It’s time for something especially trivial today, readers. Sorry. But I must get this off my chest.
Yoghurt adverts – what the hell?
These adverts have become the scourge of our televisions, multiplying in seemingly endless numbers every week.
At this terrifying rate, soon every other advert will be for yoghurt.
Why so MANY of them?? I’m bemused.
I mean, how much yoghurt does anyone ever buy? Surely the advert to consumer ratio is all warped.
Am I missing something? I’ve eaten yoghurt. It’s ok. Sometimes they’re very creamy. That makes them more ok.
But are they, say, delicious…not really.
Yoghurt does not meet your snack need in any way, shape or form. Everyone knows this. If anything, you are hungrier. Yoghurts are only ever bought out of guilt – guilt for really wanting to buy a chocolate bar.
Plus, it’s really inconvenient – if you’re not eating it from the comfort of your own home, you need to have cutlery on you.
But maybe I’m wrong. Apparently yoghurts can offer you a taste of luxury…Erm, are they luxurious? In any conceivable way? Christ no! It’s yoghurt, for God’s sake.
If for a second you’re entertaining yoghurt as an idea of luxury, you’ve got more problems than this humble product can help you with.
Image courtesy of Liberte
Not only are these adverts increasing in number, they are also taking silliness to whole new levels.
Greek mythological figures? Firemen? Sexy criminals? Lifeguards? Topless men in tighty-whities?
A magician??! Come on, everyone knows that magicians are not sexy. Creepy, yes. Yet here one is, in a jolly farmers market, turning fruit into yoghurt, surrounded by a bevy of young blondes who begin to giggle mindlessly. Hmmm…
Seriously indulgent? Sumptuous? Please. Yoghurts being pushed as luxury products? Sexy, even? I find this bizarre.
As far as I am concerned, you just can’t sex up yoghurt. If anything, it is one of the least sexy foods. It is barely even food. Despite this glaring truth, most recently Muller have tried to turn yoghurt into sex (ugh, sorry), courtesy of Nicole effing Scherzinger. Maybe she got confused and thought she was shooting another Herbal Essences ad. At least the painful acting makes it entertaining.
At best these adverts are silly and frivolous and at worst, mindless and patronising. Practically all are touted as a dieting aid. And with all these cues, they could only ever be aimed at women, naturally.
The more I think about it, actually, the more riled I get.
On the one hand you’ve got outdated stereotype A – silly women, prancing around, drooling over half-dressed men and getting over excited at dairy products. And on the other hand, there’s outdated stereotype B – silly women, prancing around, obsessing over their weight and digestion, and getting over excited at dairy products. It’s insufferable. We could be here all day analysing what it all means.
Look. I like to call myself a feminist. A gentle feminist, if you can have such a thing. And whilst I find observations such as these thought provoking and very valid, I just don’t feel them deep down in my soul, if I’m honest.
Please don’t shoot me – I’m not a detractor! I’m just not as passionate about some things as my younger self was. But it is great to see so many more young women becoming passionate about feminism, especially when compared with the reception feminism typically received when I was their age.
People left, right and centre are talking openly about feminism now as if it is the new buzzword. Boosting by strong support from women in the public eye, including Caitlin Moran and Laurie Penny. It’s good to know feminism is no longer a dirty word.
However, I do feel rather cynical about the apparent renewed interest, and question the real impact it will have in the long term.
It feels very much like a popular fad being pushed by the media, hungry to see female pop stars out on stage in their pants, behind a big flashy neon sign, under the banner of ‘feminism’. For me, this is not feminism. It’s yet more advertising. All a bit vacuous.
And on the other side of the flashing neon, it’s all too serious and angry.
So, while I can neither relate to the media poster girls nor the academics, I find myself in the middle, on the sofa, entertaining feminist-lite thoughts, and I reserve the right to get irritated at yoghurt.
Turn off the TV you say? Stick to the BBC?
Yes, you’ve got a point. But when will I watch Come Dine With Me?
This is more me: