The Motherhood feat. Fiat 500L
Sin duda esta es la vida de muchas mujeres de hoy, lo que no tengo tan claro es que este sea nuestro coche...
Los publicistas lo hacen muy bien: analizan y capturan con claridad y realidad, las escenas cotidianas de nuestras vidas para plasmarlas en sus anuncios, a veces con la intención de crear ilusión "de ser" si utilizamos ese producto; y otras veces, para lanzarnos a la cara que o compras ese producto o a cada amanecer nos derrumbaremos al ver la puta realidad, gracias Mónica Naranjo....
¡Bendita publicidad!, ¡benditos anuncios, que reflejan las miserias de lo que somos y la grandeza de lo que querríamos ser!!
How the Fiat ad captures the essence of modern motherhood
Right now, the Fiat 500L mum is right for us. She may not have it all but she does it all and that's become a badge of honour
You don't get much less aspirational than the harassed mum character in the Fiat 500L
advert. Stepping over the tide of kiddie-trash that sweeps over any
family carpet, she raps out a readily identifiable tale – one based on
extensive focus group interviews with mothers. Her "babes" are her two
children, her "bitches" are her dogs, and her "hoes"‚ well, it's just a
hose. She's got the episiotomy scar and the yoghurt-smeared laptop. Her
life is a war of attrition against domestic havoc, and her only escape
is a book club, which she joined just so she could drink wine. There are
only a few shots of the car, and no information at all about what it
does, but the message is obvious: if this is your life, then this is
your car.
And presumably plenty of people see their life in the video, given that it's clocked up over 2m views
on YouTube. In one respect, this assault of the familiar represents an
escape of sorts from the relentlessly bloody upscale tone of the average
car ad‚ whimsical youngsters scampering about town to a sickly-twee
indie pop soundtrack, or the achingly clever brand-building of the Honda ads.
Screw "the power of dreams": the Fiat ad is very much aimed at someone
who'd appreciate the power of eight hours' sleep uninterrupted by a
child who needs a wee/a glass of water/reassurance that the Lightning
McQueen poster on their wall hasn't come to life and started giving them
funny looks.
But in another way, it's a version of the
self-defeating humblebrag that can give motherhood its special
nightmarish quality. Being impregnated doesn't have to be the first
stage in a complicated, decades-long process of martyrdom, but plenty of
people take it that way anyway. Torn perineums, cracked nipples and
black bags under your eyes aren't just the acceptable price of
generating new life: they become the marks of your commitment to
maternity. The playground plaints about how busy you are aren't
necessarily designed to inspire pity or aid, so much as a deep and
awestruck admiration in your listener for just how much you do. Because
the more hectically overworked your are, the logic goes, the better a
mother you must be.
Dads don't seem to have the same impulse for competitive misery. In fact, fathers often get a version of the glass escalator,
whereby their simple maleness elevates minor parental actions to
achievements of heroic wonder. Things like doing the school run, making
the packed lunches or washing the school shirts – the kind of
entry-level parenting without which your children would be naked, hungry
and not even at school – can win coos of applause and admiring remarks
about how good it is that he "helps". If you're a mum who does this
stuff with grinding regularity and no public applause, then this might
well piss you off. The chaps have every right to feel mightily insulted
too: if providing basic care for their children gets them petted like a
dog walking on its hind legs, just how low must our paternal
expectations be?
But ads aren't pitched to the utopian future
society we might become‚ a future where women don't embrace a packhorse
destiny and a man is allowed to change a nappy without someone
organising a chorus line to do a high-kicking routine in praise of his
masculine virtue. Ads are designed to sell to us as we are now, with all
our flaws and susceptibilities and right now, the Fiat 500L mum is
right for us: in her photogenically haggard way, there's something
aspirational to her after all. She might not have it all, but she does
it all, and that's a badge of honour. As the chorus goes, "You're in the
motherhood/And you're in for good." But if no one wanted to be in the
motherhood, no one would buy the car that shows the world you belong
there. Fiat knows that telling other people we're doing too much is what
mums really do best.
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