You know those Haribo ads? The ones where adults speak in squeaky kid voices as if someone dumped helium into the room and a hefty dose of second-hand embarrassment onto the viewer? Every time I see one, I feel a little bit more dead inside. Thanks to this cringey ad campaign, I’ll never buy Haribo again—not because their sweets are bad, but because I can’t disassociate them from grown men and women chirping, “I wuv gummy bears!” This, my friends, is where marketing dies. If clickbait titles and obnoxious online ads didn’t already have me swearing off certain brands, the Haribo campaign is the cherry (or gummy bear) on top of the commercialism catastrophe. The Evolution of Cringe in Advertising TV ads used to be an art form. They had jingles that stuck with you, clever narratives, or genuinely funny punchlines. Remember the Cadbury’s gorilla playing drums? Brilliant. But somewhere along the line, marketing took a sharp left turn into “How much second-hand embarrassment can we squeeze into 30 seconds?” The Haribo ads are a prime example. At some point, someone sat in a room full of adults, pitched the idea of grown-ups doing kid voices while pawing at bags of sweets, and everyone else said, “Yes! This is it. This is the campaign that will make people want to buy our product.” What they forgot to consider is that not everyone wants their snacks associated with a visceral sense of cringe. Clickbait: The Digital Equivalent of Haribo Ads And it’s not just TV ads; this phenomenon extends to the internet. Clickbait headlines are like the Haribo ads of the online world—obnoxious, overhyped, and ultimately disappointing. You’re scrolling through the internet, minding your own business, when you’re assaulted by a headline like, “Doctors HATE Her! Find Out How This One Trick Can Cure Everything From Wrinkles to Existential Dread!” Or worse, a title so vague it reads like a cryptic crossword clue: “You’ll Never Guess What Happened Next…” Never guess? Try never care. Clickbait titles don’t intrigue me; they irritate me. If your headline promises me the secret to eternal happiness but won’t even tell me what it’s about, I’m out. And I’m not clicking. Ever. In fact, I’ll actively avoid whatever trash heap of a website you’re peddling because I know the content is likely as insubstantial as the title itself. The marketing playbook seems to be this: don’t inform or entertain; just irritate the viewer into submission. It’s as if they think the louder or weirder the ad, the more memorable it’ll be. And while they’re not wrong about the “memorable” part, they’ve forgotten an important detail—not all attention is good attention. The only thing I associate with Haribo now is an urge to mute my TV. How Bad Ads Push Me Away This isn’t just about Haribo. It’s about every brand that thinks the best way to sell me something is by annoying me into buying it. TV ads are full of offenders: The more cringey, manipulative, or downright obnoxious the ad, the more likely I am to boycott the product. Just like I avoid clickbait websites that promise to reveal “The One Trick Doctors Hate!”, I steer clear of brands that make me want to throw my remote at the screen. A Plea to Advertisers Here’s a radical idea for marketers: instead of bombarding us with gimmicks, try creating something clever, informative, or—dare I say it—pleasant. The Cadbury’s gorilla didn’t yell at me, didn’t try to emotionally manipulate me, and didn’t make me cringe so hard I considered fleeing the room. It made me chuckle. And you know what? I still think about it when I see a Dairy Milk bar. What I don’t think about when I see a bag of Haribo is how delicious it is. I think about those horrifying, helium-induced voices echoing in my brain like a cursed children’s show. Thanks for the trauma. Why Marketing Needs a Reboot The problem with clickbait and cringey ads is that they’re built on the idea that we’re all passive consumers, ready to be manipulated. But here’s the truth: we’re smarter than that. We know when we’re being played, and instead of engaging, we tune out—or, in my case, boycott. So, to every brand out there: stop trying to annoy me into submission. Whether it’s a misleading headline, a stalkerish retargeting ad, or a TV spot featuring grown men with chipmunk voices, you’re not winning me over. You’re just driving me away. And as for you, Haribo? It’s not me—it’s you. Call me when you retire the squeaky voices and maybe we can talk. Until then, I’m sticking to chocolate. Preferably from a brand with a drumming gorilla.

