Viagra and other ads colonized that space between my ears

On my way to class last week, I passed an older couple out for a morning stroll. They… On my way to class last week, I passed an older couple out for a morning stroll. They laughed, arm-in-arm, their thick glasses shining in the sun. The man’s cane moved with a surprising vigor and determination, and my first thought was: Viagra commercial. Then I cringed.

Believe it or not, I don’t want to be thinking about Viagra — or Levitra, or Cialis. Really, I would rather remain ignorant about the state of elderly loins and Mike Ditka’s bedroom game plan. Erectile dysfunction is a dirty hobo living at the end of a mental dark alley I’d prefer not to visit.

I have to admit I love any solution that comes in pill form; pharmaceuticals always shortcut past more difficult solutions like, “Hey, try some tantric sex,” or “Hey, try actually talking to your partner.” But complaining about America’s love affair with quick-fix potions is like shooting doped-to-the-gills fish in a barrel of Aunt Jemima.

The bigger problem — for me, anyway — is why can’t I get the Viagra brand out of my head? Why can’t I see a couple enjoying a walk in the sun without seeing a logo plastered over them?

The short answer is: advertising. In 1997, the Federal Drug Administration relaxed regulations on drug advertisements, allowing companies to market prescription drugs directly to consumers. Viagra debuted in 1998; thanks in part to heavy advertising, it did more than a billion dollars in sales the first year. Fast-forward six years and you have Mike Ditka questioning the manhood of any guy who won’t admit to suffering from an occasionally limp member. (Wait; I’m not a man if my penis gets hard when I want it to?)

Yes, it might still be a little gross to hear a commercial warn you about the side-effect of a dangerous, unstoppable erection, but Viagra is just a new and icky case of a larger problem: the way brand names and corporate logos seep into our minds and color our perceptions. The purpose of advertising is to colonize the space between your ears and fill it with slogans and catchphrases — and finally, to sell you something. How many people actually said, “Wasssssssup?” before those Budweiser commercials appeared? And how many cases of Bud sold because we all started using that stupid greeting?

There’s a reason the Advertising Age uses terms like “mindshare.” Marketing is about moving minds toward the “buy” response, by whatever means available, and as the flash, glamour, and irrationality of ads seeps into everything, it becomes harder to imagine a different goal. We are always buying or selling. Advertising has become our public language, no matter what the subject.

Politicians are sold as Pepsi vs. Coke, image-spun and airbrushed into pleasing shapes for public consumption. Museums are designed as shopping malls and sponsored by corporations; education becomes “edutainment” aimed not at teaching, but selling the idea of learning. Perhaps most depressingly, Fast Company encourages us all to “be your own brand,” the “CEO of Me Inc.” Think of yourself as a walking, talking, advertisement for You — Paris Hilton is your model.

There’s something really creepy about a society of people who can only relate to one another as products to be consumed. The only emotion advertising provokes is insecurity — we can never have enough, or we have too much, or somehow this is not the best of all possible worlds unless you have this product. That’s a pretty shallow and unsatisfying way to interact with other people; no wonder we’re so unhappy. Rather than in real emotional ties, our happiness lies in finding the perfect piece of merchandise.

As advertising slinks its way into every facet of our lives — bathrooms, classrooms, doctor’s offices, foreheads — it grows harder and harder to imagine an escape, a place untouched by overwhelming commerce. The mountain view is brought to you by Kodak; the connection to your friends sponsored by Sprint.

If you care about this stuff — and I don’t know if you do — you have to admit that in some sense, we’ve already lost. Bring on the neural marketing; beam ads directly into our dreams; carve a Coca-Cola logo on the moon — it’s all just details if you own the mind. We already see the world through branded glasses. We’ve learned to be insecure and constantly selling.

We may be doomed, Ganesha help us, to always speculating about the chemically enhanced boner in Grandpa’s pants.

Jesse Hicks is available for children’s parties and bar mitzvahs. E-mail him at jhicks@pittnews.com for a price estimate.