The Vulgarization of America.
Maybe we can’t be fooled all the time—but it sure looks like it.
“He who has the fastest golf cart never has a bad lie.” Mickey Mantle
If a quote summarized the Trump Administration—and Trump himself—the quote above would be it. The fastest golf cart, the most outrageous statement, the most inflated of personal accomplishments. We’ve come to accept this inviolable truth: Those who drive the best golf carts are ultimately the best liars.
And let’s face it, given what we’ve seen with this election so far, it seems we don’t really care about moral rectitude anymore. We’re only interested in winners, even the ones who toe the ball in at the ninth hole.
There was an advertising guy, a giant named Bill Bernbach, who still believed in truth and integrity. “All of us who professionally use the mass media are the shapers of society,” he once said. “We can vulgarize society. We can brutalize it. Or we can help lift it onto a higher level.”
This was back in the sixties, long before mass media took on the engorged form it is today. If Bernbach were alive now, would he still see us shaping society? Or would he tell us we’ve vulgarized it?
“We have the power and skill to trick people. Or so we think. But we’re wrong. We can’t fool any of the people any of the time.”
An associate of Bernbach’s, the brilliant copywriter, Bob Levenson, saw the vulgarization happening even back then. In an ad summarizing media in general, he wrote: “We have the power and skill to trick people. Or so we think. But we’re wrong. We can’t fool any of the people any of the time.”
Both men spent their careers trying to change perceptions, forming what would become some of the most intelligent and honest advertising in history. Yet one man saw mass media at a crossroads, the other saw us playing with lies. As he wrote: “If we play tricks with the truth, we die.”
Well, we haven’t died yet. That doesn’t mean we couldn’t die. Let’s just say we’re a hair away. Every blog, every speech, every piece of communication shapes our society. But do we see it as a responsibility? Or do we still believe we can trick people into believing things?
We’re all guilty of trickery, or what Amy Winehouse called “fuckery.”
Think of when Google decided to fine companies for including keywords in their SEOs that didn’t exist in the content. Then Google had to fine itself three times for doing the same thing.
In fact, we’ve been fooled by more people telling us they’re honest than people telling us they’re liars.
It’s not that we don’t believe in integrity. If we could lift society to a higher level with the truth, we’d do it. Trouble is, we’re a society used to lies and exaggerated promises. In fact, we’ve been fooled by more people telling us they’re honest than people telling us they’re liars.
In an article called Is Advertising an Art of Lying? it describes how we’re exposed to 3000 brands a day, and that’s a problem. If there were only two or three competing, they wouldn’t have to exaggerate or lie. The market could be divided comfortably between them.
Unfortunately, monopolies are tough to maintain in an open market system. Inevitably, two or three new entries come along, and suddenly it’s a war. Companies don’t go out of their way to lie, they go out of their way to protect market share.
We’re willing to admit that Rogaine might bring back a few buds of hair, but nobody expects they’re going to look like Tarzan.
We see it all the time, yet we don’t feel particularly vulgarized. We take it with a grain of salt. We’re willing to admit that Rogaine might bring back a few buds of hair, but nobody expects they’re going to look like Tarzan.
When car companies talk about reaching “a new level of automotive excellence,” we still go out and shop around. It’s not that we don’t believe them. We just figure all cars have a new level of automotive excellence. Who launches a new car without it?
Maybe we should call it “acceptable fuckery,” meaning we’re not fooled, but we need a car all the same, just as we need food and entertainment and any number of electronic devices. We accept vulgarization, but we don’t feel “brutalized” by it. If anything, we feel mildly amused.
When Levenson said, “We can’t fool any of the people any of the time,” I’m sure he figured we’d smarten up, maybe even rebel.
He’s the president afterall, and we’ve already seen him toe his ball into the ninth hole. So what? It’s like mailers and telemarketing. Believe what you want.
What we did instead was learn to enjoy the entertainment value of exaggerated truths and hidden lies. President Trump employs both, and we’re neither shocked, nor particularly put off by them. He’s the president afterall, and we’ve already seen him toe his ball into the ninth hole. So what? It’s like mailers and telemarketing. Believe what you want.
On the subway the other day, I heard a group of school kids talking about carrier plans. “Yeah, like we’re getting unlimited long distance for free,” one of them laughed. “As long as we call after three in the morning.”
It soon turned into a discussion about who got taken less.
Have carrier plans become the training ground for young people, not learning how to separate truth from lies, but lies from lies?
That might be the greatest vulgarization of all. When lies become a hoot, where do we go next?
“There is not one of you who would dare to write his honest opinion,” he said to his colleagues at his retirement party.
Levenson said: “No donkey chases the carrot forever.” He believed we’d grow weary of empty promises. Perhaps he underestimated how willing we are to accept mass media the way it is.
One of the most telling comments came from John Swainton, Chief of Staff of the New York Times. “There is not one of you who would dare to write his honest opinion,” he said to his colleagues at his retirement party.
“The business of a journalist now is to destroy the truth, to lie outright, to pervert, to vilify, fall at the feet of Mammon and sell himself for his daily bread. We are tools, vessels of rich men behind the scenes, we are jumping jacks. They pull the strings; we dance. Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are the properties of these men. We are intellectual prostitutes.”
Now there’s a man who doesn’t see lies being a hoot. Whether his colleagues felt any remorse about the state of journalism is a different story.
As I said earlier, we haven’t died. That’s not to say we couldn’t.
If journalists are destroying truth and marketers are exaggerating it, maybe we’re not so much dying as becoming what Pink Floyd described as “Comfortably Numb.”
We could bottom out, and the new Bill Bernbachs of the world—and another Mother Teresas, for that matter—will start shaping society again.
As I said earlier, we haven’t died. That’s not to say we couldn’t. Bernbach saw us at a crossroads. Levenson saw us growing indifferent to empty promises. Will we continue to be vulgarized? Or will we lift ourselves up to a higher level?
It’s really up to us, but somehow I doubt it. There’s more fun in seeing where liars go next, whether they’ll toe the ball, or shoot it off the back nine with a Baby Browning. Anything’s possible—and embraced—in America these days.
Robert Cormack is a satirist, novelist, and former advertising copywriter. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)” is available online and at most major bookstores. Check out Skyhorse Press or Simon and Schuster for more details.