We’ve officially reached peak commercial absurdity. If you need evidence, look no further than the Christmas card “from the bump.” Yes, apparently, unborn children are now penning heartfelt missives to family members. Just to clarify: the bump hasn’t even taken its first breath, let alone learned to write. Yet here it is, apparently sipping on amniotic fluid and waxing lyrical about how it can’t wait to “meet Grandma and Grandad this Christmas.” Honestly, what’s next? Valentine’s cards from your houseplants? “Dear Owner, I photosynthesise better when you’re around. Love, Fern xoxo.” The Evolution of Ridiculous Cards Once upon a time, greetings cards served a simple, noble purpose. Birthdays. Weddings. “Sorry for your loss.” Boom. Done. But the card industry, fuelled by a monstrous cocktail of capitalism and an overactive imagination, decided to up the ante. Now, you can buy cards for every conceivable occasion, non-occasion, and existential crisis. There are cards from pets (“Happy Birthday from Woofy!”), cards for divorces (“Congrats on getting rid of that loser!”), and even sympathy cards for breakups (“Sorry about your ex—he was a bit of a knob.”). And now, cards from bumps. What’s the intended emotional payoff here? Are we supposed to tear up at the thought of foetal sentimentality? Is Grandma meant to hug her card and whisper, “Thank you, little zygote”? Other Industries Losing the Plot It’s not just the card world that’s gone bananas. Commercialism is infiltrating every corner of our lives, and there seems to be no limit to the nonsense we’ll slap a price tag on. 1. Pet-Specific Products The pet industry is in a league of its own. Dog ice cream? Cat yoga mats? Don’t get me wrong, I love animals, but does Fluffy the cat really need an organic, gluten-free advent calendar? And don’t even get me started on pet weddings. It’s bad enough I have to RSVP to Brenda’s third marriage, let alone her chihuahua’s. 2. Luxury Water Water used to be simple. Tap or bottled, end of story. But now, we’ve got “raw water” (basically pond water for rich people) and “black water” that looks like someone poured their cold brew down the wrong sink. Oh, and don’t forget the brands that insist their water has been “lovingly harvested from ancient Arctic glaciers.” Sounds refreshing—until you remember it costs £20 a bottle and the planet’s melting. 3. Subscription Services for Literally Anything The subscription box industry has also run amok. Cheese-of-the-month? Cool, fine. But then there’s “airplane mode snacks” and “artisan twigs for your fireplace.” At what point do we admit we’ve gone too far? Somewhere out there, someone is paying £30 a month for a box of ethically sourced moss. Who Is Actually Buying These Things? I’m convinced the people buying “from the bump” cards and artisanal pet hoodies are the same folks who make us all feel inadequate on Instagram. You know, the ones with perfectly curated lives, who “just can’t” without their personalised dog champagne flutes. But for the rest of us, it’s baffling. Do I buy my mum a card “from the bump” to prove I’m an attentive child myself? Do I send my goldfish a Valentine’s card because “Gary’s been there for me through thick and thin”? Is this how society crumbles? Not with a bang, but with a Hallmark card for every molecule in the universe? The Endgame of Commercialism The truth is, capitalism thrives on inventing problems we didn’t even know we had. The card industry isn’t selling sentiment; it’s selling guilt. Because if you don’t buy “Merry Christmas from your neighbour’s goldfish”, are you even festive? And if you’re not festive, are you even human? It’s not about the product; it’s about the message. Not the one in the card, but the one the card sends about you. “Look how thoughtful I am! I bought you a card from my unborn child, proving I’m not just a good parent-to-be—I’m the best.” A Modest Proposal Here’s my suggestion: let’s take this commercial madness to its logical conclusion. Cards from inanimate objects. “Merry Christmas from the toaster: I’ll keep your mornings warm.” Or how about “Happy Valentine’s Day from the microwave: You make my heart beep”? Let’s embrace the ridiculousness, lean into it, and bankrupt the system with its own nonsense. Maybe then, when the dust settles, we can go back to the days when a Christmas card from a person—just one single, thoughtful person—meant something. Until then, I’ll be here, waiting for a card from my umbrella telling me to “stay dry this rainy season.”