Doom Earth: How advertising's timeline was ruptured

There's a serious issue at hand that needs addressing. I had a mild argument with a runner who believed that Walkers salt and vinegar crisps used to be in a blue pack and cheese and onion in green. Not true, I said, but then wondered; what if he’s right? 

Advertising's alternative reality... I think I've identified ground zero.

He wasn’t, but many people believe Walkers did tinker with their packaging. Some would call this the Mandela effect; a false memory shared collectively. This made me think of the business we all work in and how, maybe, things you've come to believe, might not necessarily be true. So, lets get right in to this, advertising's alternative reality... I think I've identified ground zero.

You see, we’re not supposed to be here. You can feel it. Of course you can. A perceptive thinker like you can sense when the simulation has developed a glitch. This isn’t our Earth. Something is very, VERY… off. Uncannily so. And I’ve done the math, consulted with the old gods and finally put my finger on it; we are all in the wrong timeline, and advertising is the smoking gun.

Above: Some people believe - wrongly - that Walkers altered the colourways of their crisp packaging; but what if, in an alternate universe, they really were the other way around?

Before you start panicking and making rope blankets or emptying your back accounts, just stop a second. Take a breath and listen, because I have a mild thought experiment which may feel a little out-there, but stick with me, I have a point and I’ll get us all there. 

[Will Smith] slapped our world off its axis, and the proof is everywhere.

Let’s go back. Way back to March 27th, 2022. The Oscars. Will Smith is moments from receiving the Best Actor golden lad for King Richard, a performance that was supposed to propel him into that rare Hanksian orbit of universal approval; America’s Dad but with a gym membership. He should’ve been adored. Respected. He should’ve been crying humble tears in a tasteful bowtie, citing his craft and his journey, thanking the Academy and the healing power of family.

But… we all know what happened.

Chris Rock grabbed at some low-hanging comedic fruit, a joke so soft it may as well have been pre-chewed, and Big Willy, with the posture of a man entering a perfume commercial, walked calmly, intentionally, towards his new destiny. One slap later and the fabric of reality was changed forever. You see, Will Smith didn’t just hit Chris Rock; that whack was so hard it must have affected the timeline. He slapped our world off its axis, and the proof is everywhere. I'm going to focus on what I know best, advertising, because The Slap changed everything. 

Above: Is it possible that Will Smith's slap was so seismic that it altered the fabric of reality and knocked advertising - and the world - into a new reality?

Do you remember when we all sincerely believed, as Bill Gates once prophesied, that “content would be king”? Well, it’s not. It’s not even a duke. Content today is more like the weird cousin invited to Christmas because “we couldn’t just leave him home alone again”. For 'content' read; stuff happens, images flash by, there’s usually a brand or some pseudo-relevant cultural artefact to get you to pause for one tragic second, but it’s not what we hoped it would be. We were promised art. We got algorithm.

Advertising is wrong. This post-Slap timeline is wrong. I’m supposed to be blond. shots is meant to be called CUTS. Nils Leonard is supposed to be wearing yellow. Think about it. Really think. Don’t just nod along like you’re speed-running LinkedIn. EVERYTHING is upside down, wrong, reversed, and frankly a bit sticky. 

It’s not what we hoped it would be. We were promised art. We got algorithm.

When Smith’s hand made contact with Rock’s smiling face, it didn’t just break decorum, it broke the future we were meant to have, altering the past we think we remember. We were heading toward a branded utopia, and now we’re stuck in the melted-plastic knockoff version.

This isn't the advertising reality we were supposed to be in; the one where huge corporate entities gleefully spend money on long-form content with actual ambition. The one where a six-part mini-series sponsored by Dr Pepper isn’t an anomaly, it’s industry standard. The one where people like seeing ads. Talking about ads. Engaging with ads. Where ‘Skip in 5 seconds’ never had to be invented because nobody wanted to skip. And Walkers crisps packet colours actually were the other way round.

Above: The BMW Film Series, in the early 2000s, should have been the start of a bold new advertising world.

I think about this alternate universe often. I feel a strange sensation occasionally, like itchy deja vu. We all have rogue memories of a forgotten reality where we made content that moved people, ads that were more entertainment than a crude and colourful sales pitch. 

Back in film school I would insert something called a DVD into a small slit in the side of a laptop to watch the BMW Films series: Clive Owen drifting through high-budget, high-status chaos directed by the coolest filmmakers alive. Bold! Daring! Stylish! It felt like the future. We all said: This is it. THIS is where advertising is going. Now I question if those films ever existed! (I Googled it, they do). Advertising has deflated into a sticky, uncomfortable sludge of small budgets, panic-edited decks, and ideas manhandled by committees who think ‘snackable’ is a personality trait. 

Advertising has deflated into a sticky, uncomfortable sludge of small budgets, panic-edited decks, and ideas manhandled by committees who think ‘snackable’ is a personality trait. 

Again: We. Are. Not. Meant. To. Be. Here. Will Smith somehow managed to slap us into the wrong universe, and now we have an unforgiving future pulling into our collective driveways. I can hear the crunch of gravel as it approaches the door.

Back in the right universe, we’d be living through the golden age we were promised. BMW’s The Hire wouldn’t have stopped after one immaculate season, it would’ve blossomed into a fully-fledged anthology franchise, the Fargo of automotive bravado. Pot Noodle would’ve followed through on that musical they flirted with in 2008, before someone in a corner office panicked and whispered, “But… what if it’s fun?” Red Bull, eternally high on its own wings, would have produced a ten-episode docudrama about the mysterious artisan who designs all those extreme-sports helmets. And, somewhere on Channel 4, Honda would still be greenlighting those existential car films where a CR-V wonders aloud whether consciousness is a burden.