Count Raoul Takes on TV Commercials...

The Scourge of the Television Commercial

I tend to watch more TV than my mother allows.  Don’t tell her.  And I’ve been watching it for a few years longer than most I suspect and finally feel I have wasted enough hours to issue a declaration….. In this day of fighting for equal rights among all races and genders I want to admonish the television industry, more specifically the advertising community, for a full bore, heavy-handed sexist approach to selling us their soap and soda.  Let me explain….

Commercials (sadly) make up a good 35% of the projected image time of most TV shows.  And although many subjects are just too serious and staid for humor (think Life Insurance and Diabetes medicines) almost every other product line uses some sort of humor to get your attention.  And honestly, the humor has gotten considerably better to these seasoned eyes.  Automobiles, cell phone plans, property casualty insurance and beer are areas where humor is a mainstay.  But I’m not just talking about the humor; I’m talking about who is the foil of many, many jokes.  It’s me.  The middle-aged white guy.  I take the fall in every funny commercial.

I have no real complaint with the potential for sexist content of most TV programs themselves.  The sitcoms we all love like “Modern Family” and “Raising Hope” or “The Middle” all have plenty of idiot girls being human.  But there is a clear exception even to this content exclusion.  On many of the TV crime dramas, especially the ones that might use a shade of humor in their stories, there is never, ever, a ditzy dame though there might be plenty of ditzy dudes.  Does anyone watch “Castle” on ABC?  Perfect example.  And even the more serious shows like “CSI This and That” it is most frequently the quirky female co-star who has such a superior technological grasp that the men on the show fear charging their smartphone in her presence without the dread of being pointed out as having done it wrong.

No, us white guys are fodder for TV’s jokes and I’ve about had it.  Why couldn’t Flo from the Progressive Insurance series of commercial be a Fred and let the idiots from A. Nother Insurance (the guys that might look like me) be two ditzy dames.  Huh?  I’ll tell you why.  It’s because the ditzy dame lobby would complain.   I actually Googled  “Sexist TV Commercials” and the best they could come up with were ads were the women looked too gorgeous to be real.  But if there was a white guy in the same commercial, trust me, he was an idiot.  Why wouldn’t Google lead me to a commercial or two that made fun of guys when I conducted my search?  Because they don’t consider these types of stereotypes hurtful.  Well let me tell you…

Call me butter ‘cause I’m on a roll…. So here’s something else that ticks me off about TV and their damn commercials….  All the really good commercials are broadcast during sports extravaganzas and dumbed down programming aimed at millennials.  I’d like to watch a cool Coors Lite commercial, or the cute stuff with the dog and the big horses, but suddenly I have to tune in some NBA game or a mixed martial arts horror fest just to see one.  Not gonna happen. 

And the stuff they hit me with during my evening news or early prime-time comedies is not for me, it’s for OLD PEOPLE.  Geez…. Why am I presumed to have ED just because I watch the Diane Sawyer on ABC.  And the prescription medicine ads, they’re even worse.  The same formula is involved in every ad… some guy or gal who sounds about 40 gives a monotone voice-over telling you how horrible your side effects will be when taking this drug and make you think you are going to die just from hearing the name.  Then they push you to ask your doctor to prescribe it.  Wha!  All the while, there’s a video playing of middle-aged folks who are unnaturally attractive for their age walking in slow motion.  Every time, slow motion.  What’s with that?  It’s like we’ll miss the exciting part where the dude walks up the steps without tripping unless they slow the damn thing down.

OK, that’s it.  Time for my nap.  But when I get up, please don’t expect me to drag two claw footed cast iron tubs to the peak of some mountain, with no obvious hot water supply so my wife and I can sit in separate vessels and hold hands.  I don’t remember what they’re sellin’.   But I don’t want it.