need. In fact, it wants you to accept the fantasy that your neighbors will actually sacrifice themselves to help you for no reward. That is an extremely Christian delusion; and State Farm fully exploits it. After all, Christian doctrine advises us to "love our neighbor as ourselves" and to help those in need without expectation of reward. State Farm taps into that notion to cast itself as a "magnanimous patron," not a profit-hungry private corporation. And State Farm knows that many consumers equate the term "neighbor" with selfless Christianity.
This is cynical exploitation at its worst. While Christ might have helped his undifferentiated neighbor without hope of reward, most neighbors are not Christ-like. In fact, experience tells us the opposite.
State Farm is no exception. During Hurricane Katrina, State Farm acted exactly like the neighbors I know: It refused to help out at all when people really needed help. State Farm wiggled out from paying "hurricane damages" because it said its policies did not cover flooding. In my own experience practicing law, I recall a case in which State Farm refused to pay its own customer's $60,000 medical bill because it disputed the doctor's belief that the injury was "permanent." So it left its "neighbor" holding the bag with a $60,000 bill and a deformed arm--even though the "neighbor" dutifully paid his premium every month. How's that for service?
But that's how neighbors treat each other. So I guess State Farm was just doing as it advertised: It was just acting like a neighbor.
I find it utterly shameless for State Farm to exploit Christian overtones in the word "neighbor" to lull customers into thinking it actually cares about their welfare. No private corporation cares about anything beyond its quarterly profits. That is the law. Corporations owe no duties to anyone except their own shareholders; and shareholders could care less about magnanimity toward non-shareholders. They want money; and they don't really care if they're "nice" about getting it.
Commerce and Christianity just don't mix. State Farm knows that. It simply proceeds on the assumption that consumers are too stupid to understand the same thing.
Then again, most advertising functions on that premise. If people were too smart, it would really hurt business.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
DO YOU LIKE REWARDS? WHAT A STUPID QUESTION
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
Everyone likes rewards. Everyone likes receiving things they like. We are programmed to like rewards. It is in our nature to seek them. It is as natural as hunger or thirst. We rarely do anything unless there is some reward for our efforts. Rewards induce human behavior. As such, they drive all economic activity. After all, who would work if he knew he would receive no pay? Who would work harder if he knew he would receive no greater prize for the extra effort?
All this may seem obvious. But I mention it because Citibank® actually poses the question in its latest advertising campaign. On billboards and on computer screens, Citibank® queries: "Do you like rewards? If you do, you should open an account with us." It then lists various perks that new accountholders receive, like a $50 (taxable) bounty, a potential $100 (taxable) payment for new customer referrals and retail "points" that accumulate whenever they use Citibank® debit cards. So if you charge enough Starbucks® coffee on your card, you'll get a $10 "gift" one day.
Those are the "rewards" they are talking about. And who doesn't like rewards?
People love rewards because people are basically selfish. Rewards reflect personal gain; when a person wins a reward, he benefits. He might receive money or gratification. He might receive an emotional payout. No matter what form a reward takes, it appeals to men's base instinct to profit. For that reason, rewards induce behavior. One man offers a reward in order to persuade another man to act as he wishes. He knows that men like rewards, so he knows men will adapt their behavior to get it. This is no different from any other mammal. Dangle a leftover steak in a dog's face and you can it to do every trick in the book.
Yet this basic mammalian urge for rewards forms the basis for all purposeful economic activity in our "civilized" world. The only difference between men and dogs is that you need to dangle paychecks in their faces, not leftover steak. Then they'll do whatever tricks you want.
Put another way, rewards make us human. They might not bring out the best in us, but they are still central to human existence. People live for rewards. Why else would they do anything? Nature intended it that way. After all, why would human beings--or any animals--propagate if there were not some biological reward for propagating? People like sex because it offers an intense physical reward. Without the reward, no one would want to do it. Nature understands how animals think. And man is just another animal: He needs a selfish incentive to do anything. He needs a reward.
When it comes to rewards, man is different from other animals in a crucial respect: He can manipulate rewards to exploit his fellows. Through language and superior resources, a shrewd man can persuade a weaker man to do just about anything for the right reward. And the shrewd man can dictate the conditions under which the weak man obtains a reward. In sum, those conditions reduce the weak man to the shrewd man's control. Rewards, then, become an instrument of tyranny as well as enterprise.
In modern language, exchange influences rewards. Rewards provide a basis for bargaining. In English, for instance, the dictionary says that a "reward" is "something given in return for good, or, sometimes, evil, or for service, or for something lost." Webster's New World College Dictionary (4th Ed.). Rewards, then, are given in return for something else. They must be "earned." As such, superior men can easily manipulate the terms under which they give rewards. They know everyone wants a reward. So they exploit that natural desire to dominate anyone who seeks one.
English is not the only language that implies bargaining in "rewards." German, too, suggests that rewards must be "earned." The closest translation for "reward" is "belohnen," which means: "to compensate a person for his help or effort." Wahrig Deutsches Wörterbuch S. 249 (Ausgabe 2008) (my translation). "Belohnen," in turn, builds upon a simpler German word: "der Lohn." "Der Lohn" means "wage," or, more specifically: "payment, consideration or compensation for work performed." Id. at S. 955 (my translation).
As in English, German reveals that "rewards" don't fall from trees. They provide incentives for work and service to others. That means the person who gives rewards has the power to dictate the terms under which others will receive them. Rewards give power. After all, the master has power over the dog because he has the leftover steak; he can demand any behavior before he gives it to the dog. In the same way, the employer has power over the employee because he has the paycheck; he can demand any behavior before he gives it to employee. In both cases, men and dogs want rewards. And they do what they are told to get them.
Just like dogs, all men want rewards. They want to increase their wealth. They want to feel good about themselves. They want to experience positive emotions. They are prepared to do tricks to get them. Rewards provide a reason to live. They induce behavior. Sometimes they induce good behavior. But certainly not always. Every criminal seeks some reward. Personal gratification motivates genius as much as it motivates destructive cruelty. In that sense, rewards cut both ways. Offer a man $10,000 and he might write a beautiful essay in a writing contest. Offer another man $10,000 and he will kill anyone you choose. The principle is the same: Rewards induce behavior.
But it is just dumb to ask: "Do you like rewards?" That is the same as asking: "Do you like eating a meal when you're hungry?" Everyone does. It is perfectly natural. It might not be very grandiose to spend your whole life seeking rewards. But it's not very grandiose to spend your whole life eating meals, either. Yet both are quintessentially human activities.
Everyone likes rewards. Everyone likes receiving things they like. We are programmed to like rewards. It is in our nature to seek them. It is as natural as hunger or thirst. We rarely do anything unless there is some reward for our efforts. Rewards induce human behavior. As such, they drive all economic activity. After all, who would work if he knew he would receive no pay? Who would work harder if he knew he would receive no greater prize for the extra effort?
All this may seem obvious. But I mention it because Citibank® actually poses the question in its latest advertising campaign. On billboards and on computer screens, Citibank® queries: "Do you like rewards? If you do, you should open an account with us." It then lists various perks that new accountholders receive, like a $50 (taxable) bounty, a potential $100 (taxable) payment for new customer referrals and retail "points" that accumulate whenever they use Citibank® debit cards. So if you charge enough Starbucks® coffee on your card, you'll get a $10 "gift" one day.
Those are the "rewards" they are talking about. And who doesn't like rewards?
