Women Outdoors Advertising, Controversy and Disputing Feminism in The 1990s
Women Outdoors Advertising, Controversy and Disputing Feminism in The 1990s
Women Outdoors Advertising, Controversy and Disputing Feminism in The 1990s
ARTICLE
INTERNATIONAL
journal of
CULTURAL studies
Women outdoors
Advertising, controversy and disputing feminism
in the 1990s
● Janice Winship
University of Sussex
campaigns of the 1990s: the Wallis (clothes) ‘Dress to kill’ campaign, the Nissan
Micra car, ‘Ask before you borrow it’ campaign, and the Wonderbra ‘Hello boys’
campaign. Targeted at so-called ‘winning women’ and pivoting around either a
mocking sexual confidence in relation to men or a symbolic violence, I attempt
to understand the controversy courted by these campaigns by placing them in
the context of (some) women’s changed position and shifts in femininity and
feminism since the 1970s. Approaching the ads as fantasy texts organized
around tensions, I suggest that their scopic regimes are different from earlier
ads. The campaigns play across the domains of public and private space to
disrupt more conventional modes of femininity and masculinity. This play
provides humour, but also anxiety because it contrarily associates femininity
with public space and the ‘freedom’ of outdoors, while masculinity is
constrained and trapped in enclosed spaces. However, controversy is further
engendered when the ads literally cross over from inside magazines to the
outdoor and more public space of billboards. The campaigns enter ‘media event
space’ where they are variously judged and discussed, and in this way develop a
‘thicker life’. Moving from a commercial to a civic domain and into a ‘public
sphere’, these advertisement communications are diversely mobilized within the
media, unhinged from their ‘original meaning’ to become part of a shared
currency through which the shifting and tense relations between women and
men, and women’s continuing bid for autonomy, are articulated. The article thus
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it is the feminist’s relation to ‘her other, the ordinary woman, the non-femin-
ist woman, the housewife, the television viewer . . . which is essential to an
understanding of feminist cultural criticism’ (Brunsdon, 1997: 192). Her
typology defining this relation has three categories: ‘the transparent’ and
‘the hegemonic’ – both key to 1970s feminist approaches, and ‘the frag-
mented’ – characteristic of postfeminism. If a ‘transparent’ relationship
marks the moment of utopian sisterhood when the ‘we’ of feminist criticism
has no ‘other’, a ‘hegemonic’ relationship characterizes criticism where there
is an impulse to defend the pleasures of feminine texts but also ‘to trans-
form the feminine identifications of women to feminist ones’ (1997: 194).
The ‘fragmented’ relationship between feminism and women challenges
such a politics. Positing that ‘everyone here is an other’ (1997: 197) this
critical approach offers historical autobiography or studies acknowledging
the contingency and articulation of gender with other identifications (1997:
196). Providing a ‘less conflictual’ position ‘for women to inhabit as intel-
lectuals’ (1997: 197; emphasis in original), it also returns us perhaps to
Modleski’s fears for feminism.
Jennifer Wicke’s slant on the ‘fragmented’ relationship is that feminist
academic argument has become ‘hermetically sealed’ (1994: 770). With
theorizing of the political only occurring in relation to theory,3 feminist
criticism ignores an increasingly significant ‘other’, the domain of ‘celebrity
feminism’. She elaborates:
The celebrity zone is the public sphere where feminism is negotiated, where
it is now in most active cultural play. This zone lies on the border of academic
feminism, adjacent to it, sometimes invading it, at other times being invaded
by it. . . . The celebrity zone is fed by streams flowing from civil society: con-
gressional hearings, court TV, Hillary Clinton’s health plan, the L.A. riots,
controversial judicial or cabinet nominees, and so forth. Whoopi Goldberg,
hosting the Academy Awards, is in the celebrity zone, as is . . . Oprah Winfrey,
with her media empire. . . . A zone is neither an absolute space nor a perma-
nent terrain. . . . Good things happen in the celebrity zone, and bad things
happen in that zone. (Wicke, 1994: 757–8)
‘Celebrity feminism’ is important as ‘a new locus for feminist discourse,
feminist politics and feminist conflicts, both conflicts internal to feminism
and feminism’s many struggles with antifeminist forces’ (Wicke, 1994: 753).
