Tuesday, August 24, 2021

In Her Words: ‘A complete misunderstanding’

Yes, marketing is still sexist.
Andrea D'Aquino

By Mara Altman

"It's just a complete misunderstanding about the way that women think."

— Jane Cunningham, one of the authors of "Brandsplaining: Why Marketing is (Still) Sexist And How To Fix It."

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In 2019, Jane Cunningham and Philippa Roberts — founders of a marketing consultancy — were invited to a conference to speak about how the marketing industry was failing women. Over 15 years, they'd conducted 4,000 hours' worth of interviews and discussion groups with women about their needs, their desires and where brands were falling short. And brands were really falling short.

As they were about to go onstage, a man in attendance introduced himself and explained that their expertise was not needed — as far as ads were concerned, inequality between the sexes had ended. "It's ridiculous. I don't think there is any problem with marketing to women now," they recounted the man saying.

Before Ms. Cunningham and Ms. Roberts could stick it to him, and tell him why he was wrong, he simply strode off.

So begins their book, "Brandsplaining: Why Marketing is (Still) Sexist And How To Fix It." The title is a nod to Rebecca Solnit's concept of mansplaining, a term that refers to a man explaining things to a woman, unsolicited, and whether he is an expert on the topic or not.

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Back when they worked at ad agencies in the 2000s, Ms. Roberts and Ms. Cunningham, were — as women on the team — commonly assigned the accounts that targeted women, for products such as feminine hygiene items, laundry detergents and cleaning supplies. "When we presented our briefs, there was a glazed unresponsive feel to the meetings," Ms. Cunningham said.

Over and over again, "We noticed how female customers were perceived in ways that were at best inaccurate and at worst diminishing and dismissive," they wrote.

Between 1980 and 2010, women in commercials were shown in workplace settings only 4 percent of the time; frequently they were shown in kitchens, waxing poetic about the products they were selling. They were shown in kitchens so often that creatives referred to the trope in whispers as 2Cs in a K." "The K was for kitchen and you can guess what the Cs stood for," they wrote.

Since then, little has changed. In 2019, the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media found that ads up for awards at the prestigious Cannes Lions advertising festival depicted male characters working almost twice as often as female characters. Male characters also outnumbered female characters two-to-one and had twice as much screen time and speaking time. Another study conducted by Ebiquity, a media consultancy, found that, of the ads aired in 2016, only 4 percent showed women in leadership positions.

According to Ms. Cunningham and Ms. Roberts, part of the inequality has stemmed from who fills high-level roles inside advertising agencies. While there are about equal numbers of women and men in advertising overall, 71 percent of creative directors — the role with the most creative control — are men.

In 2019, the Advertising Standards Authority in the United Kingdom banned advertisements that depicted gender stereotypes — no more commercials where only women scrub the floors or where men are dumbfounded by the workings of a diaper. The U.K. standards are certainly more robust than those in the U.S., said Brooke Erin Duffy, an associate professor of communication at Cornell. But the U.K. also wasn't the first to take action: Several countries have laws and codes on the books that, to varying degrees, prevent gender discrimination.

In their book, Ms. Cunningham and Ms. Roberts argue that despite women's progress in many parts of society, advertisements still consistently cast women as secondary. "The majority of brands still speak to women from a male perspective, explaining to them what they are and telling them what they can be," they write.

In Her Words spoke with Ms. Cunningham and Ms. Roberts over Zoom to discuss the lingering and often covert sexism in marketing.

The conversation has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

What does marketing to women look like in 2021?

Roberts: Brands appear to be presenting a more positive and progressive message for women, but in reality, all that's happened is a trick of the language. Age-defying has turned into "ageless" and dieting has coded itself as "wellness." In the book we describe this as "sneaky sexism." The guy in the white lab coat has become this silky shrink voice — lean into this, you can be anything, be bold, be strong — which puts the onus on the individual to change themselves and, this time, their behavior, not just their appearance.

When it comes to marketing, what do women say they want, but aren't getting?

Cunningham: The fundamental misunderstanding in the way that marketing models work is the perception that women's aim and ambition in life starts and stops with achieving male approval and patronage. In essence, getting married and having kids. Everything leading up to that is preparation and training to achieve it, and everything after that is a decline into beige-ness and invisibility. So for kids, marketing to girls is all about being kind, being sweet, being affectionate, looking after things. For young women, it's all about your appearance, making sure you're always as perfect as you possibly can be in order to seek and achieve male approval, and then of course you become the perfect mom, delighted and endlessly happy to have this baby.

But when you actually talk to women, their aspirations are not, in fact, to be beautiful through the male lens; it's to feel comfortable in their own skin. It isn't to be dependent; it's to maintain their independence, particularly their financial independence.

The great female-made brands that we talk about in the book, like Frida Mom or Third Love, make women feel seen as they are, not as men want them to be. That's the big shift that needs to happen. Brands need to stop telling women how to be, and start being in service to them.

But big brands have long had success with criticizing women to sell products.

Cunningham: Even if these smaller brands are not a direct threat to the bigger and more traditional brands, they are throwing into relief just how outmoded and old-fashioned big-brand marketing is. Once you've seen Frida Mom, a lot of the stuff that comes out of traditional brands starts to look really strange, really twisted and untrue.

How big of a role is social media in changing this?

