Pepsi Lost Their Fizz.

The internet has gone bananas about the new Pepsi ad starring Kendall Jenner...and not in a good way. Naturally, I have to throw in my two cents:

First of all, why is this advert nearly three minutes long? Unless it’s a charity appeal, there’s no need for any advert to have that duration.

Secondly, what was the point? I watched it thrice and still didn’t get it. I thought it was a parody. It was like a stylised, ultra glossy version of an American protest, with extra layers of FA-SHUN added by bringing Ms Jenner to the mix. 


What were Pepsi thinking? I wasted my time watching something that felt like a very colourful Gap ad or a music video than a pointed illustration of modern American life.

The advert was utterly pointless. Even if they were attempting to make a point (and I still don’t know what that was), this was probably the dumbest way to do it. Was there no person of colour at Pepsi HQ (or any person, in fact) who could have said, ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ 


Who decided that little ‘Wonder Woman’ bit where Jenner whipped off her wig was a slice of genius? It only succeeded in making me laugh. The fist bump between her and the black guy dancing throughout was cringeworthy, as was the mini-flirting with the violinist who cannot sip properly from a can of Pepsi. But let’s be honest, the entire ad was two minutes and forty-six seconds of cringe and I’m still trying to figure out WHAT THE FRIGGING POINT OF IT WAS. 


So if peaceful protestors of the past such as Martin Luther King and Malcolm X had a Pepsi on their person, maybe the powers-that-be would have been more sympathetic to their plight? If Black Lives Matter had a Pepsi multipack, things might have been less problematic? If only real life was as simple as handing a fizzy drink to a member of the riot police, eh? Why did Pepsi think they could crowbar themselves into this issue and turn it into something palatable, edgy and trendy (ugh)? It’s as bad as that time Sky Sports turned their Super Sunday credits into WAG Central: an unrecognisable football crowd full of gorgeous model-esque women, suited blokes and happy families all waving their hands to ‘Loving Each Day’ by Ronan Keating, with not a single regular-looking football fan in sight. 

Pepsi released an apology which only apologised to Kendall Jenner rather than those who complained about the ad- why I do not know. Ms Jenner is twenty years old. She is not a child. She can make her own decisions regarding which projects she takes on and those she does not, so why they aimed their apology at her and her alone is weird. 

Seriously Pepsi, stick to what you’re good at. In fact, all big brands should probably do so unless they’re absolutely sure they have got their message right. I’m not looking to you to make a statement on the world today- I want you to carry on making mindless and insanely expensive adverts that I can roll my eyes at and not expect anything other than you selling your cold beverage to me through heavy-handed product placement. Trivialising the protests of recent times into happy vignettes of aesthetically-pleasing young people in technicolor (I saw no diversity in terms of age in that crowd at all) walking through sun-drenched streets clutching cans of your drink is not the one.


© isanynamefree 2017

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Put Your Hands Where I Can See.

Last weekend Britain was basking in beautiful sunshine. It was blissful but I have a bone to pick with some of the male half of the population and have to make a plea. Guys, for the love of goodness, please stop breaching public decency.

I have no problem with men wearing low slung jeans or trousers but I am sick and tired of seeing young men walking round with their pants showing most of their underpants or bum. Or even worse, walking with their hand(s) down the front of their trousers. I saw a guy yesterday doing just that and wondered since when has it been acceptable to strut around like you have a gun stuffed in your undercrackers?

Do any of you guys realise that this does not make you look hard or attractive- it makes you look like a sex pest. I don’t know if you have heard but there is an invention called pockets. When you don’t know what to do with your hands, you can stuff them in there rather than down the front of your trousers. If I was with a boyfriend there is no way I would let him venture out with me while juggling his bits. It’s slack-looking and classless and some men wonder why they are judged negatively by some people. Well, if you go round looking like a sex fiend, don’t expect them to see you as approachable.

And don’t tell me you do it because it is a part of male behaviour or ‘it’s cold outside’ or some such nonsense. None of those excuses wash with me when it came to that guy. Yesterday was sunny, 24 degrees centigrade, his shorts had pockets. But no, instead of using them like normal people do, he thrust his hands down his front and onto his cock, like the…cock he is. All the while, his woman walked with him like she had no shame. They were at a cashpoint and honestly, he looked like he was sexually harassing her. Not once did I see her say, ‘Take your hands out of there, will ya?’  Grim.

Not the Right Standard.

I picked up a copy of the Evening Standard tonight, hoping there might be something decent to read on my way home. Instead I found myself wondering if the journalists for this newspaper live in the same London that I do…

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This ‘article’ must be a joke. Seriously. Apparently, some trend called ‘normcore’ (nope, me neither) is what’s  ‘in’ right now in London town. Call me old-fashioned or downright sane but to me, ‘normcore’ is ‘wearing your normal, non-designer-labelled clothing everyday and not making a song and dance about it’.

According to this, I’m one of the really cool kids. Honestly, did the journalist whose article this is believe in what he wrote? I have read some absolute bollocks in the Evening Standard’s ‘trendy’ section over the years but this takes the biscuit.

I’m no trendsetter by any means but spare me such patronising waffle. I guess what I’m trying to say is: everyone has ‘everyday’ clothes- the items you throw on when going for a pint of milk or you cannot be arsed to get dolled up. There’s something about this piece that annoyed the hell out of me. More than likely it was the patronising tone of ‘Oh wow, we hipsters can look like normal folk and like, still look, like, hip. But we won’t shop in Primark ‘cos we’re not exactly ordinary but can still look ordinary and like, extraordinary if we chuck money at ourselves.’

So, Evening Standard, is there any chance you could stop writing these awful, almost beyond parody articles? They don’t reflect London, they’re just nonsensical.