Wicke thus argues that ‘materialist feminism’4 ignores ‘celebrity-feminist
discourse at our peril’ (1994: 770).
Building on this discussion, I engage with ‘celebrity feminism’ to charac-
terize feminist/feminine culture in the 1990s. But since British culture has
not produced the likes of Camille Paglia, Catherine MacKinnon or Naomi
Wolf – although it does have feminist journalists whose agendas slip into,
and out of, and mark themselves against, more academic feminist discourses
– I use the term ‘media feminism’, linking it to Lisa McLaughlin’s idea of
contestation in ‘media event space’ (1998: 73).
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Much discussed in the UK ‘media zone’ have been two books by jour-
nalists: Natasha Walter’s The New Feminism (1998), a political polemic
rethinking feminism for 20- and 30-somethings, and Helen Fielding’s
hugely successful comic story of the trials of a metropolitan, single, 30-
something – Bridget Jones’s Diary (1996).5 These books define themselves
against 1970s feminism, epitomizing Angela McRobbie’s suggestion that
for younger generations such feminism is the maternal ‘other’ (1996,
1997). Indeed, Walter refers to her mother as ‘a Spare-Rib reading activist
of the old school’ (Benn, 1998: 20). Walter rejects engagement with issues
of sexuality and body image, in favour of the ‘harder’ issues of employ-
ment and childcare. Each chapter criticizes a particular, if caricatured,
aspect of 1970s feminism for allegedly alienating today’s young women.
‘Out of the Ghetto’ argues that the women’s movement represented an
exclusive ghetto for women that today’s generation rejects, and ‘Hello
Boys’ criticizes 1970s feminism’s hostility towards men. Walter’s tone is
celebratory:
Without doubt, when we look at the changing lives of young women today,
we can see a spring of optimism bubbling up. Young women need not apolo-
gise for wanting power and equality. . . . We can see that changes sometimes
create stress and uncertainty, and yet hold on to the underlying truth: we’ve
never had it so good.6 (1998: 197)
For her, a basic tenet of 1970s feminism, ‘the personal is political’, must be
abandoned to give ‘the social and political demands of feminism more edge’
and ‘free up the personal realm’ from the ‘straitjacket of political correct-
ness’ (Walter, 1998: 5–6). Appealing as this viewpoint is – after all, does it
matter what kind of clothes/make-up/boyfriends/girlfriends women desire?
– it refuses to recognize the complex historical processes and power rela-
tions by which public and private are bound together, ‘intimately linked’ to
women’s oppression (Campbell, 1998). Although usefully marking shifts
and highlighting young women’s changed perceptions, Walter tends to inter-
pret the progress of the ‘winning woman’ as progress for all women (Benn,
1998; Mirza, 1998; Watkins, 1998).
If Walter opts for a feminist politics rigorously confined to the public,
Helen Fielding’s fictional account, Bridget Jones’s Diary, occupies the
allegedly ‘freed up personal realm’ beyond politics, playing up feminine
weaknesses and heterosexual desires.7 Each entry begins with a self-assess-
ment of body weight and compulsive oral intakes intimately tied to Bridget’s
love life:
Thursday 5 January
9st 3 (excellent progress – 2lb of fat spontaneously combusted through joy
and sexual promise), alcohol units 6 (v.g. for party), cigarettes 12 (continu-
ing good work), calories 1258 (love has eradicated need to pig out). (1996:
22)
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Campaign strategies
Wallis,9 the 60-year-old high street fashion label, wished to clarify its
profile. According to marketing director Fiona Davis, the brand was about
‘putting women first’ and the store saw its customer as ‘grown up and com-
fortable with who she is. In her mind she is forever 30.’ Without alienating
core customers, Wallis aimed to persuade non-users ‘to take a fresh look at
Wallis’ and gain support from fashion journalists. It wanted to suggest that
‘at Wallis, we understand the benefit of making an effort, that dressing up
delivers a sense of inner and outer confidence’.