People love rewards because people are basically selfish. Rewards reflect personal gain; when a person wins a reward, he benefits. He might receive money or gratification. He might receive an emotional payout. No matter what form a reward takes, it appeals to men's base instinct to profit. For that reason, rewards induce behavior. One man offers a reward in order to persuade another man to act as he wishes. He knows that men like rewards, so he knows men will adapt their behavior to get it. This is no different from any other mammal. Dangle a leftover steak in a dog's face and you can it to do every trick in the book.
Yet this basic mammalian urge for rewards forms the basis for all purposeful economic activity in our "civilized" world. The only difference between men and dogs is that you need to dangle paychecks in their faces, not leftover steak. Then they'll do whatever tricks you want.
Put another way, rewards make us human. They might not bring out the best in us, but they are still central to human existence. People live for rewards. Why else would they do anything? Nature intended it that way. After all, why would human beings--or any animals--propagate if there were not some biological reward for propagating? People like sex because it offers an intense physical reward. Without the reward, no one would want to do it. Nature understands how animals think. And man is just another animal: He needs a selfish incentive to do anything. He needs a reward.
When it comes to rewards, man is different from other animals in a crucial respect: He can manipulate rewards to exploit his fellows. Through language and superior resources, a shrewd man can persuade a weaker man to do just about anything for the right reward. And the shrewd man can dictate the conditions under which the weak man obtains a reward. In sum, those conditions reduce the weak man to the shrewd man's control. Rewards, then, become an instrument of tyranny as well as enterprise.
In modern language, exchange influences rewards. Rewards provide a basis for bargaining. In English, for instance, the dictionary says that a "reward" is "something given in return for good, or, sometimes, evil, or for service, or for something lost." Webster's New World College Dictionary (4th Ed.). Rewards, then, are given in return for something else. They must be "earned." As such, superior men can easily manipulate the terms under which they give rewards. They know everyone wants a reward. So they exploit that natural desire to dominate anyone who seeks one.
English is not the only language that implies bargaining in "rewards." German, too, suggests that rewards must be "earned." The closest translation for "reward" is "belohnen," which means: "to compensate a person for his help or effort." Wahrig Deutsches Wörterbuch S. 249 (Ausgabe 2008) (my translation). "Belohnen," in turn, builds upon a simpler German word: "der Lohn." "Der Lohn" means "wage," or, more specifically: "payment, consideration or compensation for work performed." Id. at S. 955 (my translation).
As in English, German reveals that "rewards" don't fall from trees. They provide incentives for work and service to others. That means the person who gives rewards has the power to dictate the terms under which others will receive them. Rewards give power. After all, the master has power over the dog because he has the leftover steak; he can demand any behavior before he gives it to the dog. In the same way, the employer has power over the employee because he has the paycheck; he can demand any behavior before he gives it to employee. In both cases, men and dogs want rewards. And they do what they are told to get them.
Just like dogs, all men want rewards. They want to increase their wealth. They want to feel good about themselves. They want to experience positive emotions. They are prepared to do tricks to get them. Rewards provide a reason to live. They induce behavior. Sometimes they induce good behavior. But certainly not always. Every criminal seeks some reward. Personal gratification motivates genius as much as it motivates destructive cruelty. In that sense, rewards cut both ways. Offer a man $10,000 and he might write a beautiful essay in a writing contest. Offer another man $10,000 and he will kill anyone you choose. The principle is the same: Rewards induce behavior.
But it is just dumb to ask: "Do you like rewards?" That is the same as asking: "Do you like eating a meal when you're hungry?" Everyone does. It is perfectly natural. It might not be very grandiose to spend your whole life seeking rewards. But it's not very grandiose to spend your whole life eating meals, either. Yet both are quintessentially human activities.
Monday, January 25, 2010
WELCOME TO THE PROBLEM SHOP
A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS
COME ON DOWN !!!!
COME ON DOWN !!!!
By : Mr. G. William Elender, Chairman and Chief Executive Officer, The Problem Shop Cooperative Ltd. (a Delaware Corporation).
Isn't it about time that you stopped living a stress-free life? Haven't you had enough tranquility and happiness? Are you bored with contentment? Do your friends make you feel like an outcast because you don't have any problems? Do people ridicule you for having it too easy?
It's a New Year. It's your time to change. Here at the Problem Shop, you can complicate your life as much as you want for the lowest prices in town. No matter how much difficulty you want, we sell it. We offer convenient financing and easy-to-find retail locations. If you want a problem, look no further: Come to the Problem Shop TODAY!
Don't be afraid to get some problems. Many people think that it is smart to avoid problems. They are wrong. Problems make us stronger. They make us react more quickly to unfamiliar situations. And that sharpness translates into success in family, careers and money. Ask any successful man and he'll tell you the same thing: You need to face adversity before you make it to the top. Life is not a bowl of cherries. You need to have problems to really distinguish yourself.
We understand that it is difficult to know where to begin. Purchasing your first problem is a major life decision. You can't just rush into a problem, nor can you buy a problem that is too big. You need a problem to suit your needs and your personality. True, some people are born with problems. Some people have problems the moment they leave the womb, like deformed children. But not all of us can be so lucky. For those who need problems later in life, you can exercise your own judgment before deciding what problem you want. It's an individual choice. And we're here to help.
Before buying a problem, you must ask yourself what you hope to gain from it. Do you want to learn financial discipline? Do you want to make yourself into an honorable person? Do you want to understand others? Do you want to evolve as a person? Do you want to learn how to be kind or cruel? Every problem will shape you in ways you never thought possible. When choosing a problem, it's all in your hands. Our trained staff is ready to help you make the best choice for your needs--and your budget.
First-time problem buyers should start slow. Here at the Problem Shop, we want our customers to get only the problems they want--and only the problems they can handle. Although it would benefit us to sell you the biggest, most expensive problem on the shelf, we know it would not benefit you. In that light, we care about you. We do not want to sell heroin addiction, mental illness or terminal disease to a bright-faced young college student. Nor do we want to sell paraplegia to a 15-year-old. These are expensive problems. They are hard to handle. We would prefer to sell them to older folks who already have some experience dealing with problems.
So come on in for a free consultation. If you've never had a problem before, talk to us. We can offer you heartbreak following a kiddie crush for only $19.95. Or perhaps debt collection letters for a small bill, again for only $19.95. Parental abuse is a bit more expensive at $24.95, but you might learn more from a parent's fists than a debt collector's incessant phone calls. But that's why we are here: We are here to provide information to help you make the most intelligent decision you can about the problems you want in your life.
Once you've experimented with minor emotional and financial problems, you can graduate to more serious ones. Our "second-tier" problems will really build your character. Your friends will never ridicule you again if you purchase a home foreclosure for $49.95 or an eviction for $54.95. They might even have pity on you. If you are really feeling adventurous, you might even buy a moderately-severe health problem, such as Crohn's Disease, for just $59.99. Or you could try a serious emotional problem, such as divorce, starting at just $74.99. Acrimonious divorces--complete with court battles, custody fights, mutual recriminations, physical abuse and death threats--are more expensive; we recommend purchasing a simple divorce before experimenting with an acrimonious one.
