What a Fool Believes.

We place more importance on views than honesty.

“What seems to be is always better than nothing” Kenny Loggins, Michael McDonald

We’re the fools of the marketplace, the believers. Remember the Doobie Brothers’ song “What a Fool Believes”? A fool believes “only to realize, it never really was.” Think about that for a moment. I don’t mean to knock consumers, but something’s wrong here.

I just read in AdWeek about this “Mind-Bending Ad for Kia.” It got nearly 300 million views in India (and counting). According to T.L. Stanley, senior editor for AdWeek, it’s “a major hit,” capturing nearly a third of all viewership in the world’s second largest marketplace.

Well, hell, how do you argue with that? Stanley couldn’t say enough about this campaign filled with “fantastic beasts and cool creatures (both natural and man-made).” YouTube alone has over 230 million global views, and the “quirky instrumental soundtrack” has as over 55,000 downloads.

This is a lesson all of us should learn, because viewership is where the rubber hits the road, according to Stanley. No more running shots of cars, no siree, Bob. Bring on the hummingbirds, ballerinas, astronauts and tigers. How about a pencil-drawn Felix the Cat or a CGI swarm of fireflies?

Makes us all think, doesn’t it? Or are we still the fools looking something that’s “always better than nothing”?

At the end of one commercial, an astronaut floats next to a Kia, with the announcer asking, “What’s an astronaut doing here?” Makes us all think, doesn’t it? Or are we still the fools looking something that’s “always better than nothing”?

Another line from “A Fool Believes” says, “He never made her think twice.” Maybe that’s the brilliance of Innocean’s campaign. Nobody has to think twice about anything. Just sit back and let the effects take you away in what “seems to be” which, in the end, is “nothing at all.”

It is nothing at all. I say that as a Kia owner. I’m happy with my car. I’m happier still with my Kia dealer, a man named Kelly. When a new Kia is introduced, Kelly writes about it in the local newspaper (Maple Leaf in Port Dover). He’s either impressed or he’s not. It’s up to the car. Kelly waits to be impressed, and usually he is. He writes honestly. I like his honesty and like his cars, but mostly I like his honesty.

This morning I commented on an article posted by William Lower, a friend of mine and fellow copywriter. In it, he talks about the “humanization” of the consumer. I told him I doubted consumer humanization can be accomplished by “modern means.” I go on to say, “The consumer hasn’t changed, we have (as advertisers). The consumer still wants to believe in something. We want to believe in technology.”

We’re fools for thinking viewership is anything but numbers.

There is no humanization with technology. It connects us, but it takes away as much as it gives. We’re fools for believing in its power. We’re fools for thinking viewership is anything but numbers.

I mentioned to William that, at one time, advertising changed minds. I don’t mean in a small, fascinated way. I mean it changed our beliefs.

Back in the early 60s, an up-and-coming advertising agency took on a new client, a struggling car company with something that looked like a bug. Americans hated bugs more than small cars. Americans still hate bugs.

Bill Bernbach, head of the agency, put the account in the hands of two men, Helmut Krone and Julian Koenig. The ads would be simple, possibly too simple for the time, but they would resonate for one reason. Koenig wrote what nobody else in car advertising was doing. He talked about economy, simplicity, having money left over for food.

Why would an innocuous headline like “Think Small” change perceptions and beliefs? Because, just like a fool believes what isn’t, given the chance, they also believe what is. It’s called reasoning. When your bank balance is in the single digits, reasoning isn’t such a bad thing.

There is no logic in escapism. There’s no logic in The Avengers. You watch because you don’t want emotional attachment. You want to get away from it.

It’s really the difference between emotional decisions and escapism. When an advertiser turns to escapism, emotion doesn’t exist. There is no logic in escapism. There’s no logic in The Avengers. You watch because you don’t want emotional attachment. You want to get away from it.

When we, as advertisers, turn to escapism, we’ve given up on the consumer. We simply say, “Get their attention, get the views, get the downloads. Nothing else matters.”

Except it does. When viewership defines success, you aren’t selling, you’re entertaining. Ask anyone who’s been in retail. You can be the most entertaining salesperson on the floor and it won’t mean a thing. To sell, you persuade. The number of views you have has nothing to do with persuasion.

Here’s another example, going back to 1984, when Ronald Regan was running for reelection. Hal Riney created “It’s Morning in America Again,” showing Americans going to work, living in prosperous times. Were Americans really going to go Democrat when the Republicans under Regan had brought stability and prosperity to the nation?

In anyone else’s hands, it would have been chest-pounding. But Riney turned it into logic. “With interest rates at about half the record highs of 1980,” he wrote, “nearly 2,000 families today will buy new homes, more than any other time in the past four years.”

Riney used those numbers to show how new marriages were rising, and birth rates and a general feeling of security and betterment. These things mattered because our lives are put in the hands of politicians. If they screw up, we screw up. Riney showed how Regan made getting up in the morning tolerable because the day held promise.

Does it honestly matter if a commercial’s viewership reaches three million, or some quirky soundtrack has over 55,000 downloads? There is no honesty in numbers.

What holds promise for us today? Game of Thrones and The Big Bang have finished their last season. It’s sad. What do we do with ourselves? We’ve escaped, we’ve been immersed. But we’re still drowning in debt.

Does it honestly matter if a commercial’s viewership reaches three million, or some quirky soundtrack has over 55,000 downloads? There is no honesty in numbers. It’s a mirage of the faithful, a fool believing in escape over reality. And, as the song goes, “it never really was.”

Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Kelly. He doesn’t go to sales meetings or conventions. There’s too much cheerleading, too much talk of viewership. “When a car turns in here,” he said, the last time I was at the dealership, “that’s the start. Not the end, not the sale, but the start.” He sells a lot of Kais. He sells on trust. He sells what Hal Riney sold with “Morning in America.”

It’s called honesty and persuasion and relationship building.

It’s what my friend, William Lower, called “humanization.”

Robert Cormack is a novelist, humorist and blogger. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)” is available online and at most major bookstores. Check out Skyhorse Press or Simon & Schuster for more details.