I write about commercials a lot, I know. Here's the thing: ad men speak the hearts and minds of America. That's their job. They know us better than we know ourselves, and they use that knowledge to hypnotize us into a frenzy of purchasing:
"You have a problem with your dad? This nice, bearded, dad-ish-looking (but not too dad-ish because he's also kind of hot) guy will now sell you soap. Use the soap to wash away the metaphorical ickyness you feel about your dad, and you will feel better about that whole real-life problem thing."
That's fine - pensieve me to pieces, ad-men, because I want to be sold products that are appealing. I love soap! And psychological closure! I don't, however, like it when you sell a lifestyle that is in direct competition with me.
For instance, you know that ad where the guy - just your average dopey white dude - has a beautiful wife and healthy, happy kids and a ridiculously grand house in the suburbs that he surely got using his wife's money because he doesn't seem to ever go to work, just drives the kids around and barbecues?
You don't know which one I'm talking about? Come on, the one where the guy has all this, but he's still sad because something's...missing?
You still don't know? No? And the kids grow up, and fake iPhone commercial music plays in the background with hipsters going "Oh oh oh OH" and you maybe want to cry but you're not sure why? That one? You know! You don't?
TRICK QUESTION! You will never figure out which one I am talking about, America, because it is ALL OF THE ADS that are designed to appeal to my husband:
"Are you a man? Are you a man with ABSOLUTELY NO PROBLEMS because you are in the charge of the entire world? Buy this thing anyway - just in case."
The SadWhiteDude-ificiation of America continues. Cars, soaps, watches, cheeseburgers - it doesn't matter what the product is because the thing being sold is a man and the maintenance of his manliness. Man-tenance seemed silly but harmless, until I realized that somehow, some way, the thing getting in the way of every man's manliness - according to the commercials - is me. A man's living his life, growing chest hair, polishing guns, whatever, until some lady shows up. Then, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she drops a cute farmhouse on his head, and it's all over for him (although, you know, he lives in the farmhouse with babies instead of shriveling up underneath).
There's a car commercial out now that exemplifies this whole "women are master hunters of the man beast" thing. The commercial tracks the relationship of a man with his automobiles. There are other human people somewhere in this guy's life, but they are irrelevant to his trajectory. He is a meteor of manliness streaking across the night sky in his shitty foreign car, and none may touch him in his glory. He gets his first car when he is 16 because, of course, privilege. Then he goes to college (like, of course! white dudes!) where he majors in grilling and pranking. Then marriage. There's a fleeting shot of a babe in a white dress; SHE DOES NOT MATTER. Then kids. Gotta drive them around for, like, ever. But then, THEN -- praise God who is clearly a dude -- those little turds go off somewhere, the wife is...out (shopping? who cares!), and Man Guyly can finally go back to driving his little red roadster, which is all he's wanted his whole life so leave me alone, okay? Gawd! The tagline is something like, "Be yourself again."
What kind of gaslighting has that babe in the white dress been running on this poor man for all of these years? Did she clunk him on the head each morning? Convince him his name was Darren? Force him to stay at home grilling all those nights when really all he wanted was a nice Panera salad?
In other words, how in the world did having a wife and kids and a billion new cars over the last 25 years stop this guy from feeling like "himself"? How much more himself would he have been living alone in his roadster on the edge of a picturesque cliff? Either this commercial is demented or I need to reevaluate my entire understanding of the man psyche.
"The old ball-and-chain" is a weird idea to be reintroducing to the American public right now. Poor old Man Guyly and his roadster do not have to sneak off to the Elk Club to get a little peace and quiet, and I'm not sitting at home in fluffy slippers fretting over whether he'll like my Jell-o salad. I'm not trying to be married to a guy who hides his true identity from me for decades or who turns into DadBot3000 (generic model, no upgrades) the moment our family gets too big for a two-seater coupe.
Yet, thus spake the ads, and thus my concern. Is this what dudes really feel like? As they circle the board in the Game of Life, do they feel not victory but
? If so, what can I possibly do to stop it?
It's almost enough to make me want to go out and buy some stuff - you know, fun things, cars, cheeseburgers, make-up - just to improve my life a little bit. Just in case. So I can feel like myself again.
