First off, the perhaps ickily named "Oil of Olay" (now, judiciously, just "Olay," evoking, perhaps, "Ole! I'm beautiful now!") has been around a long-ass time. Like, for a shit-ton of years. Shit-ton is an approximation, but you get the drift.
Once, I found an old glass (glass! it was that old!) bottle of Oil of Olay in my grandma's stuff that she left behind after she kicked it. I kept the bottle for a while. I may've even put a smear of the contents on my face.
Like I said, I'm sentimental.
But recently, you've given be cause to raise an eyebrow. And I can still raise mine because I haven't had Botox.
I refer you to your most recent advertisement campaign:
|She's so beautimous, it's hard to critique this. But, wait. Yes. Yes, I can do it.|
Um, Olay? This a lot. This a whole lot.
I mean, fuck. Every room? That's a whole hell of a lot to put on a woman.
What if I walk into a funeral? Is it really appropriate to light up a funeral?
What does lighting up a funeral with my regenerated, luminous skin look like?
Does society's expected and encouraged competition among women extend to making Damn Sure even the bereaved and/or corpse are jealous?
Beyond the appropriateness of lighting up funerals with my face, consider a picture of me at the moment I came across this ad:
|Not luminous, bitches.|
That's me at my doctor's office, in the middle of a 3-hour test meant to determine whether or not I had too much bacteria in my intestines. I had to drink a nectar that I'll call Satan's Spit, and then breathe into a tube every 15 minutes. In between breathing in the tube, I was excusing myself to get up and go to the bathroom, where I violently deposited my bowels. Repeatedly. Like, somewhere in the vicinity of a dozen times over the course of the testing.
Did I mention that I was under fluorescent lighting? Without make-up?
You don't wear make-up to gut testing, generally.
So that was my situation when I came across this advertisement.
I've seen this ad before, in motion - a commercial that once again provided the Female Voice-Over:
I will light up every room a walk into.
And I have to say, Olay, that this feels awfully oppressive. It feels like an edict. It feels like a must-do. It feels like my very womanhood is on the line if I don't light up rooms.
And you know what, Olay? That's kind of bullshit.
That's kind of bullshit for the women that are out there woman-ing through having their light dampened a little bit by gut bacteria, or fluorescent lighting, or cancer, or a bad day, or
the social expectation that no woman EVER have (or at least not physically represent):
- age spots
- frownie faces
- health issues
- sagging skin
- bare skin
- unmanaged body hair
So, Olay, I hate to say this because I'm generally a very non-confrontational person and it pains me, but until you can recognize that you've contributed to the Weight of a Thousand Hammers that has been placed on women's faces/bodies/lives, and then apologize, and then STOP IT...
like, fuck you a little bit.