We run the best problem retail outlet in town. We are so certain that our problems are better than our competitors' that we will match anyone's price. If you buy a stalker for $12.99 at any of our competitors' stores, we will match that price. PLUS we'll throw in an additional problem. With us, you will not just get a stalker for your money. You will get heartache following a child's death--a $9.99 value--ABSOLUTELY FREE. That's right, you heard it. ABSOLUTELY FREE. Here at the problem shop, we will not be undersold. We take problems seriously. To show you how much we care, we even GIVE AWAY free problems. We are committed to our customers.
At the Problem Shop, we not only offer the lowest prices. We also sell only top-quality problems. Sure, our competitors might sell bargain paternity suits for $49.99. But our paternity suits are much better. With us, you not only get the agony of court process, wage garnishment, arguments with your former lover and wrangling with police officers over money. You also get the added difficulty of having to prove that you are not the child's father--and failing in that quest. Our competitors offer simpler problems. Their paternity suit is too easy. With us, you get the basic problem PLUS emotional, financial and health complications. Who else can offer that? When you're buying a problem, you deserve all the little problems that come along with it. Don't settle for less.
So what are you waiting for? Haven't you had enough ease in your life? Step up to the plate and buy some problems. Be a man. Stop living for enjoyment and comfort. Show that you can handle adversity, too. Grow as a person, will you? Get off that couch and buy a debilitating accident for just $149.99. Show that you can get over the emotional turmoil that flows from losing a limb for just $159.99. Lose a parent for a special introductory price of only $99.99. Suffer unjust persecution and racial hatred for $199.99. Get some real problems and grow as a person.
No one will remember the guy who sits around in comfort. They will remember the guy who faced unimaginable difficulty and survived. If you act NOW we will even sell you a DOUBLE PROBLEM for one low price, such as our special Marital Betrayal/Homicide package or Sexual Dysfunction/Suicidal Depression combo.
Stop waiting. Buy some problems TODAY. Don't let our pricing scare you away. We offer competitive financing to all those who apply. There are no credit checks. There are no hidden fees. There are no contracts. There is no obligation. There is no "catch."
At the Problem Shop, we have a simple philosophy: Everyone who wants a problem should get one, regardless of their ability to pay. If you act NOW we will sweeten the deal even more. Starting TODAY, we offer zero-percent interest financing through 2014. That means you can buy sudden spousal disability with a lifetime homecare commitment TODAY for NO MONEY DOWN. No, you didn't imagine it. We meant what we said: NO MONEY DOWN. You won't owe us a dime for your problem until 2014. This is not a joke. Act TODAY and we'll even throw in a collector's edition coffee mug featuring the words "YOU THINK YOU GOT PROBLEMS?" ABSOLUTELY FREE (that's an $8.99 value).
So do yourself a favor. Start thinking about yourself for once. Don't be afraid. Come on down to the Problem Shop and pick out the problem that is right for you. Our friendly, professional sales team is ready to assist you. You can do so much with your life; we have a problem to match every lifestyle. It is never too early to complicate your existence. It is never too early to start worrying and suffering. Here at the Problem Shop, we can guide you in the right direction. We offer every imaginable life problem. If you want to be un-friended by a love interest on a dating website, we've got you covered. If you want to find out you have cancer, we've got you covered. You name the problem; we deliver.
At the Problem Shop, no problem is too little. We can sell it to you at an affordable price, every time. We even offer FREE SHIPPING!
Stop making excuses. Stop being happy. It's time for some problems. It's time for some challenges. You need adversity in your life. You want to grow as a person, don't you? And you want that free coffee mug, don't you?
Friday, January 22, 2010
THE POST OFFICE : A WORLD FREE FROM BUSINESS PRESSURE
A REFLECTION
Several weeks ago, I walked down to the post office on 18th Street. I had to send a letter by "Certified Mail," and it's easier to do that at the post office. So off I went to Old Chelsea Station.
Old Chelsea Station is old. Very old. The building probably dates from the 1920s. It has faux stone pillars and pale green deco linoleum floors. Notices about wanted criminals and special postal offers line the peeling walls. Some notices are over ten years old. The employees work behind ornate, dull bronze bars and a marble counter top. It even smells old in Old Chelsea Station. It is a place that time forgot. And it's oddly comforting.
I filled out my Certified Mail form on a marble table that probably has been in the same place since FDR ruled the White House. I stuck the form on my letter and put it in the "Certified Mail" slot. The slots looked original, too. Faded gold letters adorned them: "Regular Mail," "Express Mail," etc. I looked up and saw a faded gold Federal emblem with an eagle on it. It said "The United States Postal Service" under it.
I left Old Chelsea Station. I thought to myself: "So this is what the world would be like without private enterprise."
I felt at ease at Old Chelsea Station because I could feel continuity with the past. All too often in America, things change overnight. Businesses open and close. Buildings change with the times. People move in and out. Commerce is tough. People either hack it fast or they lose. They need to stay current to compete. If they don't, they go out of business. In the process, they lose touch with the past and live perpetually in the present.
Not so at the post office. Under the Constitution, the Federal government has a "postal monopoly." U.S. Const. Art. I sec. 8, cl. 7. The government manages post offices. They are public institutions. They do not exist for private profit, nor must they worry about the rent. Rather, they get their money from Washington. They don't have to worry about bad months or changing times. They can just keep doing what they have always done.
That is why Old Chelsea Station looks and smells the way it does. It does not need to change. The buidling opened in the 1920s to handle mail services in the neighborhood. It does exactly the same thing today. It does not have competitors. It does not fight a frantic battle every month to scrounge enough money to pay the bills. As such, it can move leisurely. It does not need to renovate every few years. It does not need expensive decorations or gaudy advertisements. It does not need to install creature comforts for customers. It can just stay the way it has always been.
Private enterprise pushes businesses into a life-or-death struggle. Unlike the post office, private businesses need to adapt to survive. They need to constantly change their look. They need to advertise and promote. They need to remain attractive to consumers. In short, they need to stay modern. If a private business operated like the post office, it would have failed decades ago. In private commerce, people need to stay on their toes. They can't worry about continuity. They need to change fast or die.
Perhaps progress depends on this life-or-death struggle. Perhaps society benefits when private economic actors ruthlessly compete with each other to deliver better products and please more people. But that struggle transforms life into one vast, bitter, breathless race. And that race lives in the present moment. The past vanishes. The future does not exist. The race is all. In private commerce, it is all about today. No wonder Americans have such short memories: They can't think about yesterday or they lose the economic battle today.
It is so easy to forget what came before us. I marvel at history. People find it strange that I obsess about things that used to exist in New York decades ago, like the Third Avenue El and S. Klein's Department Store on Union Square. They wonder why I care. I care because the past means something. We can understand the world better when we know what existed before we showed up. We can put things in historical context. Yet it is so easy to lose sight of context because commerce sweeps the past away without a trace. Commerce swept away S. Klein's and the Third Avenue El long ago.
But it did not sweep away Old Chelsea Station. The post office is immune from private commercial pressures. It gives us an insight into bygone times. And it shows us what life might be like without financial worry. True, it might be slow and inefficient. But sometimes it's refreshing to slow down and just remember once in a while. Sometimes it's refreshing to put the present on hold and just look around.
You can do that at Old Chelsea Station.
Several weeks ago, I walked down to the post office on 18th Street. I had to send a letter by "Certified Mail," and it's easier to do that at the post office. So off I went to Old Chelsea Station.