With a modest budget and media spend, the agency Bartle Bogle Hegarty
produced four print ads around the catchline ‘Dress to kill’. The campaign
was launched to the trade and consumer press in July 1997 before appear-
ing in the ‘credible fashion environment’ of women’s magazines
(September–December). Impact was further augmented ‘by translating the
big idea into our windows, instore, bags, postcards, accounts statements’.
However, first seen ‘outside of its intended media channel’, the campaign
was amplified by national and international news media, and introduced to
a public beyond the target group.
In its campaign, Nissan aimed to increase sales of its Micra model
(hitherto perceived as an older person’s car) to women under 40, whom
research suggested took the decision or had an equal say in 80 percent of
all car sales. Research also indicated that if dependability and safety were
important for women, so was ownership, since with a shared car the
woman’s use came second. With the catchline ‘Ask before you borrow it’
the agency TBWA Simons Palmer aimed to tap into women’s feelings toward
their car, again selecting women’s magazines (eight executions), supported
by postcards, billboards and a TV campaign (five executions). Like Wallis,
the campaign’s public visibility beyond women’s magazines again made it
newsworthy.
Wonderbra posed a greater marketing challenge. In 1992, as fashion
emphasized ‘voluptuously womanly curves’ (Baker, 1995: 264), the 30-
year-old Wonderbra, under the Gossard label, enjoyed a renaissance. But in
1993 the Wonderbra licence was transferred to Playtex. Its problem was that
Gossard, with a much stronger fashion image, promptly created a similar
and competitive new product, the Ultrabra, so that Wonderbra, an ‘old’
product weighed down by Playtex’s dowdy image, was potentially the loser
in this ‘bra war’. Much was pinned on advertising to differentiate Wonder-
bra and demonstrate that it was ‘still extremely fashionable and extremely
desirable’ (Baker, 1995: 267). The agency TBWA Holmes Knight Ritchie
saw the ‘Wonderbra woman’ as:
John Berger famously suggested that: ‘Men act and women appear. Men
look at women, women watch themselves being looked at’ (1972: 47). Cer-
tainly in these ads he looks at her, and with potentially devastating conse-
quences: the car has crashed and the barber may slit the client’s throat. (In
the third, a guard will be decapitated as a metro train passes beneath a
tunnel.) She, however, seems unaware, except through the female audience:
we notice the male gaze.
In ‘Crash’, unlike in the 1968 ad, there is no exchange of looks between
women. The spatial composition draws the viewer’s gaze along the faultline
of pavement and railing as if we are about to bump into the woman, and
between the crashed car/the man and her as she nonchalantly leans towards
the sea. Our gaze switches from the man’s ‘symbolic castration’ to the
woman’s ‘bodily plenitude’, in the process checking his gaze. In ‘Barber’
(Figure 3) we see the scene in the mirror, our gaze cutting in front of Wallis
woman to the car beyond. Our gaze checks her walk and the men’s admir-
ing looks, even as our mirrored relation to her encourages identification.
Significantly, the men are trapped: the driver is momentarily immobilized
in his crashed car, the barber is able to gaze at the woman/the world only
through a plate-glass window. Diverted from doing their business properly,
a woman’s looks (as in Laura Mulvey’s classic psychoanalytic account of the
pleasures of film [1975]) stop the narrative, but in this moment of erotic
contemplation masculinity is also undone. The men are unable to alleviate
anxiety, or escape ‘symbolic castration’, by punishing the woman or making
her the reassuring fetish: their pleasure in looking is interrupted by our
(female) gaze.
