… or at least, your cock as you might wish it to be. If it was endowed with very good genes, worked out in the gym twice a day and had zero subcutaneous fat. And was shot in high gain black and white.
But for all the professional production values, these models in the new ‘Mark the Spot’ campaign are nasty. As in, just stepped off a multi-racial porn gang-bang shoot nasty. Still covered in… cockiness.
And initially at least it seems as if they’re talking cock as well.
I’m not sure I ‘want to see more’, though. I’m not especially fond of this ad with it’s in-yer-face arrogance (and it reminds me more than a little of this chap). But I suspect it’s meant to be as annnoying as… an erection.
Or an internet virus.
Nevertheless, partly because he was the least convincing cock, I did watch pretty-boy Kellan Lutz talking about how much he loves to be in front of the camera in his Calvins (‘they hold everything together’), and tries to convince us that he got his vast, juicy cantaloupe melon pecs from boxing and snowboarding.
Why, I wonder, are gays – or at least the busybody, button-holing, milk-monitor ones – so keen on ads being nice to them, and telling the world it’s OK to be homo? Especially when this strategy frequently leaves them with mayo on their faces?
Stonewall’s apoplexy over the pulling of the Heinz ‘gay kiss’ ad earlier this year is a messy case-in-point. Excuse me, but it wasn’t a gay kiss, it was a joke: Heinz’s sandwich spread is so good, it turns mum into an ugly New York deli short-order chef whom dad pecks on the cheek before leaving in the morning. They’re not a gay couple. The fact it wasn’t a very good joke doesn’t make the sulky gay boycott of Heinz for pulling the ad look any less humourless than the literalist Christians and ‘family-values’ freaks who complained about it in the first place.
Likewise, whatever Snickers were saying in that TV ad featuring Mr T barking, “Get some nuts!” while firing candy bars at a swishy speed-walker, the much swishier response of gay groups on both sides of the Atlantic who succeeded in getting it banned sent out the entirely unambiguous message that gays don’t have any.
More to the point, who besides Stonewall and pensioners, actually watches TV ads these days? Isn’t that what the fast-forward button was invented for? Gay people, and for that matter most straights now, are too busy uploading their ‘home movies’ onto their online profile to watch TV in real time.
‘Impressionable’ kids that the gay busybodies want to protect certainly aren’t watching: they don’t see the point of TV that doesn’t turn the world into a lake of fire at the touch of an Xbox controller.
I’ll bet ready money most people only heard about these ads after the gay milk monitors started huffing, “How very dare you!” – and driving even more traffic to YouTube. It was the only place I actually saw either ad.
Gay protests about ‘homophobic’ ads today sometimes seem to exist in a virtual world, defending virtual people from virtual slights where the only thing that’s real is pointlessness. I’m old enough to remember when people did watch ads. It was a time when they were, as everyone used to say repeatedly, “the best thing on telly,” when, instead of diving for the mute button, people would turn the sound up. And it was a time when ads were doing their damndest to turn everyone gay. It was called the 1980s.
In the 1980s, advertising was gay porn – and the only gay porn generally available. Which is why it was so powerful. Now, thanks to the net, porn is porn – or rather, porn is advertising: I want those pubes/ that body/ that cock/ that orifice/ that surgery/ that lampshade.
The legendary UK Levi’s male striptease ads of the mid-1980s (inspired by the success of the 1983 Calvin Klein underwear poster campaign featuring a giant Tom Hintnaus stripped down to his Y fronts in Times Square, lensed by Bruce Weber) saw humpy young men take off their clothes off in our living rooms. It introduced the glorious notion of the worked-out, attention-hungry, proudly passive male body to an equally astonished and enraptured British public. And brainwashed an entire generation of straight boys into joining the gym and then going to gay discos and starting boybands to show off the results.
It also succeeded in making even straight women “gay”. After all, in place of cooing about “twinkly eyes,” it encouraged women to look at the male body with the same critical, impossibly demanding, carnivorous eye that gay men had used for years. In fact, so much have all our expectations been inflated that Nick Kamen’s “fabulously hunky” body as it was described back then by the tabs, today probably wouldn’t get past the audition stage – he’d be told to go back to the gym and inject some horse steroids.