Old Chelsea Station is old. Very old. The building probably dates from the 1920s. It has faux stone pillars and pale green deco linoleum floors. Notices about wanted criminals and special postal offers line the peeling walls. Some notices are over ten years old. The employees work behind ornate, dull bronze bars and a marble counter top. It even smells old in Old Chelsea Station. It is a place that time forgot. And it's oddly comforting.
I filled out my Certified Mail form on a marble table that probably has been in the same place since FDR ruled the White House. I stuck the form on my letter and put it in the "Certified Mail" slot. The slots looked original, too. Faded gold letters adorned them: "Regular Mail," "Express Mail," etc. I looked up and saw a faded gold Federal emblem with an eagle on it. It said "The United States Postal Service" under it.
I left Old Chelsea Station. I thought to myself: "So this is what the world would be like without private enterprise."
I felt at ease at Old Chelsea Station because I could feel continuity with the past. All too often in America, things change overnight. Businesses open and close. Buildings change with the times. People move in and out. Commerce is tough. People either hack it fast or they lose. They need to stay current to compete. If they don't, they go out of business. In the process, they lose touch with the past and live perpetually in the present.
Not so at the post office. Under the Constitution, the Federal government has a "postal monopoly." U.S. Const. Art. I sec. 8, cl. 7. The government manages post offices. They are public institutions. They do not exist for private profit, nor must they worry about the rent. Rather, they get their money from Washington. They don't have to worry about bad months or changing times. They can just keep doing what they have always done.
That is why Old Chelsea Station looks and smells the way it does. It does not need to change. The buidling opened in the 1920s to handle mail services in the neighborhood. It does exactly the same thing today. It does not have competitors. It does not fight a frantic battle every month to scrounge enough money to pay the bills. As such, it can move leisurely. It does not need to renovate every few years. It does not need expensive decorations or gaudy advertisements. It does not need to install creature comforts for customers. It can just stay the way it has always been.
Private enterprise pushes businesses into a life-or-death struggle. Unlike the post office, private businesses need to adapt to survive. They need to constantly change their look. They need to advertise and promote. They need to remain attractive to consumers. In short, they need to stay modern. If a private business operated like the post office, it would have failed decades ago. In private commerce, people need to stay on their toes. They can't worry about continuity. They need to change fast or die.
Perhaps progress depends on this life-or-death struggle. Perhaps society benefits when private economic actors ruthlessly compete with each other to deliver better products and please more people. But that struggle transforms life into one vast, bitter, breathless race. And that race lives in the present moment. The past vanishes. The future does not exist. The race is all. In private commerce, it is all about today. No wonder Americans have such short memories: They can't think about yesterday or they lose the economic battle today.
It is so easy to forget what came before us. I marvel at history. People find it strange that I obsess about things that used to exist in New York decades ago, like the Third Avenue El and S. Klein's Department Store on Union Square. They wonder why I care. I care because the past means something. We can understand the world better when we know what existed before we showed up. We can put things in historical context. Yet it is so easy to lose sight of context because commerce sweeps the past away without a trace. Commerce swept away S. Klein's and the Third Avenue El long ago.
But it did not sweep away Old Chelsea Station. The post office is immune from private commercial pressures. It gives us an insight into bygone times. And it shows us what life might be like without financial worry. True, it might be slow and inefficient. But sometimes it's refreshing to slow down and just remember once in a while. Sometimes it's refreshing to put the present on hold and just look around.
You can do that at Old Chelsea Station.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
PEOPLE UNITED FOR A SHIRTLESS ABERCROMOCRACY UNDER LAW
A STATEMENT OF POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY
By : Mr. Archer D. Whipporwhorol IV, Party Spokesman and Abercrombie & Fitch Model; Age 18; pure Anglo-Saxon ancestry dating to 986 AD; Fifth-generation student, The Bluemeadow School, Upper Valeridge, New York (Specialization in Lacrosse and Croquet); Owner of 56 pair of flip-flops, 34 button-down shirts, 76 adjustable-collar polo-style shirts, 18 pair of torn jeans, 27 pair of cargo-style knee-length shorts, 34 assorted bracelets and necklaces, 86 pair of khaki trousers; Member, Fairhollow Beach Club (a private beach association on the Atlantic Coast); Photographs extremely well in black-and-white.
Our country is ready for Abercromocracy under law. We have experimented too long with popular government. Democratic government does not work. Rather, only Abercromocracy can rescue America from its woes: Government by impossibly good-looking, shirtless, post-pubescent Abercrombie & Fitch models like me.
America deserves exceptionally good-looking people in the highest offices. For too long, America has allowed extremely ugly, old and out-of-shape people to run its affairs. This is unfair to the American people. The American people want sex-drenched youthful exuberance in their leaders. They want their rulers to rule by merit: Merit in rippling teenage abs, merit in luscious lips, merit in inaccessible yet alluringly vacant looks, merit in dreamy yet intent eyes, merit in slanted nipples, merit in chest definition, merit in gorgeous smiles, merit in sand-covered tanned skin, merit in sparkling toes, merit in volleyball ability and merit in sun-tossed blondishness.
It's time to end ugliness in government. It's time to let beautiful people run the show.
Let's face it. America loves looking at us. We are the most stunningly beautiful people in the country. Whether male or female, we excite lust in everyone: Gay, straight and everything in between. Our carefree youthfulness transcends class barriers and unites everyone. Everyone wants to be like us. Everyone wants to frolic shirtless with us in the sand and wear our flip-flops. Everyone wants to dance naked with us near a beach bonfire late into the night. And everyone wants to wake up half-naked next to us as the summer dawn breaks over the beach horizon. In short, we turn every American on: Just look at all the clothes they buy from us.
We believe that our ability to excite lust makes us uniquely qualified to handle American government. After all, there is little difference between wise political rule and lust. A great politician arouses passions in the people, just as our impossibly good looks arouse insistent cravings in our followers. Leadership requires passion. We can generate that. And we are sure that most Americans would rather hear about job creation from a beautiful 19-year-old beach god than some stunted 67-year-old with bad hair.
Good-looking people command obedience. People like to look at us. They are more willing to look at us than some overweight career politician who eats donuts and never surfs. When people look at us, they get lost in our fantastically blue eyes. They drift away thinking about our beautiful skin and sun-tossled blond locks. They do anything we say. That is what leadership is all about. After all, we have good ideas. We are the best people. We are Abercromocrats.
Not everyone can be an Abercromocrat. Only current Abercrombie & Fitch models qualify. America does not want wrinkled people making top political decisions. America does not want facial hair and beer guts deciding what happens to our economy. And America does not want old people telling it what to do. Rather, America wants aloof, youthful, seductive and carefree teenagers dictating policy. Americans listen to us. They want to be like us. We are beauty incarnate. And beauty is power.
It is only natural that we should hold political power in this country. Our stunning beauty entitles us to rule everyone who is less good-looking than we are. We do not have pockmarks or pimples. We do not have back hair or bad breath. We do not have canker sores or discolored skin. We are not bald. We are not lame. We are strong, slender, sun-bronzed and mind-numbingly sexy. We dominate the lacrosse field and the volleyball square. We have merit. Not everyone can be an Abercrombie & Fitch model. Not everyone can stare at a camera as intently as we can with our piercing Anglo-Saxon eyes. And not everyone has nipples like us. Put simply, we are perfect. It is only fitting that the perfect rule the imperfect.
