Locks of Love: Friend or Faux?

I'm sort of an itinerant critic and encourager. Each semester I travel to speak in a handful of college classrooms where I offer criticism and affirmation regarding both the ad world and the approach students take as they prepare to enter it.

Of course, this assumes I know what to criticize and what to affirm. It assumes that I have something definitive to say; that I'm able to put a period at the end of all my sentences. But this isn't always true. In fact, I often have to use an ellipse.

The subtext of advertising is replete with ethical questions and social concerns. Sometimes it pushes advertising into the light to promote good will, but often it lurks in the shadows as manipulative propaganda. The continual need to seek wisdom about every product, campaign, account, client, line of copy, media plan, etc., is challenging work.

I've been posting about faux products recently because of a few classes I taught this month. If you've read any of them, you know that I'm not a fan of faux.

But in the midst of talking about "pleather" and "diamonelles" and vinyl flooring and toupees (My grandfather wore an atrocious rug-like piece of material on his head for years. On anyone else, I would have suggested adding a clown nose, but it was my grandfather and I had never seen him without it so it seemed quite normal.), a student asked:

"But what about Locks of Love?"

I didn't know.

I still don't know. It's an ellipse for me. Locks of Love "provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children under age 18 suffering from long-term medical hair loss from any diagnosis." On one hand, what an intimate and generous ministry: You and I give our own hair to needy kids.

On the other, the hairpieces are used "to return a sense of self, confidence and normalcy to children suffering from hair loss...." Doesn't this sound similar to why people wear make-up and use Botox and trick out their cars? I mean, don't we do these things "to return a sense of self, confidence and normalcy to [men and women] suffering from [insecurity]..."?

So I'm stuck on this one. Hairpieces are toupees and my grandfather wore his for some of the same reasons why these kids wear theirs. In his case, I condemn the faux. Yet, they're kids. This is a time when their identities are soft and easily bruised. Isn't it OK to let them fit in and to protect them from embarrassment and ridicule from peers, especially with such a visible problem? In their case, I think I condone the faux.

If Locks of Love called you to help them with PR or securing TV spots or increasing brand awareness, I'm guessing you'd do it. I might, too.

Or, would I suggest that the child's friends and family shave their heads bald instead of donating pony tails? Without having a child in that situation, and never having been in such a situation myself as a kid, I don't know.

This is just one of the ellipses for me in advertising. As I asked in an earlier post, "Should Christians produce and market faux items, or not? (Or does it depend on what the faux item is?)"

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"But what about...?"

On the topic of faux, so many questions start with these words.

"But what about replica paintings, especially when people can't afford the originals?"
"But what about vinyl flooring, especially when the marble print complements a kitchen?"

This three-word phrase indicates curiosity. But not in some trivial way. When it comes to faux products, regardless of what purpose they serve, the element of simulation is a genuinely difficult one for marketing students to get around.

As kids, it was hammered into our heads not to lie. In relationships, we're convinced that being "real" about our feelings is much better than pretending that all's well. Regarding public appearance, individual expression is valued because then it's Me being Me (Does anybody actually like being a Poser?).

We believe that genuine is inherently better, but there are faux versions of practically every genuine product, and their allure and accessibility make them quite profitable. Does "But what about..." appear when the possibility of profit and success runs into our broader misgivings about being false?

These thoughts have come from several stimulating conversations with marketing classes in the past week or so. I'll share more soon.

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Faux: Part Deux

"Should Christians produce and market faux items?" That's the question I asked in my last post. I also asked it to a group of advertising students on Friday.

Mixed responses.

Some thought that the cost benefits and availability justified faux production: "If a consumer really likes fine furniture, but can't afford it or even find the genuine original, isn't it OK to provide knock-off versions for them?"

Others saw faux as an unhealthy way to copy someone else's life. They resonated with this excerpt by Stuart Ewen, author of All Consuming Images, about the "triumph of the superficial" in the Middle Ages:

"Fueled by their desire for franchise and status, the merchant class mimicked and appropriated consumption practices of the nobility.... Conspicuous consumption...was the mark of status. In a world where nobility still ruled, the merchant class seized upon symbols of excess which had customarily been prerogatives of landed elites.... Clocks, once the extravagantly tooled possessions of the few who could afford to own them, were mass produced [with 'the suggestion of fine hand-carving'].... For the members of an expanding middle class, the historically coded look of wealth was coming within their means."

