The Age of Hucksterism

We are all selling snake oil now

As a former journalist, I have always been drawn to old newspapers, including the vintage ads. The product claims were so charmingly over the top. I always wondered if our great-great-grandparents really believed all those outlandish promises, or if most people always realized they were crap.

Bottled remedies could resolve epilepsy or toothaches or gray hair. Being overweight was no problem; scores of products could help you lose weight easily. Other products promised to revive a man’s lost vitality or “relieved suppressed menstruation” in women. You could buy a “toilet mask” and strap it to your face overnight to become more beautiful. An electropathic harness belt would help anyone suffering from nervousness. A special horse-action saddle was a substitute for riding a real horse and would stimulate your liver and cure your gout, among many other amazing things.

Scroll through your social media feed and you’ll find many modern versions of these. Everybody is selling something nowadays, and it’s getting harder to attract attention and stand out from the crowd. Consequently, the claims have become more outlandish and the antics more shrill and demanding.

I’m a sucker for sleep aids. I’m always tired, and a sleep study showed I spend an abnormally short period of time in deep sleep, so anybody selling an essential oil or an electronic stimulator or a pill or a pillow or a mattress or sheets or a relaxation tape or a vitamin or a supplement or an herb or a white noise machine or a special sleep class or anything else that could get me five more minutes of sweet slumber has my attention.

I also weigh more than I’d like, and there are thousands of drugs and vitamins and supplements and books and online classes and support groups and shakes and exercise videos and books and wraps and surgeries and special food plans shipped right to my door that will, at long last, make me thin.

I’ve failed to become wealthy despite years of education and hard work, but there are solutions for that, too. I could take classes or hire advisers or read books or get counseling or work with a lifestyle coach or learn what mental block is holding me back or figure out what skill I need to pick up or how to interview better or how to predict the stock market or how to start my own business or how to make my business more profitable or how to save on taxes or how to get in on bitcoins or how to handle my money better or how to get a grant or how to make a killing by renting out my spare room or driving people around in my spare time.

Why am I not rich, thin and well-rested?

I did manage to marry a wonderful man, so I am able to skip over the ads that promise me how to feel more confident and know when I’ve met the right guy and which dating services to use and how to make any man want me and how to get a reluctant boyfriend to propose and how to know if he’s a cheater and what new sex techniques will keep the spark in my marriage and how to be more exciting in bed but not so exciting that he will think I’m a cheater.

I worked at an advertising agency for a few years. Faced with the task of getting potential customers’ attention amidst the sea of frantically waving hands, I often felt like I was hopped up on some kind of stimulant. Could I come up with something really funny? Really clever? Really unusual? Really compelling? How could I figure out a way to get people to actually click on the damned ad?

A lot of ads are really just a version of “BUY THIS SHIT!” But you will see hundreds of versions of this ad every day, written by hundreds of desperate copywriters. They’ll put in some exclamation marks. They’ll put in some enticing boobs. They’ll put in an obnoxious orange background. They’ll put in a line claiming the product will change your life.

You cannot escape these ads. If you drive to work, you’ll see billboard ads. If you check your social media feed while sitting in the bathroom, you’ll see digital ads. If you’re listening to music on a free streaming service, you’ll hear ads. If TV and radio are still in your life, you’ll be exposed to those ads. If you read any newspaper or magazine, you’ll see ads. If you watch videos online, you’ll see ads. If you open a utility bill, you’ll probably see ads. If you watch a movie in the theatre, you’ll see ads for upcoming movies. If you watch a movie online, you’ll see ads for upcoming movies there, too. If you do anything at all on the internet, you’ll see ads and ads and ads and then you’ll see ads for classes on how to write better ads.

There are ways of micro targeting these ads to you that you have no idea exist, even though you’ve read many alarming stories that tell you all the ways that your information is being collected and used against you to make you want to buy stuff. The problem is much more advanced than you know, even though you think you know how advanced this problem is. The problem is much more advanced than I know, and I’ve taken out advertising that I’ve pushed to very select audiences.

If you want to, you can reach middle-aged women in New Hampshire who like country music and drive Ford minivans, because your research has revealed that they’re the exact subset of customers most likely to sign up for your particular self-esteem course. You can also direct advertising to 22-year-old sneakerheads in Minnesota who adopted shelter dogs, because you have reason to believe these are the people who most likely to buy your Gen Z-friendly hair product.

I suspect there are people out there who know exactly what you are thinking about just at that moment when you’re making yourself orgasm, even though you’ve never revealed that to anyone, because they know you better than your own spouse does. Your spouse has not analyzed all your Google searches and your Amazon purchase history and used magic algorithms to ferret out things you barely even know about yourself.

People with full-time jobs are selling essential oils and leggings and cleaning products and makeup and diet aids and nutritional supplements and Google only knows what else on the side. They need to, because a full-time job doesn’t cover the cost of Netflix and Prime and an iPhone and having meal kits and outfits delivered to your door. We all have a side hustle and we’re all trying to learn how to make more money at it, and we will spend money to learn how to make more money at it.

Sometimes, I think the most radical thing any of us could do is stop buying anything. Grow our own food. Buy used things from thrift shops. Listen to old vinyl records. Just stop feeding the beast.

But I need to make money. And that means, in some way, selling things. I sell books and articles. It is how the world is. I have to eat, and I have to live somewhere. I have to feed the beast if I want to feed myself.

Please like and share my stuff. I need to make a purchase. I found a new pill advertised online that sounds perfect for me. It will make me thinner and richer and happier, with perkier breasts and shinier hair. It’s made from the fatty tissues of a rare species of Indonesian reptile. It’s been used by the natives there for generations. It’s going to change my life. I have faith.