The woman, in contrast, gazes towards the horizon or swings along the
street. She enjoys the ‘freedom’ of public space and the outdoors, not con-
fined and not punished. For a moment she ‘kills’ – she ‘wins’, even if
unknowingly. Or is it that we the spectator ‘win’? For our look, as well as
the look of the camera, is the privileged one accessing a knowledge she does
not have while also being key to the advert’s humour: we laugh at men’s
predicament and relish the exercise of power our organizing gaze grants us
(Hall, 1997). Such a conjunction of looks is described by Christine Bat-
tersby, writing about feminist photography:
it is only by adopting visual shocks that one woman can enable another to
see with a doubleness of vision – irony, parody, anger, satire, humour, mimicry
– which is a necessary part of gazing within a culture that adopts the male
viewing position as norm . . . female gazers have to be more cross-eyed . . .
they have to disturb the directness of the male gaze, by looking in (more than)
two directions at once. (1994: 93–4)
Arguably these ads encourage a ‘cross-eyed’ gaze. But there is ambiguity.
After all, the epicentre of the ads is men looking admiringly at a sexualized
woman who represents a threat to be controlled by the patriarchal gaze. As
our gaze oscillates across the line of vision between ‘him’ and ‘her’ there is
tension between recognition of (and pleasure in?) his surveillance and of his
failure to curb the threat. This double play refigures the one fiction split
across the two stories of Bridget Jones’s Diary and The New Feminism.
Iain MacRury’s psychoanalytic approach to the representation of male
adultery in recent TV car advertising helps push these ideas further. Propos-
ing that advertising, and consumer goods, can be thought of as ‘making
some contribution to various needs for social and unconscious self-expres-
sion’ (1997: 240) he argues that ambiguities in ads relate to readers’ psychic
conflicts. He draws on Heinz Kohut’s model of the psychic apparatus which
poses a narcissistic bipolar infant self as the ‘center of initiative and a re-
cipient of impressions’ (Greenberg and Mitchell, 1983: 353).13 The infant’s
feelings of being at the centre of everybody’s universe – ‘baby worship’ –
Kohut characterizes as the ‘archaic grandiose self’, or the pole of the self
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which ‘is about holding: holding attention, objects, power’ (MacRury, 1997:
244; emphasis in original). The other and later developing pole, ‘the archaic
idealising self’ (1997: 244) in which the infant experiences ‘a sense of merger
with an idealized selfobject’ (Greenberg and Mitchell, 1983: 354), relates to
‘feelings of being held’ and enjoying ‘pleasure in security’ (MacRury, 1997:
244–5; emphasis in original). In the adult, MacRury suggests that the
bipolar self leans on that earlier developmental dynamic to create what
Kohut describes as a ‘tension arc’ (1997: 245). Considering ads as inciting
particular fantasies which play into and modulate ‘the readership’s bipolar
narcissism’ (1997: 246), MacRury carefully argues for the contribution ‘of
a sociocultural as well as a familial environment’ (1997: 245). Thus the
success of an advertisement rests on the ‘tension arc’ being appropriately
attuned, psychically and socially, to the target audience, and the fantasies
must be relevant, not moving beyond what the reader can cope with (1997:
246).
Even though MacRury14 does not engage with patriarchal relations as a
key social dynamic inflecting the bipolar self, his ideas cast new light on the
ad campaigns I detail. Each differently incites, maps and manages a tension
arc across the woman’s bipolar self, conceding to and rebuffing patriarchal
relations. In the Wallis ads, Wallis woman dramatically holds attention and
power, but the male gaze also holds her. The tension arc, however, is ulti-
mately modulated by the female spectator whose privileged looking from
outside the frame, and beyond danger, slips into humour at men’s expense
and thus secures a bipolar self in which disavowal of patriarchal relations
can safely be uppermost.
If marketing has long recognized that ‘great brands attract mass markets
by resolving conflicts’ (Evans and Rowlands, 1996: 13), in this campaign
tensions are foregrounded for enjoyment and deliberation. Offering a
‘private dialogue’ with women (Winning Women, 1998), such performative
fantasies in magazines are part of the adventurous ‘new sexual discourse’
which ‘destabilizes the more singular femininity . . . magazines once en-
dorsed’ (McRobbie, 1996: 187). But Wallis’s promotion outside of maga-
zines renders such incitements more problematic, as young female spectators
rub against a wider public, an issue I return to.
