Food for Thought

“You deserve this spoon cake,” said the headline on the LifeHacker website. I wondered what this implied about the quality of the spoon cake, given that I’d accomplished nothing worthwhile that week. But then I remembered that LifeHacker had no means to assess my degree of merit — it didn’t even know who I was. The headline was meant to suggest that everybody deserves this spoon cake (and, by implication, that the spoon cake is delicious).

Here’s the problem: To “deserve” something generally means that one has done something to earn the thing (or at least has done nothing to forfeit the privilege of having it). The word’s purpose is to distinguish those who are deserving from those who aren’t. But if everyone deserves something, the word becomes meaningless.

I first encountered this problem many years ago when McDonald’s began running commercials saying “You deserve a break today.” I was a teenager when this slogan came into being, and even then, I found it insulting. Clearly, McDonald’s was trying to flatter me, to contrast me with those sluggards who hadn’t been doing their work and therefore were unworthy of getting a break. But McDonald’s had no way to know that I wasn’t a sluggard, and therefore their claim was disingenuous.

“Why would anybody take those commercials seriously?” I asked my father.

“Those ads are intended for people who aren’t going to think about them too much,” he said. “You’re not one of those people.”

I’m reminded of this, oddly enough, because I recently encountered a young woman wearing extremely torn jeans. When I say “extremely,” I mean that pretty much the entire front of each pants leg was missing, from the lower thigh to the upper calf.

Now, I can think of two practical reasons to wear pants: One is to protect your legs from rain, cold, or sun; the other is to cover your legs for the sake of modesty or dignity. Clearly, these jeans served neither purpose, so the only other reason I could imagine for her choice of wardrobe was to make a statement.

But what sort of statement? Did she mean to communicate that she was a rebel, too cool to care what people like me thought? Did she wish to demonstrate that she was too spiritual and idealistic to concern herself with material things? Did she simply want to fit in, because all of her friends were wearing extremely torn jeans?

I suppose you could say that — as with the McDonald’s ads — my failure to understand her message means that I was not part of her intended audience. She was wearing those jeans solely to appeal to people who, unlike me, would understand why she was wearing them. As for me, I’m presumed to just continue along my way: Nothing to see here!

But something about that conclusion feels a little too facile — too close to the logical fallacy known as “no true Scotsman.” For those of you who aren’t acquainted with the catalog of logical fallacies, the traditional illustration is this: One man states a rule or generalization, such as “No Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge.” Another objects, “Well, I’m a Scotsman, and I put sugar on my porridge.” To which the first one responds, “Well, no true Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge.” In other words, the first person contrives to make his rule unfalsifiable by specifically excluding any counterexamples, thereby making the initial statement pointless.[1]

To say that “if you don’t understand the message, then it wasn’t intended for you” has a similar effect: It automatically excludes the possibility that the message is incompletely thought out, or badly expressed. If “you deserve this spoon cake” is meaningful only to people who already believe that they deserve that spoon cake, it’s not a very useful assertion. There are plenty of people who don’t feel worthy of spoon cake, but would likely still enjoy it if it were offered to them.

Imagine how much more effective our political discourse would be if we could find ways to express things that are clear to everyone, regardless of their preconceptions. (Perhaps something along the lines of “Lots of people think this spoon cake is really yummy!” or “If fast food is a treat for you, consider getting it at McDonald’s!”) People would still disagree, but at least they would have a shared understanding of what they’re disagreeing about.


[1] For another example of “no true Scotsman” — this one involving concealed gold — see Atmosphere (3).

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Open Mind

Sometime in the mid-1960s, I started seeing commercials for a new fast-food chain called Kentucky Fried Chicken. The chicken, prepared according to Colonel Sanders’s secret recipe using eleven herbs and spices, was unbearably tempting. I could practically smell it coming out of the TV screen.

I asked my mother whether we could get Kentucky Fried Chicken sometime, and her response was absolutely not. “It’s expensive, and it’s bad for you,” she said. So it wasn’t until I was in high school, when I was able to go places on my own and had a bit of money to spend, that I finally got to buy myself some of that long-anticipated chicken.

Needless to say, the chicken was terrible. It was salty and greasy, and it left my stomach feeling unsettled. I was extremely let down, but I chalked it up to a learning experience. “OK, now I know,” I said to myself.

But the story gets worse: A week later, I saw another commercial for Kentucky Fried Chicken, beautifully fried to a golden brown and oozing herbs and spices, and I wanted the chicken again. Not only that, I went out and bought the chicken again. That’s when I realized how insidious advertising can be, particularly when it’s accompanied by seductive visual images — it can bypass all of your logic and common sense and go straight to the infantile “I need it!” portion of your brain. That was scary as hell.

I’m not opposed to advertising in principle. Up through the 1950s, advertisements were mostly informative. They made you aware that a product exists and then made a rational argument for why you should buy it. I’m not saying that the argument was necessarily good — cigarette commercials would talk about the smoothness of their blend of tobacco and the effectiveness of their filter, without bothering to mention that smoking those cigarettes would kill you — but at least they called upon the customer’s ability to reason. They were accompanied by appealing images, but those images served as sugar to help the medicine go down. The ads themselves were still mostly medicine.

But advertisements now are not intended to persuade; they’re intended to capture you against your will, using whatever new psychological techniques the researchers have cooked up. Not only do current TV commercials say very little about the merits of their product; some of them don’t even mention the product until the final title card. They use carefully crafted imagery to get your neurons all tingly, and then cap off the experience by giving you a brand name to associate with that tingliness. No matter how much of a rational thinker you are, there’s nothing you can do about it.

I try to defend myself by avoiding advertisements as much as possible. I scrupulously ignore the ads in my Facebook feed, and avert my eyes from any ads I encounter in newspapers and magazines. But that sort of defense doesn’t go very far. Even when you don’t encounter ads firsthand, they seep into the culture and get at you through your social interactions. I stopped watching TV some time ago, yet somehow I still know who “Jake from State Farm” is.

So really, the only thing I can do is actively counteract the effects of advertising — meaning that if I see a product advertised, I vow not to buy it. If I see a ballot proposition heavily advertised, I make it a point to vote for the other side. Naturally, there exceptions to this policy: If good, objective, reliable sources can convince me that the thing being advertised really is better than the alternatives, then I might go for it. But my default position is to say no, and the burden of proof is on the party who wants to convince me otherwise. This may seem like an extreme reaction, but it’s the only one that makes sense to me. Somebody is paying for access to my brain, which in itself isn’t a good thing; but on top of that, the person to whom that payment is being made isn’t me. I didn’t have a voice when that deal was made. Some agency is renting out the inside of my head as if it’s real estate, and so it’s up to me to bar the door and defend my private property. You see, even all of these years later, I still crave KFC, and that’s horrifying.

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