KGB, or "Knowledge Generation Bureau," is a service that allows people to text a question-anything from "Where's the nearest Chili's in Gainesville?" to "Who wrote Wuthering Heights?"-to a number and, for 99 cents, they'll get a text back with the answer. You can even ask opinion-based questions or silly, non-factual questions.
It's an interesting idea that's more or less useless. Chances are, there's somebody around you with an iPhone who can look up whatever you're thinking about, and most everybody knows the number of someone who is perpetually parked in front of a computer who will be more than happy Wikipedia whatever's on your mind. For everything else, there's Google directory assistance with its free SMS and 411 services.
Obviously, the folks at KGB don't want you to think about that-they just want you to go "Oh, that's pretty cool" and impulsively send a text or two to try it out (and get addicted and unwittingly blow five hours' pay in 20 minutes). So they use ads that encourage spur-of-the-moment, gee-whiz-I-want-to-try-that ads:
To that end, the ads aren't too bad. They pique curiosity ("Will they really answer anything?"), and they know their demographic: guys in their teens and early twenties watching Comedy Central who are just bored enough that asking dumb questions via text message might seem kind of fun.
One ad says that KGB can help prevent brain farts (with flatulence noises to up the laff factor) and another features two guys wondering if you can milk a hamster (the KGB researchers think yes, but then proceed to milk a hamster just to make sure-that's service!). It's hilarious because apparently we're in the seventh grade.
One ad stands out, though:
Two guys at a bar are arguing over whether or not anybody has won the Heisman Trophy twice; two KGB "agents"-an average-looking man and an attractive woman-overhear this and offer to settle the dispute. Before texting KGB, the woman demands that whoever's wrong has to wear her outfit-a spaghetti strap top and a mini-skirt.
It turns out Archie Griffin won it twice in 1974 and 1975; one of the guys appears in the outfit; and we get to see the woman in her bra and underwear looking strangely satisfied with the turn of events. (The male agent offers her a towel to cover up; she nonchalantly says, "I'm good.")
Given their target audience, it's unsurprising that KGB would try to use sex to sell its service. Scantily-clad women are certainly nothing new, but then consider how they're used in these Axe ads:
It's not just that the women are half-naked; it's that they've become lusty, mindless sexbots who become incapacitated with horniness and lose all cognitive abilities at the drop of a hat.
But the KGB "Bet Your Skirt" ad turns that on its head-the woman is completely in control! She's the one that demands the guy put on her outfit; she's the one who looks confident standing in the middle of a bar inappropriately dressed; she's the one with a smirk who turns down a towel to cover up. It's not objectifying women if she's so cool about it!
Except, no. When you're running ads on a male-oriented network like Comedy Central, this sort of nuance may give you some semblance of plausible deniability, but ultimately, you're still just shoving breasts on camera to sell product.
It's like when Miller Light tried to defend its 2003 "Catfight" ad by saying it was an ironic "spoof"-yeah, great social commentary there, but for most of the guys staring at the ad, mouth slightly agape, it's just bouncy T&A.
It's bad enough to objectify women in advertising. Trying to wrap it in some half-assed "irony" or "empowerment" BS is beyond pathetic.
BONUS: Speaking of KGB's ads using women in stupid ways…
Setting aside all the gratuitous breast references, if you're at a point in your relationship where you can buy your girlfriend a bra, you probably should be at the point in your relationship where calling your girlfriend to ask for her bra size wouldn't be a big deal.
This raises an important question: Have the people who designed this ad campaign ever even talked to a girl? Seriously.