(1971) was evident and, by 1997, ads too had developed a sharper edge.
Nevertheless, revenge fantasies are still exceptional, partly deriving symbolic
meaning from (the fear of) men perpetrating violence against women.19
Reflecting on the Nissan ads in terms of a bipolar self, the tension arc tips
towards the pole of ‘holding power’, with the female spectator’s gaze exer-
cising power. Nevertheless, Sharon Willis’s observations about the road
movie Thelma and Louise (1991), described by critics as ‘degrading to men’
(Willis, 1993: 120), suggest a different modulation:
The film’s spectacle is made of the play
between plausibility and fantasy, a play
organized around the figure of a body, but a
body catapulting across the landscape in a
car. . . . While this play gathers around the
women’s driving bodies, monumentally
clothed in the car that is iconic of automo-
tive and consumer history, it also saturates
the landscape draped around them. This is a
landscape in which a woman’s gaze can
become the avid consumer of the male
body. . . . (1993: 123)
In the Nissan ads women are not seen
behind the wheel.20 Indeed there is no car
and no landscape. Moreover, the process
of ‘violence’ against men is displaced, and
only with the ‘man asleep’, and more
forcefully in the ‘man protecting his
Figure 7 This execution was groin’, is the violence exercised on his
the main image in the Nissan body and can the spectator’s gaze
Micra ‘Ask before you borrow it’ ‘become the avid consumer of the male
campaign. This version is again body’. Yet, in the first image the lighting
from the set of the postcards in softens the potential threat21 and in the
the ‘Micra Revenge Pack’,
second the man’s pain is not personalized
autumn 1997.
by facial expression. Occurring within a
TBWA CGT Simons Palmer. domestic domain, the woman’s act of vio-
lence is hidden. In these ways the fantasy
drama and Kohut’s tension arc are tempered.
But when this private (revenge) fantasy loomed from a billboard the incited
tensions were sharpened. A Guardian leader column, ‘Woman in control and
flaunting it’, is revealing about the impact of such advertising on men:
or standing at the sink where we [sic] can keep an eye on them, there’s no
knowing what they’ll do. (13 November 1997; emphasis in original)
Outdoors the feminine is dangerous and uncontrollable.
female spectator. ‘Hello boys’ incites the tension between the two poles of
the bipolar self, assertively foregrounding the pole of ‘holding attention’ at
the same time as highlighting ‘being held’. This is a joke at men’s expense,
shared safely among women. However, outside, where the campaign
allegedly posed a threat to road safety: ‘Dangerous curves ahead – it’s the
Wonderbra’ (Qualtrough, 1994: 23), the modulation across that tension arc
is different.
‘Fcuk advertising’
To understand the impact of ‘Hello boys’ in the street requires some grasp
of the ‘outdoor industry’: poster advertising on billboard sites, street furni-
ture (largely bus shelters), transit sites (buses, taxis, lorries) and ambient
media (from golf holes to parking meters (Cook, 1999). An old medium,
outdoors took a back seat in the media mix (8.5 percent market share in
1955, only 3.6 percent in 1993 [Brierley, 1995: 86]) with the rise of com-
mercial TV in the UK. Virtually a cottage industry, poorly managed on a
regional rather than national basis, and with buyers unclear about what
their spend delivered (Admap, April 1993), modernization occurred as
media expansion and audience fragmentation rendered media planning
more complex. With the US as the ‘engine for change’ (Reid, 1999a: 26),
ownership became more concentrated,23 maintenance of sites more compe-
tent, the selling more streamlined (Brierley, 1995) and audience measure-
ment more reliable. By 1999, outdoors represented 5 percent of the media
mix (Fry, 1999: 30).
Given the relation between media and advertising, advertisers more gener-
ally must act like guerrilla fighters – be camouflaged to fit into a media
environment but also engage in surprise attacks to force recognition that
amid all the clutter this cultural output is different. For their part audiences
do not choose ads but rather approach them in a distracted state, particu-
larly in the case of billboards which presuppose the motorized traveller.