Our opponents say that beauty is not the only thing in the world. They say that our impossible beauty does not qualify us to handle the complicated intellectual issues that arise in American government. They say that we are too young to understand how to resolve foreign crises, manage the Federal Reserve system and save the economy from destruction. Worse, our opponents claim that we are arrogant, overprivileged and superficial rich kids who know nothing about real life.
Our opponents can moan all they want. They are ugly and overweight. No matter what they say, they shop at our stores. They secretly admire our pictures and wish they could watch us dance naked on the beach. We are more powerful than they will ever be. And to their criticisms we say this: Beauty makes perfection. We are perfect. Any course we adopt for America will be perfect, too. We are certain that America will rally behind us. When Americans drool over their political leaders, there is nothing we cannot accomplish as a Nation.
In the Abercromocratic State, image is everything. Whenever we appear in public, we must be filmed in grainy black-and-white in a carefree atmosphere. We will give press conferences from the beach. Male Abercromocrats must always remain shirtless. Female Abercromocrats must always wear short shorts and tight-fitting tops. For important policy statements, male Abercromocrats must lie down, rest their heads on their hands and wear only tight underpants. Justices of the Abercromocratic Supreme Court must wear sexy bandanas, tank tops and flip-flops. In our perfect Abercromocracy, we will solve every problem with youthful beauty alone. We need nothing else.
America is tired of listening to ugly old people talk about complicated political issues. America wants change. America wants a youthful face. For that reason, we must embrace Abercromocracy. This is the only natural thing to do. We have merit. We have abs. We are not old and tired. We play beachball all day and party deep into every night. We are unafraid to kayak naked or climb mountains in our underwear. Our pictures hypnotize everyone who beholds them. We deserve to rule because we have already won America's respect. We do not need to fuss around in elections or convince people that we know how to solve problems. Our ability is self-evident: We are shockingly beautiful half-naked men and women whose youthful lustiness oozes from every pore in our bodies. What more do we need to rule the greatest country on earth?
Democracy is overrated. It is a deviant government because it permits unnaturally ugly people to participate in important State policy. It has failed. Government by short, fat, hairy people has led this country to the brink of economic collapse. It is time to restore natural order to government. To do that, we must abandon Democracy and adopt Abercromocracy. When the most beautiful members of the species rule, we please nature. And when we please nature, our State can do no wrong. Just as the strongest and lustiest lions rule the pride, so too must the strongest and lustiest Abercrombie & Fitch models rule the United States. Nature chose us not only to excite lust in everyone who buys flip-flops and prewashed high-collar polo shirts with the emblem "92" on the sleeve. Nature also chose us to rule everyone too ugly to rule themselves. That is why we must adopt Abercromocracy: It is the only natural thing to do.
We can no longer afford to delude ourselves that everyone is equal in the United States. Just look at us. Our staggering beauty proves that we are not equal. We are the best. In that light, it makes sense to let us rule. Just as a coach chooses only the best players to make the team, so too must America allow the best people to rule the rest.
We are the best people. We have the best faces and the best teeth. We have the best skin and the best tongues. Our bodies are immaculate. They inspire envy and awe in all who see them. What more do we need to convince America that we must rule?
Join us in our quest to end the deviant social experiment called "American Democracy." If you are tired of unqualified, fat, ugly, hairy people dictating how you live, you must yield all political power to the Abercromocrats. We know how to rule. Nature chose us for a reason. It is pointless to resist nature. Plus we look oh-so-good in flip-flops.
Do the natural thing. Establish Abercromocracy before this country slips into oblivion.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
LAW OR MORALITY? THE PROBLEM WITH UNDERAGE DRINKING LAWS
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
Several days ago, I saw a curious poster alongside the usual commercial garbage on 22nd Street. Next to a print ad for Lady Gaga's new album and a placard about McDonald's meal deals stood this message: "The Legal Drinking Age is 21. Do Your Part This Christmas. Don't Give Alcohol to Teens." The poster showed a wine glass with a Ghostbusters-style red circle around it; a red diagonal line crossed out the glass. On the bottom appeared the following slogan in stern capital letters: "Serving Alcohol to Teens : It's Unsafe. It's Illegal. It's Irresponsible."
What made this "ad" so curious? Several things. First, it was not a commercial message. Most "ads" are crass commercial messages that aim to excite an urge to buy in the viewer. They communicate selective information intended to entice a person to spend money and enrich the speaker. In short, advertising is about making money. It is morally indifferent. In fact, it is morally destitute. Morality and commerce have little to do with one another. A dirty dollar is still a dollar. And people with more dollars are stronger than those with fewer dollars, dirty or not.
In traditional terms, then, this message against underage drinking was not an "ad" at all. It did not aim to excite an urge to buy in the passing viewer. No, it aimed to evoke a moral impulse; it beseeched people not to buy alcohol for people under 21. It asked people to refrain from commercial activity. If an advertising firm came up with a campaign that asked people to refrain from buying the product, it would go out of business faster than you can say: "Madison Avenue." In that sense, this message to stop underage drinking was not an "ad." It was an anti-ad.
But what good is an "ad" if it does not propose a commercial transaction? Can "ads" also promote morality? This one certainly tried. As long as an organization coughs up cash to buy posters or airtime, they can say basically whatever they want. It is their choice whether to say something that will generate no profit. Advertisers generally only advertise commercial stuff because it has the potential to create profits. And no one does anything in business that does not attempt to make money. Morality does not create profits. You can't buy it and it's not very exciting. Face it: It's easier to sell Dewar's than chastity.
In this light, we can conclude that some nonprofit organization paid for this message. It did not intend to make money with its speech. Rather, it aimed to foster public morality. Of course, the poster never uses the word "morality." In fact, everyone who supports underage drinking laws rarely speaks the word. Rather, they couch the issue in legal terms. The poster, for example, references the law twice: "The legal drinking age is 21;" "It's illegal to give alcohol to teens." It is easy to make a law; you just need a majority vote at the State house. But the underlying message here is moral, not legal. And it plays upon the popular confusion between law and morality.
People always mistake the law for morality. Morality existed among human beings before law. Morality refers to the average man's sense that something is disgusting or intuitively objectionable. It has more to do with popular social values than reason or abstract truth. Men created laws to embody their moral judgments, but law never could--and never will--supplant morality. In fact, the law is supposed to be morally neutral. It is supposed to operate according to pure reason and extrinsic evidence. Morality, by contrast, appeals to deep-seated intuitive prejudice against particular conduct within the dominant value system. When enough people in a society think something is disgusting, they call it "immoral." And that judgment passes down across generations. They don't need to verify it. They just need to feel it.
Still, people have more outward respect for the law than morality. It sounds more official. After all, the law has sovereign power behind it. It can attach bank accounts, imprison bodies and garnish wages. People fear those consequences. Morality, by contrast, is more basic than that. Morality informs almost everything a society does. Law simply represents the society's effort to assure a minimum baseline of behavior consistent with the dominant moral code.
Law enforces morality. The sovereign enforces the law with penalties on the body and property. But unlike morality, there are practical problems associated with enforcing the law. The sovereign cannot punish everyone for every illegal or immoral act that occurs. And there are some immoral acts that are not even illegal. The law must verify acts before it can punish them. That is not always easy.
