A rchive Date
[ 18-03-2005 ]
Category
[ International Relations ]
sub-Categoy
[ Mass Media ]
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[Abandoned by fashion designers
By MINDELLE JACOBS
Edmonton Sun
May 4, 2000
I'm not quite sure when I became invisible to the marketing wizards who flog new products to an increasingly choosy and cynical public.
It's not like it happened overnight. But on a recent shopping expedition (for me instead of the money-sucking house for a change), I realized that I'm a nobody as far as advertisers are concerned.
Now that I'm over 40 (not old enough for dentures or polyester stretch-waist pants but too old for spandex skirts), I've been relegated to the castoff rack in the cultural closet of life.
Sure, there are certain companies for whom my age bracket is a target market - cosmetics and home improvement firms, for instance.
But on the whole I figure I've been dumped. I'm a has-been, a relic from the '70s, the decade everyone loves to make fun of.
How do I know this? Because it used to be so easy to find clothes and shoes I liked. Back then, I was special. Marketers loved me.
Now, I often traipse endlessly through store after store before I find something that catches my eye.
More often than not, I cringe at the monstrosities that pass for fashion these days (OK, call me an old fogey) and scurry out of the store.
If I had children, I could picture myself protesting in exasperation: "You're not going to buy that, are you?"
Oh, God. When did I turn into my mother?
But I don't have kids so I mutter darkly to myself about designers these days as I gingerly pull a pair of shapeless cargo pants off the rack and put them back in disgust.
Or my face contorts into a silent Edvard Munch-style scream as I realize that my favourite bra - the style I've been wearing for years - has been discontinued.
First they stopped making it in black. Now the white's gone, too. Everything's underwire, padded and push-up now. My temper is also lifted a few notches by the time I try on and reject a handful of different bras.
My favourite body scrub has also been discontinued. The trendy skin-care company, which targets clients in their teens and 20s, has apparently become so fabulously popular it can afford to replace the product I loved with a different one for twice the price.
I am miffed and consider sending the company an angry e-mail. Then I remember that I'm a nobody. Now that I have a house and a line of credit and owe Revenue Canada money, I'm broke.
Teens and twentysomething consumers have lots of disposable cash and, having grown up in the fast-paced Internet era, thrive on change.
If one product disappears and another takes its place, that's, like, totally cool. What do they know about brand loyalty?
Feeling disgruntled, I call Lea Katsanis, associate professor of marketing at Montreal's Concordia University, for some insight into my feeling of abandonment.
"Marketers love you. There are very few brand-loyal people left," she says.
The bad news is they don't love me enough to keep products around indefinitely, she explains.
Most consumers get tired of buying the same things over and over again and eventually want something new. It's that expectation that drives marketers to launch new products or packaging, she says.
I guess that's why there are a zillion different versions of my toothpaste in the drugstore.
Katsanis confirms my fears. Advertisers don't care about me any more.
I have no clout.
Teenagers rule the marketplace.
As a concession, I try on a pair of flares - the first time I've put on bell-bottoms in 25 years. I burst out laughing. The sales clerk looks at me strangely. I almost buy them.
Mindelle can be reached by e-mail at mjacobs@sunpub.com
 World Fact Book (CIA)]
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