If faux offers a socio-economic escape for me, then I don't want it because it's only an illusory move. That is, it doesn't actually take me anywhere. And regarding the cost/availability argument, I just can't get past the fact that faux is, by definition, false.

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To Be or To Be Faux

Two questions:

1) Is the grass real or faux?




















It's faux (French for "false"). See more pics at Forever Lawn, Inc.

2) Should Christians produce and market faux items, or not? (Or does it depend on what the faux item is?)

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Art worth doing

I've seen wonderfully creative ads. Beautiful ads. Expressions of color and graphics and technique that boggle my average comprehension.

But these same expressions are often used to promote mundane products and trivial items that few (if any) people really need, and that fail to add to customers' lives.

When you sit down with a sketch pad, what do you want to produce? Something initially magnificent but which will one day leave the taste of "selling out" in your mouth? Or something that serves as a doorway to a service or product of beauty and worth instead?

I want my art to point to things greater than it, not have it weakened by commonplace attachments. It takes discernment to choose products worth promoting.

If I'm an artist, I want to be remembered as such. Sellouts are a dime-a-dozen.

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Shalom, Feng shui and Travelers insurance

I like humor and gimmicks in advertising, but I really appreciate integration.

Geico's cavemen are funny, but not integrated with insurance. They could have been mascots for Hyundai or Verizon Wireless or Sears just as easily - and successfully.

Geico's gecko is gimmicky but only because it's somewhat of a homophone of the company name. There's no true integration between a CG reptile and car insurance. It's just another mascot randomly associated with a product.

The new Travelers ad, however, is integrated. Travelers' "mascot" is their red umbrella logo and it not only stands out artistically in the TV spot called "Delivery," but memorably, too, because it complements the very idea of insurance. What else comes to mind when you hear "umbrella" except "protection"?




I like this kind of integration in advertising because it makes sense to me. The umbrella, the story line, the scenery, the sounds and language all connect with the product, like a living room whose various components work together to say "Welcome." Disintegration says nothing clearly because it's in pieces. Integration, on the other hand, weaves.

If I were in the market for insurance, Travelers would have won my attention with this spot. Not saying they would get me to sign on, but I'd certainly look them up.

Something to ponder:
Shalom is a biblical concept meaning peace between two entities (i.e. between God and me, between you and me, etc.). The Creation story starts with shalom at the heart of every relationship, but ends with shalom becoming disintegrated. Since that time, we spend our days looking for bits and pieces of shalom in the smallest of places.

Is this why feng shui became so popular? Is it why we hang out with certain people and not with others? Is it why we take vacations? Could it even be why I'm drawn to an insurance commercial that is, in a sense, at peace with itself?

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Car as coping mechanism

This may have secured a few customers for Nissan, but it didn't demonstrate any care for customers who are insecure. The copy reads: "Envy. Terrible to feel. Wonderful to provoke."





















Questions to ponder:

1. According to this ad, eliciting envy from others is a way to gain social worth. Are there customers who would buy the car for this reason?

2. Does humor make the copy less mean toward those in whom envy is provoked?


3. Is it OK to play on a customer's need for acceptance if it's done in a light-hearted way?


4. Is it possible for a car company to foster genuine self-esteem in their customers? If so, how might you do it?

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Lovemarks: Part 2

"What if forming long-term emotional relationships could be more than a catchphrase?
What if brands could grow and evolve with richer and deeper connections in the same way that people can in their lives?
What if the emotion that could make this transformation was Love?"
-Kevin Roberts, Lovemarks: The Future Beyond Brands

One of my reactive questions to Roberts' questions is this: If hunger - the spiritual type - is necessary in order for me to remember what I most long for as a human being, how do I benefit from adding satiation value (Lovemark value) to products?

