Has anyone else seen the horrific Multi Grain Cheerios advertisement on Hulu Plus? I realize that this has been on television since last summer, but I don’t have cable TV. However, I’m doing a trial of Hulu (which will go no further for reasons beyond commercials I don’t want my kids to see) so I didn’t get exposed to this terrible advertisement until a week ago.
(click here if you can’t see the video)
It starts out with a woman, who looks to me to be in her late 30s or early 40s, pulling on jeans that zip up. She’s very excited and thanks Cheerios and multigrain and eating right and exercise like it’s the Golden Globes. This is fine-ish and par for the course of any weight loss ad. I didn’t throw up in my mouth until the teenage daughter interrupts her mom’s Oscars moment by saying: Mom, are those my jeans?
Let me get this straight, my goal as the mom of a teenager, which probably puts the mom even older than I pegged her for since I will be barely 42 years old when my oldest goes to high school, is to fit into my daughter’s jeans? Wow, that’s gross. I don’t want to be a 15-year-old girl now, and I’m 34.
Even if her daughter is college-age, which makes the mom even older and more pathetic for trying on her daughter’s jeans, I am still offended that my goal is “50 is the new 20.” No 50 is 50, and until we treat as such, no one is going to feel comfortable in their own skin. Eat right. Exercise. Be realistic. Be yourself. Or Eat right and exercise until you can pretend to be three decades younger than you are. Good luck!
Even if the implication is I can now buy jeans that are hip enough to be mistaken for my daughter’s jeans, it’s still weird. Why am I dressing like a high school or young college student? Get a grip, Cheerios. Are my mom dreams reduced to having the style of a teenage girl? Not only is that unrealistic, but all I have to do is look at my daughter to realize that IT’S CREEPY AS CRAP.
Look, I have blue-streaked hair. I don’t think being hip or different is a teenage only thing. I don’t think moms have no style or opportunity to look cool and even better than they did in the pimple-popping years of high school. But shopping at Abercrombie and Fitch or fawning over stores with pathetic names like Forever 21 isn’t going to get a woman there. Idealizing youth is forgetting how much it sucked to have no idea who we were or who we wanted to be. I had so little autonomy over my life choices that I didn’t even know what shoes to buy most years — one year I was embracing the “right pair” to fit in and the next I avoiding them so I could be oh so different. Youth is fun and exciting, full of potential and midriffs and braided belts, but it is also gangling and awkward, forgetful and selfish. It’s great for young people. It’s not so great for anyone else.
I’d rather eat health and exercise and wear my own jeans, and it’s not just because these 3Ts don’t fit me.
I happen to like my age, and I would love companies to embrace a healthy view of every decade. But I guess the best consumers are the most uncomfortable, and, man, are my preschooler’s jeans hard to wear.