That actually used to happen, you know — soup and other cans were sealed with lead.
One has to wonder if perhaps that wasn’t the sealant used for this product, especially given the models’ expressions of abjectly maniacal glee.
In fact if the product weren’t visible, you’d have to wonder exactly what this woman was doing to make the boy look so startled and strangely delighted.
But all of this is just the more baffling when you learn that the product being advertised is…
tomato vegetable juice, ca. 1948. Via.
Here we see an unusually heavy-handed approach to the basic principle of capitalistic advertising: Use hyperbole to suggest unnameable ecstasy (“my heart sings”, the gibbering models) obtainable from a conventional product — and one which, frankly, no one really actually needs. There are variants, but not many, on this theme; it’s pretty much the mainstay of post-WWII advertising output. And of course it’s ludicrous.
Tomato juice is simply not a panacea, it will not cause any sort of cardiolyrical manifestation, and it is absolutely not the cause of orgasm in either housewives or prepubescent boys. (You know that’s true, or the Fed would have outlawed it by now.)
The reason we lose impact in language can be partially traced to ads such as this one. How many times have we heard adjectives such as “delicious” applied to things which are more accurately described as “nominally palatable”? How often are we treated to the sight of someone being ecstatic, or at least dancing with joy, over a floor-cleaning product? And who the fuck believes this kind of dipshit advertising is still selling one goddamned product more than a simple, honest pitch would?
Does her heart sing? Does it really?
She needs to get out more often, then.
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