When a driver’s attention is on children in the back seat, the car radio, the
state of the traffic or an impending appointment, an oblique glance may
catch an image that appears ‘inscrutable and mysterious’ (Bellamy, 1986:
56), but a billboard can as easily be missed.
Billboards counter distraction by gearing sites to people’s routines
through space and over time, and adopting a grandeur: ‘posters become
bigger to shout louder . . . but also to be seen at speed’ (Bernstein, 1997:
118). Executions are made simple so that, at their best, meanings are like a
‘tight spring which the viewer touches and so releases’ (1997: 68), and like
Andy Warhol’s pop art of Campbell’s soup tins, their size and flatness
renders the ordinary different or extraordinary (Hegarty, 1998: 227). A
‘public declaration’, such dreamscapes are particularly telling (Bernstein,
1997: 114).
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During the 1970s and 1980s political parties and cigarette companies
were two of the heaviest and best-remembered users of billboards in the UK,
but with the rationalization of the industry and the increasing importance
of posters as the ‘broadcast glue that can hold a mixed media campaign
together’ (Fry, 1999: 30), the market widened. In 1997, French Connection,
the young fashion label, audaciously used billboards for their ‘fcuk’ cam-
paign (Figure 9). When transposed, the letters of their ‘trademark’ produce
the swear word ‘fuck’ and forthwith the advert featured in the Advertising
Standards Authority’s Top Ten [most complained about] Advertisements for
1997, along with three other campaigns similarly targeted at young women,
and all regarded as ‘offensive’ (ASA, 1997b).24
Such was Wonderbra’s promotional value that Kaliber lager borrowed its
address and on twin hoardings Scottish comedian Billy Connolly appeared
to be in dialogue with Eva Herzigova (Figure 10).25 Whilst motorized
transport offers a safe cocoon from which to enjoy this billboard humour,
for the pedestrian passerby caught in the imagined exchange, the site – at
a junction on a ring road in Sheffield – more shockingly throws into relief
the private and intimate made public. Especially for women, the alienat-
ing urban environment and potentially unsafe subway resonate with the
memory of 19th-century patriarchal precedents – ideas about public
women as out of place, ‘fallen’ women, the street walker, the prostitute
(Wilson, 1994). ‘Hello boys’ becomes a provocative invitation to sexual
advance if not attack. The poster goads onlookers. Indeed, someone –
workmen, boys ‘just’ having a laugh, or could it be feminists? – has
thrown cement to bespatter the danger zone of the breasts (Figure 11).
The direct address, ‘Hello boys’, ‘Hello girls’, intervenes in the ‘real’: the
fantasy of a wholly separate world of the imaginary is shattered and the
fragility of the ‘bubble’ of ‘virtuality in the midst of the material world’
(Morse, 1998: 7) becomes apparent. The female onlooker, fictively pos-
itioned by the ads, is palpably reminded of a gendered and subordinate
identity. In this environment, the Wonderbra ad potentially plays differ-
ently across Kohut’s tension arc.
Not surprisingly, the campaign was (variously) taken up by feminists,
including Jacky Fleming. In her cartoon publicising her book Hello Boys
(Figure 12), the humour depends on knowing about 1970s feminism to
provide a position from which to judge this dumbed-down ‘younger’ post-
feminism.26 Fleming’s cartoons also accompany an article in the radical
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ads emerged from research into women’s lives (Butler, 1994: 4; Hailstone,
1994), the campaign was also carefully pre-tested with (among others)
nearly ‘4,000 female lingerie sales assistants . . . [whose] clapping and
laughter confirmed the potential of the campaign’ (Baker, 1995: 271).33
This target group was clear about limits: ‘I wouldn’t want to see a bloke.
She’d only be wearing it for him then’ (age 16–24), and outlawed some
captions as ‘too crude, male orientated’ or ‘demeaning to women’ (Baker,
1995: 270; Atkinson, 1994). Such evidence points to the necessary fine
tuning of Kohut’s tension arc for a campaign to be acceptable to the target
group.
