I don't see billboards anymore

the death of advertising and a return to word of mouth

My brain goes somewhere when an ad pops up on Youtube or when I detect a certain kind of image/layout online. It goes to the same place when my eyes happen to land on a row of A-listers’ faces, plastered across a billboard. I wonder (briefly) at how desperate the situation in Hollywood must be, if actors who were historically only seen in blockbusters, are now doing voice-overs for fast food chains and taking roles in streaming-only releases.

Then I pluck up the thought and drop it in the trash can on my mental desktop.

I never consider the related TV show, or movie, or clothing line, or workout drink again. I’m certainly not going to buy it on purpose. It’s as if the advertisement never happened. Like when you’ve been driving the same route day after day, and can’t quite remember how you got to work, or home, or school.

I’m not sure when I discovered this mental ad-blocker. I only wish I had it sooner.

One might argue that the marketers are still “getting me.” That the subconscious effect is still there—I am still seeing the advertisement, after all, so I’ll probably gravitate towards the product one way or another.

But the opposite seems to be true. A cinematic, over-engineered photo reminds me of why I haven’t been on Instagram regularly in months. The sight of a cartoon reaffirms the decision to cancel my Disney+ and Netflix subscriptions last year. I hunt through recurring charges for yet another drivel-stream that I can nix. And, when I see a billboard like the one above, I find myself resisting it, resenting it. The skyline is choked with garish fonts and the false urgency of release dates. What’s the point? The screenwriters will just murder, ignore, or slowly degrade your favorite character by season 2.

See, an overabundance of advertising isn’t a problem if the consumer genuinely believes that one product could be better than another, and that every product is at least attempting to deliver on its promises. But, once you learn that everything is repackaged junk and (almost) no one intends to create anything else, you stop acting on it.

We’ve been at this over-saturation point before, and—for a while—the informed influencer provided a kind of buffer. Some were actually honest or helpful. So we transferred not a small percentage of our trust over to them. But the lure of money and status poisoned that, too, and rather quickly. Trends spread at an exponential rate on social media, as compared to traditional advertising, so it should be no surprise that l'influenceur is aging like raw milk.

Don’t tell the teens.

So we’re right back at the beginning. With advertising that is neither helpful, nor distinctive, nor believable. Every car ad feels like a BMW ad. Every acting performance is a “revelation.” Every product is revolutionary.

I don’t believe you. I don’t have the space. And I just don’t care.

But I still need to buy things that I’ve never bought before. I need a new facial sunscreen, because I think the one I use now might be causing my breakouts. I would like to know good spots for a roadtrip to San Francisco. I’ve heard that methylene blue is helpful, or something, I guess.

But, when I jump on Amazon or Google, or even smaller sellers, the number of options is laughably staggering. I scroll, click, pretend to read and identify the differences (besides price per ounce). Maybe the comment section? No—the comment section is awash in “Amazing! Absolutley the best” or “Hate tis product - never buy again.” Bots. Useless. I wish silently that I could actually reach the end of options. I see page 1 of 19 at the bottom. Oh geez, it’s been thirty minutes. I almost buy something just to prove this wasn’t a mistake. I put something in a cart then close out of the tab and the browser. Nothing is learned and nothing is purchased. Breakouts it is!

But seriously, I have recently decided that buying the right thing is no longer worth wading through an endless mire of choices or advertising. So, what now?

I have begun exclusively buying things that my actual, real life, flesh-and-blood friends buy and use. It’s not particularly monetizeable and is very octogenarian-coded, but it’s effective and enjoyable. You get to have some real conversations about real experiences, see the effect of the product (specifically as it relates to makeup, etc.), and add another layer to your relationship.

Great example—my boyfriend bought me the most divine facial for my birthday (mwah!) and I’ve spent the last week talking-up the aesthetician to my female colleagues, who are facial-care fiends. Not only did they take down her info and admit that they were looking for a new provider, but this led to a discussion about my sunscreen problem. End result? I got three reasonably priced options to game out, briefly compared them, purchased one, and voila! The drama is over.

This experience solidified my belief that the best and truest way to combat the banality of 99% of the internet [and possibly modern life], and to find things you actually need, is to create and depend on an extended community for most of your decisions. They may not care as much as family, but they certainly care more than anyone trying to sell you something. [I think that’s why MLM schemes are so uniquely irritating and harmful to relationships, but that is a rage session discussion for another time.]

So cheers to the death of advertising and cheers to word of mouth!

With love,

AIAL