Why, then, did the underage drinking poster harp on "illegality" in connection with serving alcohol to teens? After all, the overall message was a moral one. On a basic level, Americans have a troubled--and borderline schizophrenic--relationship with alcohol due to their cultural and religious heritage. The same cultural forces that culminated in Prohibition remain at work today in American society. Hostility toward alcohol is a moral judgment; it has to do with social values and disgust, not reason. Americans have always embodied their moral judgments about alcohol in law. The law gives official expression to their traditional moral queasiness on the subject. But to be abundantly clear, hostility toward alcohol--especially when coupled with children--is a uniquely American moral judgment.
Consider the interplay between law and morality in the poster. Even without understanding America's long history with regard to morally-nuanced alcohol regulations, the poster's own language reveals the connection. It says: " Serving Alcohol to Teens : It's Unsafe. It's Illegal. It's Irresponsible." It draws a linguistic connection between "illegality" and "irresponsibility." Strictly speaking, it is not "illegal" to be irresponsible. In American cultural parlance, however, "responsibility" is a sweeping moral judgment. It refers to "proper living" according to dominant social morals. That means acting and thinking in a certain way, especially when it comes to recognizing obligations and power relationships.
But "legality" is a technical inquiry. Unlike morality, the law must be specific in its prohibitions. Any aggrieved mother can complain that her child is "irresponsible" because he is not "living correctly." Yet that does not mean the child is acting "illegally." Legal violations must match specific language. They must be investigated and proved according to objective procedures. Yes, it might be irresponsible to violate the law. But not all "irresponsibility" is illegal. If it were, virtually everyone would be a criminal.
It is significant that the poster equated legality with responsibility. It forges a direct thematic connection between law and morality. In most cases, the average viewer has no idea that the two concepts are distinct. He simply assumes that all laws are moral, and that moral people are responsible. That assumption is false. Yet the law benefits from the false assumption because morality acts as a sort of "self-executing enforcement mechanism." After all, people stop themselves from acting in a particular fashion when they think it is "immoral." No law constrains them. Rather, innate cultural conditioning influences their decisions. If the law can harness that innate cultural conditioning, it can successfully thwart certain behavior before it happens. And from the law's perspective, whenever someone refrains from prohibited behavior, it has done its job. If morality helps enforcement, then the law will appeal to morality. It does not matter that the law has no power to shape individual morals.
At this point, however, a substantial problem arises: What is so immoral about serving alcohol to a 20-year-old? Or even a 14-year-old? This suggestion might arouse revulsion in the typical American listener. But that shows once again that underage drinking is essentially a moral issue. After all, Americans somehow feel queasy when they think that children are drinking alcohol. That reaction is a cultural. It has survived for generations.
And it is not a universal reaction. People in European Nations, for instance, do not flinch to serve alcohol to teenagers. There is no dominant public rhetoric that equates underage drinking with illegality, irresponsibility and "evil." Quite the contrary, life goes on in Germany, France, England and Holland quite well, even when 16-year-olds sip beer--even in public. Society does not collapse. The sky does not fall. And religious leaders do not spread hellfire for it.
In my mind, this illustrates the point that American concerns over underage drinking are essentially moral concerns. No matter how much public rhetoric couches the debate in legal terms, the fact remains that Americans just don't feel culturally comfortable with the idea that teenagers are drinking. It is a question of cultural heritage, not wise policy.
Of course, those who support widespread bans on underage drinking will never say that morality motivates them. In fact, they probably do not even realize that it does. Instead, they point to safety statistics and other supposedly "neutral" indicia to show a "practical" reason why teenagers should not drink. Because fewer teens die in alcohol-related accidents, they say, underage drinking bans are good laws.
I think this is a dishonest argument. If safety were really the main objection to alcohol, Prohibition should still be in effect. Alcohol causes untold damage to countless lives every year, not just among teenagers. It causes thousands of accidents. It ruins families. It leads to violence, disruption and turmoil. Why protect only children from those hazards? If a legislator identifies negative social consequences that flow from a particular behavior, he should ban that behavior in toto. Only a fool would argue that alcohol does not cause myriad social problems. Yet for some reason Americans tolerate those consequences among adults, but refuse to tolerate them among children.
At this juncture, it is hard to escape identifying some hypocrisy in the clamor over underage drinking. After all, the essential argument against underage drinking is to ensure safety. But if safety were the ultimate goal, then all alcohol should be banned, not just some. Yet despite Americans' moral qualms about underage drinking, they sure love to drink. So all their talk about safety goes out the window because they want to keep drinking. They can be "responsible" with their drinking, even though experience shows that alcohol continues to ruin lives on a daily basis. Yet they have the gall to label underage drinking "immoral." Immoral for some, but not for them? This is deeply problematic. And it renders all opposition to underage drinking disingenuous.
Let's be honest about alcohol. Everyone likes it. But there is a cultural tradition in America that teaches against it. That tradition forms a moral baseline that enables Americans to say with a straight face that underage drinking is bad, while "legal" drinking is good. All drinking creates pernicious social consequences. Yet legislators--and popular moralists--only ban it among children. In my view, this makes little sense. If you identify a social problem, you should root it out wherever it appears, not just in a subset.
But I ask too much. American morality is a complicated thing; there's no sense applying logic to sort it out. Let's just try to separate it from law. No matter how much we hear about "legal" drinking in America, the whole debate is really just a moral battle. And moral battles are never logical.
Several days ago, I saw a curious poster alongside the usual commercial garbage on 22nd Street. Next to a print ad for Lady Gaga's new album and a placard about McDonald's meal deals stood this message: "The Legal Drinking Age is 21. Do Your Part This Christmas. Don't Give Alcohol to Teens." The poster showed a wine glass with a Ghostbusters-style red circle around it; a red diagonal line crossed out the glass. On the bottom appeared the following slogan in stern capital letters: "Serving Alcohol to Teens : It's Unsafe. It's Illegal. It's Irresponsible."
What made this "ad" so curious? Several things. First, it was not a commercial message. Most "ads" are crass commercial messages that aim to excite an urge to buy in the viewer. They communicate selective information intended to entice a person to spend money and enrich the speaker. In short, advertising is about making money. It is morally indifferent. In fact, it is morally destitute. Morality and commerce have little to do with one another. A dirty dollar is still a dollar. And people with more dollars are stronger than those with fewer dollars, dirty or not.
In traditional terms, then, this message against underage drinking was not an "ad" at all. It did not aim to excite an urge to buy in the passing viewer. No, it aimed to evoke a moral impulse; it beseeched people not to buy alcohol for people under 21. It asked people to refrain from commercial activity. If an advertising firm came up with a campaign that asked people to refrain from buying the product, it would go out of business faster than you can say: "Madison Avenue." In that sense, this message to stop underage drinking was not an "ad." It was an anti-ad.
But what good is an "ad" if it does not propose a commercial transaction? Can "ads" also promote morality? This one certainly tried. As long as an organization coughs up cash to buy posters or airtime, they can say basically whatever they want. It is their choice whether to say something that will generate no profit. Advertisers generally only advertise commercial stuff because it has the potential to create profits. And no one does anything in business that does not attempt to make money. Morality does not create profits. You can't buy it and it's not very exciting. Face it: It's easier to sell Dewar's than chastity.
In this light, we can conclude that some nonprofit organization paid for this message. It did not intend to make money with its speech. Rather, it aimed to foster public morality. Of course, the poster never uses the word "morality." In fact, everyone who supports underage drinking laws rarely speaks the word. Rather, they couch the issue in legal terms. The poster, for example, references the law twice: "The legal drinking age is 21;" "It's illegal to give alcohol to teens." It is easy to make a law; you just need a majority vote at the State house. But the underlying message here is moral, not legal. And it plays upon the popular confusion between law and morality.
