Cereal Offenders

     I'm fascinated by advertising, in particular, television commercials. Actually, "fascinated" probably isn't entirely accurate. That would suggest that when my favorite programs cut to commercial, I scoot forward to the edge of my seat in rapt attention, meticulously noting all the not-so-subtle nuances Madison Avenue throws our way in attempts to get us to buy boner pills and cheese graters for our feet. No, this is not the case, I'm merely amused by the tactics they employ, and the strange generalizations posited by these ads.

Pondering a new way to market edible underwear to Mormons...

     Breakfast cereals are especially prone to these types of strange associations. Certainly, I understand the need to market these "glucose disguised as grain" products toward children. They see a colorful cartoon mascot, and badger their parents to buy crate-loads of the crap. Brilliant. What intrigues me more is how the cereals for adults, the ones without the "Corn Burglar" and "Ibex Lex" adorning the boxes pigeonhole themselves into images directed toward specific groups. For example, Wheaties and Special K. These two cereals are practically identical, as far as I can tell. They're both compressed brown flakes of a wheat-like substance, yet their approach to marketing couldn't be directed in two more different directions.

Hell, add your own caption for this.

      Wheaties, of course, is aimed at men. With a powerful simple orange background, and the world's greatest athletes on the box cover, Wheaties practically scream at the potential buyer that they'll grow more hair on your dick, increase testicle density, and give you the pep you need to kick the shit out of that guy trying to hit on your lady. Special K, on the other hand, has a lily white background with that iconic red K that looks suspiciously like the curves of a girl with a slamming body. The information on the sides tells all the ladies that by simply eating these bland little chips, they're sure to drop at least 20 lbs, and snag a rich husband.

      Also, I just thought of another wheat flake marketed at a specific group - Total. That stuff is strictly for seniors...I believe you have to produce ID proving you're over 65, an AARP membership card, and at least one pair of soiled Depends in order to purchase Total.

If you don't remember this ad campaign, you MAY NOT eat Total.

     I experience the reverse reaction that these Mad Men are hoping for when they typecast cereals. Instead of feeling warm and comforted knowing there's always going to be a brand of crunchy breakfast goodness made just for me, I actually become a bit anxious. If there's a cereal made just for my demographic, what kind of repercussions might there be if I were to cross party lines and dabble in somebody else's bowl? Like, what happens if instead of a hearty, manly bowl of Wheaties (which I so clearly need for my active, outdoor lifestyle), I opt for a serving of Special K? Am I instantly going to worry about how my butt looks? Will I start menstruating by the next lunar cycle? God forbid someone catches me unaware and slips me some Total. My prostate might blow up to the size of a tangerine, and I'll begin paying for small items in exact change.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Stop giving the elderly patients Wheaties!"

     All these thoughts and worries are a bit heavy for a time of day when I already have enough trouble simply trying to get out of bed and wrangling my morning wood to a socially acceptable position. That's why I always skip breakfast. For that matter, I skip dinner as well. With all the Hungry Man Dinners and Lean Cuisine out there, it's enough to make me sick, worrying if I'm going to turn into some sort of she-male if I pick the wrong meal. I'll stick to nice, androgynous lunches of turkey and cheese sandwiches. At least you know where you stand with those.