Marks & Spencer have been trying for years to shed their image as purveyors of dowdy yet practical products.  They’ve updated their clothing range and switched to free trade foodstuff, but the way in which they’ve finally succeeded in injecting some sex into the brand is through their current TV advertising campaign – a downright erotic promotion of their food range.

The sexy Marks & Spencer advert shows us some chicken. Then the husky female narrator sultrily explains to us that it’s not just chicken. Following a dramatic pause – during which you wonder if it’s also 20% rusk and 10% water – we’re told that it’s actually farm-reared, organic, golden, Wiltshire farm chicken.

That may be, but technically it is still just chicken. It’s not going to solve the problem of world debt and you can’t drive it to Milton Keynes to visit your parents.

It’s difficult to ascertain whether the purpose of the advert is to
tempt the viewer to eat the food or make love to it – or maybe both.
Even to those of us for whom the consumption of chocolate is a
near-religious experience, the sensual ejaculation of the dessert
filling is a bit too much.

It’s not a particularly bad advert, it’s just a bit of a
prick-tease. It has a habit of airing around teatime and its
presentation of succulent steaks and oozing cakes undoubtedly makes
anyone settling down to anything less than a King’s feast feel a little
inferior. 

M & S food is undoubtedly good – everyone has, at one time or
another, indulged in some chocolate covered popcorn or a tiramisou bar
- but shopping there regularly is beyond the means of the majority. Goading us average wage earners with such graphic depictions of
what’s just out of reach is the culinary equivalent of dancing the
can-can in front of Stephen Hawking or punching a midget in the face
while holding him at arm’s length.

If it’s not interrupting teatime viewing of The Simpsons then it’s
popping up at the most unearthly of hours. KFC were guilty of this a
few years ago.  Late night/early morning repeats of South Park were
invariably disrupted by the cartoon Colonel laying down the funk and
telling us how good his Twisters were. Great. Thanks Colonel, but where
exactly are we supposed to get them at this hour?

It’s like an incitement to riot, a finger lickin’ red rag to a quite
possibly pissed and stoned, hungry bull. M & S do the same thing.
There really is no excuse for airing it after midnight, which they do.
Frequently.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because until we all become lawyers, doctors or bankers, or marry money, most of us will have to make do with the sawdust and dogpoo equivalent from an alternative supermarket chain.

[story by Matt Cook]