People always mistake the law for morality. Morality existed among human beings before law. Morality refers to the average man's sense that something is disgusting or intuitively objectionable. It has more to do with popular social values than reason or abstract truth. Men created laws to embody their moral judgments, but law never could--and never will--supplant morality. In fact, the law is supposed to be morally neutral. It is supposed to operate according to pure reason and extrinsic evidence. Morality, by contrast, appeals to deep-seated intuitive prejudice against particular conduct within the dominant value system. When enough people in a society think something is disgusting, they call it "immoral." And that judgment passes down across generations. They don't need to verify it. They just need to feel it.
Still, people have more outward respect for the law than morality. It sounds more official. After all, the law has sovereign power behind it. It can attach bank accounts, imprison bodies and garnish wages. People fear those consequences. Morality, by contrast, is more basic than that. Morality informs almost everything a society does. Law simply represents the society's effort to assure a minimum baseline of behavior consistent with the dominant moral code.
Law enforces morality. The sovereign enforces the law with penalties on the body and property. But unlike morality, there are practical problems associated with enforcing the law. The sovereign cannot punish everyone for every illegal or immoral act that occurs. And there are some immoral acts that are not even illegal. The law must verify acts before it can punish them. That is not always easy.
Why, then, did the underage drinking poster harp on "illegality" in connection with serving alcohol to teens? After all, the overall message was a moral one. On a basic level, Americans have a troubled--and borderline schizophrenic--relationship with alcohol due to their cultural and religious heritage. The same cultural forces that culminated in Prohibition remain at work today in American society. Hostility toward alcohol is a moral judgment; it has to do with social values and disgust, not reason. Americans have always embodied their moral judgments about alcohol in law. The law gives official expression to their traditional moral queasiness on the subject. But to be abundantly clear, hostility toward alcohol--especially when coupled with children--is a uniquely American moral judgment.
Consider the interplay between law and morality in the poster. Even without understanding America's long history with regard to morally-nuanced alcohol regulations, the poster's own language reveals the connection. It says: " Serving Alcohol to Teens : It's Unsafe. It's Illegal. It's Irresponsible." It draws a linguistic connection between "illegality" and "irresponsibility." Strictly speaking, it is not "illegal" to be irresponsible. In American cultural parlance, however, "responsibility" is a sweeping moral judgment. It refers to "proper living" according to dominant social morals. That means acting and thinking in a certain way, especially when it comes to recognizing obligations and power relationships.
But "legality" is a technical inquiry. Unlike morality, the law must be specific in its prohibitions. Any aggrieved mother can complain that her child is "irresponsible" because he is not "living correctly." Yet that does not mean the child is acting "illegally." Legal violations must match specific language. They must be investigated and proved according to objective procedures. Yes, it might be irresponsible to violate the law. But not all "irresponsibility" is illegal. If it were, virtually everyone would be a criminal.
It is significant that the poster equated legality with responsibility. It forges a direct thematic connection between law and morality. In most cases, the average viewer has no idea that the two concepts are distinct. He simply assumes that all laws are moral, and that moral people are responsible. That assumption is false. Yet the law benefits from the false assumption because morality acts as a sort of "self-executing enforcement mechanism." After all, people stop themselves from acting in a particular fashion when they think it is "immoral." No law constrains them. Rather, innate cultural conditioning influences their decisions. If the law can harness that innate cultural conditioning, it can successfully thwart certain behavior before it happens. And from the law's perspective, whenever someone refrains from prohibited behavior, it has done its job. If morality helps enforcement, then the law will appeal to morality. It does not matter that the law has no power to shape individual morals.
At this point, however, a substantial problem arises: What is so immoral about serving alcohol to a 20-year-old? Or even a 14-year-old? This suggestion might arouse revulsion in the typical American listener. But that shows once again that underage drinking is essentially a moral issue. After all, Americans somehow feel queasy when they think that children are drinking alcohol. That reaction is a cultural. It has survived for generations.
And it is not a universal reaction. People in European Nations, for instance, do not flinch to serve alcohol to teenagers. There is no dominant public rhetoric that equates underage drinking with illegality, irresponsibility and "evil." Quite the contrary, life goes on in Germany, France, England and Holland quite well, even when 16-year-olds sip beer--even in public. Society does not collapse. The sky does not fall. And religious leaders do not spread hellfire for it.
In my mind, this illustrates the point that American concerns over underage drinking are essentially moral concerns. No matter how much public rhetoric couches the debate in legal terms, the fact remains that Americans just don't feel culturally comfortable with the idea that teenagers are drinking. It is a question of cultural heritage, not wise policy.
Of course, those who support widespread bans on underage drinking will never say that morality motivates them. In fact, they probably do not even realize that it does. Instead, they point to safety statistics and other supposedly "neutral" indicia to show a "practical" reason why teenagers should not drink. Because fewer teens die in alcohol-related accidents, they say, underage drinking bans are good laws.
I think this is a dishonest argument. If safety were really the main objection to alcohol, Prohibition should still be in effect. Alcohol causes untold damage to countless lives every year, not just among teenagers. It causes thousands of accidents. It ruins families. It leads to violence, disruption and turmoil. Why protect only children from those hazards? If a legislator identifies negative social consequences that flow from a particular behavior, he should ban that behavior in toto. Only a fool would argue that alcohol does not cause myriad social problems. Yet for some reason Americans tolerate those consequences among adults, but refuse to tolerate them among children.
At this juncture, it is hard to escape identifying some hypocrisy in the clamor over underage drinking. After all, the essential argument against underage drinking is to ensure safety. But if safety were the ultimate goal, then all alcohol should be banned, not just some. Yet despite Americans' moral qualms about underage drinking, they sure love to drink. So all their talk about safety goes out the window because they want to keep drinking. They can be "responsible" with their drinking, even though experience shows that alcohol continues to ruin lives on a daily basis. Yet they have the gall to label underage drinking "immoral." Immoral for some, but not for them? This is deeply problematic. And it renders all opposition to underage drinking disingenuous.
Let's be honest about alcohol. Everyone likes it. But there is a cultural tradition in America that teaches against it. That tradition forms a moral baseline that enables Americans to say with a straight face that underage drinking is bad, while "legal" drinking is good. All drinking creates pernicious social consequences. Yet legislators--and popular moralists--only ban it among children. In my view, this makes little sense. If you identify a social problem, you should root it out wherever it appears, not just in a subset.
But I ask too much. American morality is a complicated thing; there's no sense applying logic to sort it out. Let's just try to separate it from law. No matter how much we hear about "legal" drinking in America, the whole debate is really just a moral battle. And moral battles are never logical.
Monday, December 7, 2009
CAR INSURANCE IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN LIFE
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
No, I'm not kidding. This is no satire. If there is any correlation between broadcast airtime and importance in life, then car insurance must be the most important thing in life.
Watch network television for an hour. I guarantee that you will see at least four commercials for car insurance. During the same hour, you might only see one or two advertisements for erectile dysfunction or prostate pills. There might be an appeal to send money to children in Africa, or the odd statement from a tax accountant or a lawyer--who usually wants you to join a class-action lawsuit involving prescription medication or car insurance fraud. Mixed messages?
