I remember back from my earliest schooldays that we kids had what our parents called “crazes” — fads that became “must-haves” among the schoolkids — and it seemed like every three weeks or so one would appear: yo-yos, poker dice, marbles and so on all became the standard stuff in our pockets. And woe betide you if you were “behind” the craze; you were an outsider, and we all know how injurious that is to the tender susceptibilities of a child.
Needless to say, just when you’d finally prevailed upon your parents to get you a yo-yo — and it had to be the right kind/brand, of course — the trend would change, yo-yos became yesterday’s news (until next year, maybe), and some new damn thing would put you, the hapless kid, straight back into the outsider camp.
Of course, that tendency to follow crazes — what’s politely called “fashion” but is really just some desperate need to fit in with the “cool kids” — manifests itself in the adult world as well, whether it’s shoes (Michael Jordan Air, Manolo Blahnik), clothing (Versace, North Face), sunglasses (Ray-Ban, Oakley) and gawd help us, colors (coyote brown, putty, cement). I’d add that even guns (Glock, SIG) aren’t immune to this nonsense, but no doubt some people will get offended. And don’t even get me started on “smart” water, as though that Perrier bullshit wasn’t bad enough.
And now we have Stanley insulated mugs and flasks. Seriously? Overpriced sippycups to keep one’s coffee hot or “energy drinks” (another stupid fucking craze) cold, and among all the Cool Kidz, they’re a gotta-have.
The problem with adult crazes is that unlike marbles or yo-yos, they’re really expensive (see: Ferrari, Range Rover, Michael Kors and Gucci).
The fun part is that whereas the nonconformists used to just suffer the opprobrium heaped on outsiders, nowadays there’s occasional pushback:
Stanley cups have become the ultimate “it” item for Gen Z, with hundreds desperate to get their hands on the £45 ‘adult sippy cup’. The tumblers recently launched in the UK to much fanfare, taking many people to take to Twitter to joke about the ‘millennial version’
‘These were my Stanley cup’ one person wrote, a picture of coloured Coca-Cola glasses that came free with McDonald’s meals throughout the noughties.
Yeah, whatever. (And then there’s this, sent to me by Reader Mike L.)
I have to admit that I’ve never understood the appeal of crazes, and (certainly as a youngin) this has generally made me a permanent outsider for most of my life.
I also resent like hell the fact that crazes, by and large, are created by brand- and product manufacturers’ marketing departments (e.g. perfumes, where the marketing and container costs constitute about 90% of the retail price — and I can’t help thinking that the same is true for most trendy bullshit).
As far as I’m concerned, if I wear a shirt with a brand on it (don’t hold your breath), the brand should pay me for carrying their advertising, instead of me having to pay a (massive) premium for the privilege of wearing a stupid Adidas or (even worse) Dallas Cowboys t-shirt. Yeah, I know: the franchises need the additional revenue to help pay their spokesmodels’ outrageous endorsement fees — yet another topic that could engender a 20,000-word rant from Yours Truly.
It’s all marketing: a specious (albeit regrettably-effective) attempt to boost sales of some product or other, or some brand which is almost identical to another in the product line.
Fach.
I think I’ll just have another sip of coffee from my insulated container, compared with its premium (and not really better) craze competitor.
The coffee isn’t that awful Starbucks shit, just ordinary ol’ Dunkin Donuts Regular.
(Actually, I think those Coca-Cola plastic glasses are pretty cool, just not that kind of cool…)
Update: literally two minutes after this was posted, I got one of these spams in my Inbox.
Coincidence? I report, you decide.
However: if it’s not coincidence and someone got busy with my data, let’s acknowledge that their little AI data-scraping bot isn’t that good — because on countless occasions, I’ve heaped scorn and invective on the horrible sponsor. In fact, I’d rather inject boiling bleach into my scrotum than give Dick’s a single dollar. Wonder if they’ll pick that up?
...of course you did, my darlin’.
