Words written on achromatic paper, carbon bleeds on your fingertips. The words are too serious, self-consciously bland—unimaginative—packaged for consumption.
“What did they do to our children?” A woman writes for Adbuster in respond to the recent aggressive advertisements which target children. A child by the age of two could identify 12 brands. Nothing is sacred, everything is marketable. Twelve year old models with glossed lips are adorned with Tommy’s school wear.
I don’t know what is worst, twelve year olds pretending to be grown up or grown women with hello kitty complex. The botox.ca billboards that are on every major intersections stare at me, “Don’t you want to be hot?” Hot fades in my vocabulary.
I’m not aware when the transition happened. I was once a fashion pusher. I victimized many and they loved me:
“Caramel Kiss. It’s gorgeous on you.”
“Honey Blonde. It looks soooo great on the pillows.”
“Curls bring out your playful personality”
“That is sooo COOL.”
“Wow, that is hot!”
I sounded like a flamboyant gay man. But they gave comfort and I made people feel beautiful, even though their husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends hated it. I was good. Really good. Maybe I could fall back on that as a career. Shall I do it?
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