This, I declare to the magazine editor who commissioned the piece, should be easy.
But calling out the mindless sexuality of advertisements that have bombarded television in the year gone by — mostly on prime time when Dada, Dadi and diminutive Dolly are intently tracking every giant stride of Pakistan's Mohammed Irfan at the Chinnaswamy or at the Chepauk — turns out to be a nerve-wracking exercise in self-restraint as well.
From the vast expanse of the living room couch, surrounded by family ("folks that watch T20 together, tumble through life together"), here is what I tell myself, over and over again, every 30 seconds:
I shall not reach for the remote, however lightning-quick my reflexes are, to switch channels when Katrina Kaif begins to sell aam ras like it's never been sold before. In my haste, I could knock down someone's fogged-up spectacles.
I shall not announce dinner, abruptly, at 6 pm, just because an oversexed deodorant-selling diva, in a state of dishabille, has everyone's eyeballs.
And, whatever be the provocation, including the horror of watching good, wholesome chocolate dripping messily down a pretty face, I shall not conjure up a constipated joke to divert attention. Because the laugh is on me.
Clearly, the wise guys monitoring advertising practices have no quarrel with the onslaught of 'low on originality but high on sexual innuendo' advertisements.
Clearly, they see nothing wrong when a 10-year-old lip syncs to 'Kiss Me, Close Your Eyes', making smacking noises to boot. Clearly, few find vagina-tightening, skin-whitening campaigns distasteful.
Clearly, sexual connotations and sexual objectification rattle no viewer in this brave, new world. A copywriter pal lectures me that "emotion (read lust) is 'the soul of advertising' ". An ad, I'm informed, should 'rouse the viewer from indifference and propel him to action'.
True, attention is the only thing advertisers really crave. Ethics aside, the innuendo and the objectification may help create product awareness, which is the focal point of advertisements.
That they are all starting to pall is another matter. And, that there have been so few advertisements, in the year gone by, that are creative, original or edgy, is disturbing.
With the best advertising executives and the biggest agencies fixated on big-budget campaigns — for that way lies the kudos, the cash and the awards, such a famine is hard to explain, isn't it?
When did the funny, clever and "straight" ads give way to the hypocritical, distasteful or just plain stupid ones?
But those folks with deep pockets shouldn't care what I think. Their marketing triumph has made aam ras cool. So what if it leaves the likes of me cold? Why should it worry them that gradually, a whole generation may grow used to shallower and shallower experiences? Why should they debate whether the viewer, who is staring at the screen in a myopic daze, suffers from sensory overload or sensory poverty?
Meanwhile, I will continue to treasure the invisible 'Master ji' in the Vodafone ad. Infused with a lively sense of humour, the 'thoda net, thoda lace' line is endearing. I will freeze-frame the expat-guy-in-office whose Diwali is lit up with 'Cadbury Celebrations'. And, while I am at it, I will give those Amul wordsmiths a high-five before I fall prey to the devious ingenuity of the thought-nabbers who may bedevil me by stripping my brain bare.
But calling out the mindless sexuality of advertisements that have bombarded television in the year gone by — mostly on prime time when Dada, Dadi and diminutive Dolly are intently tracking every giant stride of Pakistan's Mohammed Irfan at the Chinnaswamy or at the Chepauk — turns out to be a nerve-wracking exercise in self-restraint as well.
From the vast expanse of the living room couch, surrounded by family ("folks that watch T20 together, tumble through life together"), here is what I tell myself, over and over again, every 30 seconds:
I shall not reach for the remote, however lightning-quick my reflexes are, to switch channels when Katrina Kaif begins to sell aam ras like it's never been sold before. In my haste, I could knock down someone's fogged-up spectacles.
I shall not announce dinner, abruptly, at 6 pm, just because an oversexed deodorant-selling diva, in a state of dishabille, has everyone's eyeballs.
And, whatever be the provocation, including the horror of watching good, wholesome chocolate dripping messily down a pretty face, I shall not conjure up a constipated joke to divert attention. Because the laugh is on me.
Clearly, the wise guys monitoring advertising practices have no quarrel with the onslaught of 'low on originality but high on sexual innuendo' advertisements.
Clearly, they see nothing wrong when a 10-year-old lip syncs to 'Kiss Me, Close Your Eyes', making smacking noises to boot. Clearly, few find vagina-tightening, skin-whitening campaigns distasteful.
Clearly, sexual connotations and sexual objectification rattle no viewer in this brave, new world. A copywriter pal lectures me that "emotion (read lust) is 'the soul of advertising' ". An ad, I'm informed, should 'rouse the viewer from indifference and propel him to action'.
True, attention is the only thing advertisers really crave. Ethics aside, the innuendo and the objectification may help create product awareness, which is the focal point of advertisements.
That they are all starting to pall is another matter. And, that there have been so few advertisements, in the year gone by, that are creative, original or edgy, is disturbing.
With the best advertising executives and the biggest agencies fixated on big-budget campaigns — for that way lies the kudos, the cash and the awards, such a famine is hard to explain, isn't it?
When did the funny, clever and "straight" ads give way to the hypocritical, distasteful or just plain stupid ones?
But those folks with deep pockets shouldn't care what I think. Their marketing triumph has made aam ras cool. So what if it leaves the likes of me cold? Why should it worry them that gradually, a whole generation may grow used to shallower and shallower experiences? Why should they debate whether the viewer, who is staring at the screen in a myopic daze, suffers from sensory overload or sensory poverty?
Meanwhile, I will continue to treasure the invisible 'Master ji' in the Vodafone ad. Infused with a lively sense of humour, the 'thoda net, thoda lace' line is endearing. I will freeze-frame the expat-guy-in-office whose Diwali is lit up with 'Cadbury Celebrations'. And, while I am at it, I will give those Amul wordsmiths a high-five before I fall prey to the devious ingenuity of the thought-nabbers who may bedevil me by stripping my brain bare.