Dear Advertisers, Love Me

Adverts, are by design, a necessary evil when you watch as much Channel 4 programming as I seem to.


Some are a great 30 seconds of wittiness or catchy theme tunes, some like the dreaded Go Compare one make my teeth grind with annoyance. None ever make me wish to buy more of X product, so perhaps I’m missing the point of the things in the first place.


However, there are ads recently that are beyond stupid, or make me feel older than my 30 years, or which  just make me wish to smack the ad agency with a very large comedy frying pan.


First up for the Frying Pan is Dulux. 


Now, I loved their recent ad whereby a young woman painted her bland bedroom red, and, on her boyfriend throwing her on the bed with lustful advances due to said red colour (which made me realise when we changed one of our rooms red we got pregnant with Mini), the door shuts. Only to be opened on mayhem, with children and the lady pregnant, thus painting the room back to its former bland colour. That, my friends was clever advertising.


The newest one, is not so much clever as misleading to more gullible new parents. 


The idea is, a couple have two noisy kids who don’t like to sleep in and who refuse to leave their parent’s alone in their bedroom (I’m presuming they didn’t need the red paint to induce wanton bedroom gymnastics, they just want rid of their brats. I can sympathise). However, aforementioned parents go off to their hardware store, buy some tins of lovely Dulux paint, paint the kids room, and hey presto, magically, the kids stay happily playing in their room until 9.30am. 


Whatever!


I wish it were that simple.


Despite re-decorating Mini’s room twice in two years, she more often than not comes in our room, bemoaning that she hates the dark/sleeping alone/wants a hug and thus disturbing the peace. She also refuses, along with her brother, to let us have any, cough, alone time, no matter how many crap toys, room stickers and layers of paint we brush on.


I say its false advertising. 


Which takes me onto Top Shop.


In the window of my local store, which is one of the few still gallantly staying open in our High Street, is a large sign. It screams out that Hot Pants are the summer must have, and how they have a pair which can be worn in 21 different ways. “You have to have them” its says. “Its a summer essential” it cries. “Its practically the law in Maidenhead to wear them even when its not summer but with Ugg Boots”. OK, it doesn’t say that last one, but, you know, it may as well have.


Hmm. I’m not convinced.


You see, whatever way of the impressive 21 ways I could try to wear them, there is still the minor issue of the fact I do not posses the legs of a size 8 model. I have stretch marks on my thighs. I also have scars on my knee. 
Especially when one considers that I own underwear longer and with more arse coverage than these hot pants. And they are satin. Not known for its fat girl flattering properties. Or its fat arse covering properties either.


So, whilst I am sure Top Shop have customers for which Hot Pants are the thing they must own this summer (like my leggy and size 6 niece J for instance. Who owns leather hot pants. And does not, owing to her size 6, 5 foot 6 self have a fat arse), I disagree with the claim they are a summer must have.


In my wardrobe, a summer must have must have at least enough material to cover from my neck to my feet. If it dusts the floor even better. It must have Lycra. It also must not be satin, silk, white or any other easily stained colours. So pretty much black or navy blue. It must look fine with cheap flip flops, not require an iron (I hate ironing in the winter, let alone when its 30 degrees out) and must look OK with a battered old Sisley denim jacket which only just does up I like lots.


I think I shall be giving Top Shop shopping a wide berth. I’m obviously past it.


Have you seen any ads which have you reaching for the remote? Let me know below!

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