Nevertheless, once in the public domain these campaigns courted
comment. Wonderbra in particular was a ‘noisy’ campaign, picking up
‘additional attention through clever spin’, no longer ‘merely advertising’ but
becoming ‘part of the media’s editorial’. From early Wonderbra stories
playing on the promotional field, the caption ‘Hello boys’, the model Eva
Herzigova, and the ads’ look, became (partly) unhinged from their original
signifieds. Walter and Fleming both borrow the phrase ‘Hello boys’, Kaliber
lager ‘talks back’ and a breast cancer awareness campaign announces
‘National Wonderbra Week’.34 As a 1990s icon, Wonderbra featured in the
Victoria and Albert Museum’s ‘The power of the poster’ exhibition
(Timmers, 1998), and made it into The Chambers Dictionary (1988) while
Herzigova sustained tabloid coverage and gained celebrity status (Sun, 22
July 1998). Later campaigns for the Wonderbra Bliss were seamlessly appro-
priated into the Sun’s ‘Page Three’ discourse: ‘Wonderbra model Brenda
Schad . . . shows the world how to get a lift’ (Holland, 1983; Sun, 19 March
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1998: 17), at the same time as its Woman section carried the ‘full story’, ‘A
bra is born’, on Brenda as a ‘single mum’ raised by adoptive parents and
reunited with her natural mother, ‘a half-Chocktaw Indian’ (11 March
1998: 6–7). In the Guardian, the stark differences between the French and
British Wonderbra ads offer the chance of engaging with women’s position
in the two countries (Duval Smith, 1997: 4).
In this way knowledge around Wonderbra became part of a publicly
shared cultural currency: the campaign entered McLaughlin’s ‘media event
space’ and Wicke’s ‘celebrity zone’. This ‘thicker life’ of a campaign35 high-
lights the paradox of contemporary advertising, that its constructions of the
consumer self are backgrounded by the primacy of communicating mean-
ingfully to audiences (Hartley, 1996: 207–10, Twitchell, 1996: 13–14).
According to Irene Costera Meijer, who also engages with ‘shock’ advertis-
ing on billboards, by (partially) severing advertising from consumer culture
and relocating it within media culture, we place it in a ‘traditional Haber-
masian public sphere as a legitimate object of discussion and civil consider-
ation’ (1998: 245).
Though agreeing with her discusssion, I would argue further that the con-
sequent ‘talk’ is mediated. The meanings of controversial campaigns, fuelled
by adjudications from the regulatory bodies, are amplified and redefined by
other media for their own narrative ends. Second, the textual characteristics
of controversial advertising need to be teased out: why does it ‘confront
people with their (often subconsciously held) values and beliefs’? (Meijer,
1998: 246). In the campaigns targeted at ‘winning women’, the confron-
tation is with social and psychic (patriarchal) tensions, mapped textually on
to a disruption of the gendered separation between private and public
domains. When these ads shift outside of women’s magazines that disrup-
tion is accentuated: private and intimate feminine fantasies enter public
‘media event’ space, and the alleged boundaries between commercial and
civic speech (and between consumer and citizen) fall away.36
Conclusion
My central argument has been that ads for ‘winning women’ offer a scopic
regime different from that of earlier ads, and incite fantasies that play on
psychic and social tensions pertinent to women in the 1990s. This argument,
however, rests on two other related lines of argument, one about the field
of feminism, and the other about advertising. If feminism has always been
fraught with tensions, in this analysis of 1990s feminine culture in Britain I
have emphasized the tensions across generations of feminists who tend to
refuse each other’s ‘feminism’ and ways of being a woman; between the
feminist academic and her various others; and across the ‘bipolar self’ of the
individual female psyche which, exemplified culturally by The New
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Notes
1 Wallis won ‘Creative Circle’ awards for best magazine and press ads, and
Wonderbra won the IPA Effectiveness Awards in 1994 as well as Campaign’s
1994 ‘Campaign of the year’.