Pre-1980s there wasn’t much gay lust in ads or, for that matter, Britain. I remember as a kid spending most of the 1970s watching an Old Spice Aftershave ‘Mark of a Man’ commercial, which featured a surfer riding a vast, spuming wave in very long-shot, to the climactic strains of ‘O Fortuna’ from Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana. The number of times I waited for that ad to come on as a kid, hoping, praying that this time the camera would move in closer.
In the 1980s, my prayers were answered and the lens moved in, big time. Since then, it’s never moved back. It has zoomed ever closer, until now we’re looking at the mitochondria on the walls of men’s small intestines.
Maybe I’m an incurable romantic/masochist, but I sometimes find myself missing the aching, blurry, long-shot tease of 1970s’ Old Spice masculinity. Because it never quite delivers, it never disappoints.
You might think my take on how 1980s advertising queered up Britain and made it safe for metrosexuality fanciful, but there were lots of people who objected to the Levi’s commercials back then because they saw them as promoting sodomitic immorality. If those nay-gay-sayers had succeeded in having the ads pulled – in the way that gay groups succeed today with ads they deem to be immoral – who knows what kind of pec-less, ab-less world we might be living in?
In the post-advertising, post-gay porn world we’re living in, there’s an American website called Commercial Closet devoted to how ads treat homosexuals, which you can visit if you want to get worked up over ads you haven’t seen – most of them foreign. It has a gay grading system for each ad that, using a complicated very American formula, scores them from 0 to 100. Anything under 49 is deemed ‘Negative’, between 49-69 is ‘Caution’; 69-89 ‘Equal’; and 89-100 ‘Elton John’ (OK, I made that last bit up).
One of the more interesting contributions is a series of ads for the trainers ASICS, which ran in France this year. In them, two male French comedians, Omar & Fred, one black, one white, ‘go gay’, making passes at one another. Sans ASICS, they’re rebuffed indignantly by the other party. Avec, they go gaga for them. There’s nothing especially offensive about the ads. They resort to fewer stereotypes than gay-adored Little Britain and, more importantly, are (mildly) funny, and seem to be entirely accurate in what they’re saying about the effect that consumerism in general – and advertising in particular – have had on men.
How does it score according to Commercial Closet’s gay-friendly grading system? ‘40: Negative’.
How much bigger can the cotton-clad packages in men’s underwear ads get, I wonder, before they are literally shoved down our throats? And if they are, will any of us be so impolite as to gag? Even though good quality cotton is so absorbent?
Above is Beck’s latest sporno for Emporio Armani underwear, due to air in early 2008. Below is fellow-footballer Freddie Ljunberg’s 2006 Calvin Klein campaign.
Do these chaps live together? I mean, they seem to share the same type of fancy underwear, the same kind of bed-linen, the same barber – and the same dodgy shaver. They also seem to favour the same saucy bedtime positions – and apparently use the same b/w digital camera. They even look like one another, in that slightly disturbing twin-ish way that some boyfriends have.
In fact, the shots are almost a mirror image of one another: are they looking into our eyes, their own or each others? Even if they don’t actually share the same bed, it’s clear that Becks is doing Ljunberg doing Becks: which is impressive. Auto-fellatio and 69-ing at the same time. Just as well these guys are supple athletes.
Becks seems to sport an even larger Ljunbox – though seems to be less well-endowed when it comes to lighting. (Becks is two whole years older than Freddie.)
Is Beck’s bigger basket a case of post-production spornographic one-up-manship? Or is it just that Beck’s Brit meatballs are bigger than the Swedish variety? (Which at Ikea at least seem to be a little on the mean side.) I think we need to be told.
In the meantime, I must commend Mr Armani’s decision to draw a veil – or a white linen shirt – over Beck’s seriously daggy arm and shoulder tatts.
Books by Mark Simpson
A biography of the metrosexual. By his dad.
The Queen is Dead
All saints should be considered guilty until proven innocent
The book that changed the way the world looks at men
It’s a Queer World
It’s a Queer World
A warped look at a fin de siecle world of pop culture where nothing is quite as straight – or gay – as it seems. […]