But I digress. Let's get back to the real question: What's so important about car insurance? Why are companies spending so much money--and wasting so much of my time--simply to say that they are selling indemnity contracts for my car? I don't even have a car; why the hell would I want car insurance? They talk about low prices (Allstate), discounts (Progressive) and savings (GEICO). Some take a "trust me" approach (Allstate); others try to throw in humor (GEICO and Progressive). Some provide more specific information, like the fact that they also sell boating insurance, garage insurance, homeowner's insurance, life insurance, renter's insurance and lawn insurance. Other provide no information at all, just a slogan and a phone number.
Animated geckos with cockney accents do not provide commercially relevant information necessary to make a reasonable free market decision, no matter what GEICO's Board says. On the other hand, advertisers don't care about providing information relevant to a reasonable free market decision. They just want you to remember them and buy. It doesn't matter if it's the "most reasonable choice" you've ever made. Advertisers target the visual sense: "See this? Now buy this." That's how it works.
This simple strategy explains why car insurance commercials dominate the airwaves. If a company has enough money to advertise, it will advertise as much as it can. After all, an idiot is more likely to remember something he sees ten times in two hours than something he saw only once during the same two hours. Advertisers like GEICO, Allstate and Progressive know that, so they deluge viewers' senses over and over again. Even if people don't think about car insurance every single day in their lives, advertisers make sure that when they finally do think about car insurance, they also think of their company. By bombarding the senses, advertisers create a mental connection. When the mind strays onto the topic "car insurance," it triggers the connection: "Must buy GEICO." When that happens, advertising has done its work. Advertisers don't want reflection. They want reflex.
Broadcast airtime is a precious commodity. It is very expensive. It can reach millions of people in an instant. It has the potential to spread knowledge, understanding and enrichment. If something appears in a broadcast medium, it carries weight: Someone had to pay a huge sum to air it. To convey a message in such a costly medium, the message must be "important." In that light, does it not reveal something about our society that commercials are the only messages that regularly appear in this medium? The broadcast medium could be used to enrich the population with meaningful messages. But in the end, it merely barrages them with animated geckos, cavemen, obnoxious women chirping about discounts and various entreaties to buy boating insurance. After all, car insurance is important: It's on TV all the time.
Some will inevitably say that commercial messages are the only way that networks can finance their non-commercial messages. But most non-commercial material on most television channels is utterly unenlightening. In many cases, it even bows to commercial pressures. Networks will not broadcast material that alienates their commercial sponsors. In a strange way, then, commercial messages dictate which non-commercial messages ultimately appear on television. Advertisers will not advertise on programs that do not draw people likely to buy their products. This limits the kinds of messages that people hear on television because everything comes back to commerce: The programmer must placate the advertiser first. Only then can he exercise some expressive freedom. Without the advertiser, he can broadcast nothing. Who's more important then: The car insurance company or the viewer who wants to see a show about medieval England?
In my view, this is all very pathetic. In the end, car insurance gets more play than momentous world issues in the United States. It may seem absurd to suggest that car insurance is the most important thing in life. Yet I promise you that you will see more GEICO commercials on television than programs about Darfur, the health care bill or the War in Iraq. Those things may be more "objectively" important, but they do not pay the network's expenses. Insurance companies do. So we hear their messages more than any other messages.
That's why it's perhaps not so absurd to say that car insurance is the most important thing in life. Our country dedicates more airtime to it than virtually any other single subject. If airtime is as precious as we hear, doesn't that mean that car insurance is important? It's getting all the airtime, so it must be important. Very important, even.
No, I'm not kidding. This is no satire. If there is any correlation between broadcast airtime and importance in life, then car insurance must be the most important thing in life.
Watch network television for an hour. I guarantee that you will see at least four commercials for car insurance. During the same hour, you might only see one or two advertisements for erectile dysfunction or prostate pills. There might be an appeal to send money to children in Africa, or the odd statement from a tax accountant or a lawyer--who usually wants you to join a class-action lawsuit involving prescription medication or car insurance fraud. Mixed messages?
But I digress. Let's get back to the real question: What's so important about car insurance? Why are companies spending so much money--and wasting so much of my time--simply to say that they are selling indemnity contracts for my car? I don't even have a car; why the hell would I want car insurance? They talk about low prices (Allstate), discounts (Progressive) and savings (GEICO). Some take a "trust me" approach (Allstate); others try to throw in humor (GEICO and Progressive). Some provide more specific information, like the fact that they also sell boating insurance, garage insurance, homeowner's insurance, life insurance, renter's insurance and lawn insurance. Other provide no information at all, just a slogan and a phone number.
Animated geckos with cockney accents do not provide commercially relevant information necessary to make a reasonable free market decision, no matter what GEICO's Board says. On the other hand, advertisers don't care about providing information relevant to a reasonable free market decision. They just want you to remember them and buy. It doesn't matter if it's the "most reasonable choice" you've ever made. Advertisers target the visual sense: "See this? Now buy this." That's how it works.
This simple strategy explains why car insurance commercials dominate the airwaves. If a company has enough money to advertise, it will advertise as much as it can. After all, an idiot is more likely to remember something he sees ten times in two hours than something he saw only once during the same two hours. Advertisers like GEICO, Allstate and Progressive know that, so they deluge viewers' senses over and over again. Even if people don't think about car insurance every single day in their lives, advertisers make sure that when they finally do think about car insurance, they also think of their company. By bombarding the senses, advertisers create a mental connection. When the mind strays onto the topic "car insurance," it triggers the connection: "Must buy GEICO." When that happens, advertising has done its work. Advertisers don't want reflection. They want reflex.
Broadcast airtime is a precious commodity. It is very expensive. It can reach millions of people in an instant. It has the potential to spread knowledge, understanding and enrichment. If something appears in a broadcast medium, it carries weight: Someone had to pay a huge sum to air it. To convey a message in such a costly medium, the message must be "important." In that light, does it not reveal something about our society that commercials are the only messages that regularly appear in this medium? The broadcast medium could be used to enrich the population with meaningful messages. But in the end, it merely barrages them with animated geckos, cavemen, obnoxious women chirping about discounts and various entreaties to buy boating insurance. After all, car insurance is important: It's on TV all the time.
Some will inevitably say that commercial messages are the only way that networks can finance their non-commercial messages. But most non-commercial material on most television channels is utterly unenlightening. In many cases, it even bows to commercial pressures. Networks will not broadcast material that alienates their commercial sponsors. In a strange way, then, commercial messages dictate which non-commercial messages ultimately appear on television. Advertisers will not advertise on programs that do not draw people likely to buy their products. This limits the kinds of messages that people hear on television because everything comes back to commerce: The programmer must placate the advertiser first. Only then can he exercise some expressive freedom. Without the advertiser, he can broadcast nothing. Who's more important then: The car insurance company or the viewer who wants to see a show about medieval England?
In my view, this is all very pathetic. In the end, car insurance gets more play than momentous world issues in the United States. It may seem absurd to suggest that car insurance is the most important thing in life. Yet I promise you that you will see more GEICO commercials on television than programs about Darfur, the health care bill or the War in Iraq. Those things may be more "objectively" important, but they do not pay the network's expenses. Insurance companies do. So we hear their messages more than any other messages.
That's why it's perhaps not so absurd to say that car insurance is the most important thing in life. Our country dedicates more airtime to it than virtually any other single subject. If airtime is as precious as we hear, doesn't that mean that car insurance is important? It's getting all the airtime, so it must be important. Very important, even.
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