Old people are lonely, poor, and badly dressed. They inhabit crappy houses, they have weird relationships with kids and they live on another planet. Tell us something we don’t know, John Lewis.
Forgetting for a moment the casual condescension of this vacuous little exercise in directing people to a department store to buy stuff, what irritates me is the self-regarding clap-trap vomited forth by marketing types as they pick over their own cleverness and creative sophistication in managing this irrelevant campaign.
In a paper which should know an awful lot better, a smart industry commentator points out “By now, we all have a view on the John Lewis Christmas campaign, right? But that’s the point”. O … M … G!! I see! Yeah. I get it! That’s what it’s all about!
This Einstein of advertising goes on to tell me that this is a “thoroughly modern integrated marketing campaign” then (puffed up with professional pride) drivels on about online leaks, tweets, shares, Oasis, social purpose, emotional touchpoints, experiential marketing and the creation of a state of “feverish anticipation”.
Oh for God’s sake. Get a life. I’d be in a state of feverish anticipation if Nicole Kidman called me up and invited me round to her place for a sleepover. But a 2 minute ad about a shop? Do you so lack in self-awareness, are you so bereft of intellect or are you so overcome with a sense of your own importance, that you fail to see the inanity of what you’re saying?
This whole campaign, my insider informs me, is about (hideous term) “talkability”. If it gets people talking about the nasty sub-text to this ad, all well and good. No need to expound upon this at too great a length. I’m sure others will have done so elsewhere. It runs like this: old people are unloved and sit isolated on benches gazing helplessly through rheumy eyes waiting for Age UK to turn up with meals on wheels which they can mumble through their gums whilst sitting in a dark and semi-derelict shack waiting to watch another re-run of Pointless.
But lo! Tidings of joy! There is a solution to the misery of the unloved elderly and to all men on earth that suffer sadness in this season of Yuletide wonder. For Lewis, the Angel of the Lord, blesses us with his presence and with one sweep of his majestic integrated marketing wings guides us to a future where all social ills will be ended. Come my people: “show someone they’re loved”. But how, oh wise one? Hi thee unto retail hell, my friends, where thou shalt spend £99 on a piece of over-priced tat and go forth to deliver it to the unloved by balloon. Oh really? Tell that to your sub-Living-Wage outsourced cleaners next time they’re picketing your doors on a demo.
Arguably greater love hath no man than that he should spend 4 hours in Westfield on Saturday afternoon with 200,000 other units of human footfall examining bits of stuff in the vain hope that they might bring a moment’s pleasure to someone they can’t really be bothered about acknowledging for the rest of the year.
But more convincingly, showing someone they’re loved is not just for Christmas, and showing someone they’re loved is about actions, and care and giving them something which is measured not in monetary terms, and not because it’s the latest, or the shiniest or the priciest. Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it. It doesn’t need to be said. It’s something we all subscribe to.
So why are we expected to go mental about a shop which pours so much money and tedious effort into persuading us of the exact opposite? Why aren’t we putting the 45 days from early November into thinking about the people we love – really thinking about them - and exercising our creativity to devise a present which is only for them and not the telescope that John Lewis decrees everybody of pensionable age should receive this Christmas?
It’s as if the supposed “creativity” of this campaign is robbing us all of exercising our own Christmas creativity. Want to show someone you love them? Here it is, on a shelf. God forbid that you should go and talk to the old gent in the shabby trousers, or visit him every week, or send him a letter, or invite him in for a meal, or spend time with him. Spend money instead.
Ah yes. I’m all “bah humbug” and righteous indignation, aren’t I? I’m rambling on like some earnest old Puritan. A miserable old Scrooge gurning in contempt at the marketing folk chomping sauteed sweet-potato and artichoke goulash out of ironic miniature chip wrappers at their celebratory Christmas do. They’ve got everything to celebrate. Their paymasters are happy. The analytics are in and the talkability metrics are in quantum overload mode.
I’m talking about it for God’s sake – even if this ridiculous ad and all the brouhaha surrounding it has convinced me never to buy anything from John Lewis again. I’m talking about it, even if all it’s done is stiffen my resolve to show someone they’re loved this Christmas by exercising some originality. Honestly, you self-satisfied marketing chaps, well done. Very very well done. You've reminded us of what Christmas is really about. Let's hope John Lewis's sales suffer as a result.
Oh, and getting into brainstorming mode, here’s an idea for next year’s extravaganza. Long shot of icy plane. Polar bear (accompanied by penguin carrying fluffy toy) lumbers into view and squats down to relieve himself by a jolly Christmas tree. Slow zoom into large steaming turd. The image of the turd occupies the entire screen. Caption: “It’s Christmas. Buy loads of this. From John Lewis”.