Revised Resolutions

On New Year’s Day I, like many other people, made a list of resolutions that I want to achieve this year. While they are still relevant (one of my aims is to stop swearing so much), I now realise that it is the simple things that matter when making such announcements. Therefore, my resolutions have whittled down and are now as follows:

 

1. Maintain a positive mental attitude.

For some, this comes naturally and I am a positive person most of the time but there are people on this planet whose sole aim is to test you, to start arguments and be a general nuisance. So it is important not to let the bastards get you down and know that for every arsehole you meet on the street or speak to on the phone, I’d say there are about five good people, one or two of whom may brighten your day in some way. Smile and think about whatever makes you happy or that you feel enthusiastic about. For me, this usually involves music or remembering a joke or anecdote which leaves me convulsing with laughter.

Although there will be situations which may leave you feeling aggrieved and generally fucked off (told you I need to cut out the swearing) and I heartily endorse healthy doses of realism and cynicism, positivity is key. Be good to your fellow person, even if that person is a prize prat, because to kill them with kindness will hurt them far more than a volley of abuse. So smile and think of things that make you do just that. Which leads me merrily on to number two…

 

2. Be happy and healthy.

(See above for the ‘happy’ bit.)

Meanwhile, the healthy part is underway- I have started using my exercise bike and can confirm that I am as unfit as I thought. Even though I walk ten minutes from the train station to my workplace at least three days a week and go for a walk at lunchtime, cycling on my bike left me a sweaty, breathless mess hellbent on boosting my endurance limits and persevering. I calculated that I am overweight by using my complex weight gain detection method (i.e.: my jeans are too tight and I’m wearing leggings more often, as jeggings, stiff cotton and my wide waist don’t mix). My willpower leaves a lot to be desired but I aim to curb my gluttony and be more measured with what I eat, especially when it comes to sugar. Damn my sweet tooth!

 

3. Be proactive.

Because I’ll admit that in the past, I waited for things to fall into my lap instead of being a go-getter. This was usually down to lack of self belief, fear of the unknown and/or not wanting to upset the applecart, so I would sit back and think ‘It’s ok, I will wait’ instead of being decisive and taking control. Every year that passed by where I said, ‘I’m gonna do an exercise class or a course or something’, would lead to my family and friends rolling their eyes as my indecision proved my undoing. Where others would leap into something new, I would ‘umm’ and ‘ahh’ about any-and-everything until I ended up doing nothing. Well, this year will be different- I plan on trying new things- some of which I will document on here -as there is so much I want to achieve. So no more procrastination as it’s a bitch and I have met her many times.

So in a few months, I’ll hopefully have lost some weight, become fitter and healthier and more of a risk-taker. That’s not to say I’ll start bungee-jumping or anything as mad as that, but I will be taking the plunge a lot more. Amen to that.

Heatwave!!!

I don’t know about you but this heatwave that’s enveloped Britain is something else. Very few places in the world look as beautiful as Britain does when it is bathed in sunshine. But one question has nagged away at me since the heatwave began last week and it is thus: should I reveal my bingo wings to the world or keep them under wraps?

Like many others I am blighted by this phenomenon, always telling myself that I’ll start my tricep & bicep regime before summer comes. In the past, I hardly thought about them but my way of thinking has changed over the past couple of years. I’m a little self-conscious about them. While my bingo wings don’t flap in the breeze when I stretch, they aren’t non-existent, either.

I have seen some unfortunate things during this heatwave. Numerous pairs of desert-dry feet I’ve clapped my eyes on over the past couple of weeks, some of them crustier than a fresh baguette. And as for some of the male members of the species, all I’ll say is it’s always the ones you would beg to keep their tops on who go topless. The beer-bellied or scrawny bird-chested men who flaunt their ‘wares’ to us women. Wow, aren’t we lucky…

So cut to last week and the mercury hit 32°c. Hemlines skimmed a wide array of buttocks; bikinis were now considered suitable attire when buying a loaf of bread even though there are no beaches in London; legs were no longer hidden by tights or trousers and arms were bared by all…except me. But as the weather forecast predicted hotter stickier days (and nights- it was 25°c last night!) I knew I had to throw caution to the wind. In the end I realised that no-one cared about the state of my bingo wings- and if they did then that’s their problem. Who in their right mind would cover up in this heat? I didn’t get any filthy looks or have someone run over and fling a pashmina over my shoulders when I exposed my arms.

A lot of our time is spent worrying over things such as our appearance. We can’t change much (and sometimes when we do, we end up making things worse) and you’ve got to live with it so starting loving it, especially in a country where you only get 2 weeks of summer per year.

© G. Holder 2013

Random Thought of the Day

I went shopping today and saw trifle bowls for sale with a picture of the dessert on the front of each box. It looked amazing and I wanted one to be whipped up in front of me immediately but then I realised that I hate trifle, which naturally ruined the moment for me.

A trifle is a ‘fur coat, no knickers’ type of dessert- similar to a handsome, sexy man who presses all your buttons, only to find he’s too good to be true. It’s a dessert that seduces you by looking so good yet it tastes so bad.

When I was a child in the 80s, trifle was the dessert du jour and I loved it when my mum decided to make it. I’d look at the packet of Birds Trifle and my sweet tooth would go into overdrive.

But custard is never right when it’s cold, the cream/’dream topping’ was tasteless rubbish (even with the sugar sprinkles) and soggy sponge/biscuits are vile unless dunked in tea, so the only bit worth saving was the jelly. But wading through the rest of the trifle to eat the wobbly stuff…what was the point of that?

Trifle aficionados are probably seething with rage at my dismissal of it but even they know I’m right. In the end, I quickly snapped out of my sugar-coated daydream and moved onto thoughts of better, tastier desserts. Mmm…cake.

© G. Holder 2013