Jesus said to deny ourselves but he didn't command asceticism, so it's OK to have (and design/make/market!) pleasurable and even wonder-filled products. His command wasn't a call to give up my Moleskine day-timer. But if Moleskine day-timers "become for us an idol and begin to fulfill a spiritual role" (Barger, Eve's Revenge), then we need to give them up. Not build "long-term emotional relationships" with them.

You know the oft-quoted saying from C.S. Lewis' in "Weight of Glory":

"...Our Lord finds our desire, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition [and Lovemarks?] when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

I hope I don't sound like a pleasure-thief. But there's a fine line between loving my Moleskine because it is practically or aesthetically valuable to me and loving it because it helps me to fit in or elicits compliments from others. A friend even said that having a Moleskine makes him feel smarter simply for owning one, and I realized that I felt the same. Certainly I don't feel smarter because of the paper or binding, though it probably has something to do with the quality and attention to detail by gifted designers and manufacturers. However, I think it has most to do with the opening line of the insert:

"Moleskine is the legendary [a key word here] notebook used by European artists and thinkers [a bunch of key words] for the past two centuries [a key amount of time], from Van Gogh to Picasso, from Ernest Hemingway to Bruce Chatwin [I haven't a clue who this guy is, but the company he's listed with makes him significant, just as I am now significant for using this very same legendary notebook]...."

When a product "begins to fulfill a spiritual role," we are in danger of losing our hunger for what will most satisfy.

I know nothing about Roberts' convictions regarding spiritual matters, but I wonder why he finds it so important to wed love with products.

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Lovemarks





















"When I first suggested that Love was the way to transform business, grown CEOs blushed and slid down behind their annual accounts. But I kept at them. I knew it was Love that was missing. I knew that Love was the only way to ante up the emotional temperature and create the new kinds of relationships brands needed."
- Kevin Roberts, Lovemarks: The Future Beyond Brands

Roberts, CEO Worldwide of Saatchi & Saatchi, is married to the idea that love brings brands to life. By Love, he isn't referring to a sentence-filler that indicates preference, such as, "I love my i-Pod," or "I love my Sketchers." Rather, he means Love as something more like, "I love my daughter." That's the type of relationship he's interested in building between a customer and a product. (Read more about Lovemarks here.)

No doubt there are products you wouldn't do without. I started using pocket-sized Moleskine journals and day-timers a few years ago and wonder how I could ever switch back. In a sense, I'm committed to this brand and I love it in the same way I love my 17 year old Toyota RN.

But more importantly, I am awed by love, like when it forgives Jean Valjean in Les Miserables for stealing silver and then gives him a valuable gift. This love changes Valjean's life. Or when love awakens and pushes a stubborn man to initiate counseling for his dying marriage. Or when a professor enters her classroom for four decades, each morning recommitting her vocation to the service of the Kingdom of God and dedicating every insight and intellectual effort to the growth of her students.

Love is profoundly transformational, and not to be seen as an additive to the perishable items we consume.

Interestingly, Roberts does refer to love as transformational. He isn't interested in using love merely as a reference to liking something. But while he wants the depth and breadth of love, he employs it only as a helper in moving peoples' hearts toward falling in love with Stuff.

Whether it's natural for humans to develop emotional connections with certain products or not, this manipulative approach to love makes me feel queasy.

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Advanced Parking Guidance System

I just returned from leading a spring break trip for college students. We spent seven days observing and discussing the myriad ways people search for elements of what Christians call Heaven. Of course, the fullness of our Utopian vision isn't available yet, but that doesn't stop us from searching for bits and pieces of it in the here and now.

The effective allure of advertising confirms this search, and while so many popular campaigns make promises they can't fulfill, many also offer products that bring ease into our daily routines. This print ad for the Lexus LS 460 L with the Advanced Parking Guidance System is a great example.
















The text jumping back and forth across the car reads: "Now...parallel...parking...no...longer ...requires...doing...this."

Questions I wonder how you would answer:
1. Do you know someone who could genuinely benefit from having a car that can parallel park itself? (I can name several.)

2. Does the LS 460 L base price of $62,000 cause you to see this feature as a utility benefit or a bragging right? What if the car had a base price of $16,000?

3. Do features like this affect our ability to wait for Heaven, or are they to be celebrated as justifiable comforts along the way?

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