2 Sociodemographic trends provide hard evidence of ‘winning women’. More
women are now middle class (from 36 percent in classes ABC1 in 1975 to
49 percent in 1995) and better educated (28 percent of 25–34 year olds went
on to further education in 1977, 59 percent in 1997). A higher proportion
work full time (25 percent in 1977, 43 percent in 1997), and fewer are
married (88 percent in 1977, 69 percent in 1997). Only 10 percent of 30
year olds from this group have children, 83 percent of them are homeown-
ers, 48 percent are the chief household earner and 41 percent live in London,
the South-east or East Anglia (Winning Women, 1998).
3 Wicke cites the ‘estimable’ Feminists Theorize the Political (Butler and Scott,
1992).
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18 The ‘Revenge Pack’ is a ploy to stimulate reader interaction and make the
campaign memorable, a tactic increasingly necessary as the volume of clutter
expands.
19 See Carter (1998) who argues that the tabloid press over-represents femi-
cides and incites fear to ‘normalize’ violence against women, inside and
outside the home.
20 In the TV commercials men get to drive the Micra car.
21 In ‘man asleep’, as if shot by another photographer, the lighting also breaks
with the conventions of film noir.
22 In the initial burst there were three ads. A year on, the campaign had run to
13 executions (Campaign, 6 January 1995) and it had crossed the Atlantic
and moved into Europe. In Mexico, Herzigova was more modestly attired
(Crawford, 1996: 4).
23 In Britain between 1996 and 1999 the outdoor industry was ‘the subject of
no less than 20 separate acquisitions’ (Fry, 1999: 30). There are now four
big players with fairly equal market shares: TDI, More Group, Decaux and
Maiden, which are global and increasingly cross-media companies (Reid,
1999a, 1999b).
24 The ASA demanded that the advertiser insert full stops on poster executions
– ‘f.c.u.k.’. In the less provocative medium of women’s magazines the
caption remained ‘fcuk’.
25 An alternative argument is that Kaliber’s masculine discourse attempts to
gain the upper hand, after being the butt of Wonderbra’s feminine
humour.
26 Jacky Fleming’s other publications include Be A Bloody Train Driver (I’m
Going To Be A Surgeon), and Never Give Up, whose ‘message’ and style –
the simple execution and unadorned non-fashion look – connotes 1970s
feminism.
27 Brierley (1995) discusses regulation of print advertising by the ASA.
28 The ASA reported, on the basis of its own research, increasing concern about
the portrayal of men as well as women (ASA Background Briefing, ‘The new
advertising taboos’, August 1998).
29 Although written later, Kane (1997) offers such an account.
30 Nor do I think it represents ‘womanism’ – ‘the corralling of all humanity’s
negative attributes into the male’ – as Ros Coward argues in relation to this
kind of anti-men (behaviour) and imagery (1999: 4).
31 This characteristic perhaps marks these 1990s representations as different
from earlier ones, for example those discussed by Brunsdon in ‘Postfeminism
and Shopping Films’ (1997).
32 Wonderbra was wrongly attributed to creative ‘lad’ director Trevor Beattie.
See Campaign (12 July 1994: 28, 6 January 1995: 21), and Guardian (Media
section, 14 July 1997: 6–7) for squabbles over creative credit for the Won-
derbra campaign (largely a fight between men). On the patriarchal organiz-
ation of advertising, see Nixon (1997).
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33 The draft of this paper was prepared by the account handler Susanna Hail-
stone but her authorship is not acknowledged in Baker (1995).
34 For criticism of Wonderbra’s contribution to Breast Cancer Awareness see
Virginia Matthews ‘How aware can you get?’ (The Times, 19 June 1998: 42).
35 I use this phrase partly as counterpoint to Daniel Boorstin’s reference to
packaged (that is, advertised) commodities as ‘the thinnner things of life’
(1973: 424) and to suggest something of Clifford Geertz’s injunction of
engaging in ‘thick description’ (Geertz, 1973).
36 For further discussion of this problematic boundary, see McLaughlin (1998)
and Hermes (1997).
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