Cunningham: Historically there weren't channels available to women to talk to each other about how objectionable they found this stuff. Women were sort of forced to consume it. They didn't really know whether everybody else was thinking, "wait a minute, this seems pretty punishing." But now social media, for all of its faults, has also been a brilliant way for women to discuss what they find really objectionable about brands, and it's been galvanizing.

Does the way things are marketed have a real impact on gender identity and self-concept?

Cunningham: There is a really big body of work around the impact of marketing and just how powerful it is — young women are consuming something like 10,000 messages a day from brands. Think about the collective impact that can have when the same things are being said over and over again, which are usually: Be thinner, be blonder, be more feminine, be hairless, be whiter.

Cumulatively, it does have an effect. But why not sell products in a way that is going to have a positive effect on women, not just young women but all women? Why does it have to be so fraught? Women have enough real problems that need to be solved by brands and products, you don't need to make them up.

How does marketing aimed at men differ?

Cunningham: The themes are very different. They are about power, individualism and strength.

Roberts: The nature of the relationship in the masculine space is much more endorsing and positive. That critical eye just isn't there; it's more of we see you, we endorse you and we really like you.

You write that brands even spend more on ads targeting men.

Cunningham: Yes, we talk about the domestic brands, the brands like Pampers or Tide. If they decide to target the male audience instead of doling out the usual slice-of-life formula that women get in marketing, out comes John Legend and hilarious jokes and brilliant high production values as if with men you have to be properly creative. Whereas women don't need that, you can give them any old rubbish and they will happily receive the message because they are so invested in laundry detergent or nappies.

It was such a fascinating statistic from your book that 20 percent of commercials depict a woman with her head thrown back laughing.

Cunningham: Yeah, and never being funny. Only 3 percent of ads are women being funny themselves.

Roberts: And they are almost always smiling, and if they aren't smiling, they are looking really hostile; it's very polar.

Cunningham: And, you know, the older woman completely disappears. Only one in 10 ads that feature a woman features a woman who's over 50.

It's a huge missed opportunity. Also older women are fed up with looking at marketing that just features women under 30.

Yeah, if you only watched ads, you'd think older women just have bladder issues.

Cunningham: Or that they are a bit bonkers. They are sort of, you know, ditsy and eccentric and odd. They can't just be women who are over 50 and getting on with their lives who have jobs and children

Roberts: It's not just older women who get overlooked. It's women of color. Poor women. Massive swaths that just don't get seen because of this narrow way that marketing has set its dials, which is around this good, white, slim, young, pleasing archetype.

Cunningham: If you talk to these marketing executives about this, you know, they say, "But won't that put everybody else off if you show older women?" First of all, who cares, because older women have the money. But also no, younger women don't go around saying, "Ew, she's over 50, how disgusting!" It'd be more like, "Thank god, I have some role models now." It's just a complete misunderstanding about the way that women think.

As consumers, what power do we have to change how products are marketed?

Cunningham: The way that women can influence marketing is spending with the brands that are doing the right thing by women and refusing to buy from brands that are very evidently trying to keep women in their place, and/or the place they think women should be.

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In Her Words is edited by Francesca Donner. Our art director is Catherine Gilmore-Barnes, and our photo editor is Maura Foley.

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On Politics: Nashville’s twisting journey

The city has expanded rapidly — but that growth has done a number on its politics.
Mayor John Cooper, a developer who defeated a progressive in 2019, came into office promising little more than a return to the status quo ante.Andrew Nelles/The Tennessean, via Associated Press

When I think about growing up in Nashville in the 1980s, three memories jump out. The first is that my father, who grew up there in the 1950s, liked to say how little had changed — the streets, the people, the way everything shut down at 6 p.m. The second is that my mother, who came from Louisville, felt constantly demeaned as an outsider, Kentucky being too far north for many people's comfort. And the third is McPizza — Nashville was considered a synecdoche of the American average, and therefore an early test market. If a McDonald's pizza could sell there, it would sell anywhere. (Spoiler: It didn't.)

Those memories could describe Nashville's politics, too: unchanging, insular, but in a way typical of countless midsize, middle-American cities. At its top sat what locals called good ol' boys and what the historian Patrick Wyman calls the "American gentry" — millionaires but not billionaires, all of them white men, conservative but not particularly ideological, with fortunes built more on static sectors like agriculture and services than on tech or finance. Most of the elite were happy to keep the city just as it was. They looked at Atlanta's rapid postwar expansion in horror, and they militated against anything — mass transit, downtown development — that might turn us into another Southern megalopolis.

Then, around the time I left in 1995, things started to change. A series of liberal, pro-growth mayors, starting with Phil Bredesen, began to draw in global business. Dell built a plant there, then Nissan brought its North American headquarters to a suburb. They built out amenities: sports arenas, a world-class symphony hall. And they added new infrastructure, such as commuter rail and better buses.

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The results are obvious to anyone who has hopped a flight for a weekend of Music City, U.S.A., which within the last decade has claimed the crown of America's "it" city. A downtown with seemingly more construction cranes than mid-'90s Berlin. A metropolitan area that has doubled in size, to about two million people. A tourist mecca, drawing 15.2 million visitors in 2018 — versus just two million in 1998. The No. 1 bachelorette party destination in the country.

It's not just about tourism. Vanderbilt, always a good regional school, is now one of the wealthiest, most exclusive universities in the country. AllianceBernstein moved its headquarters to Nashville in 2018; both Amazon and Oracle are now building multi-billion-dollar campuses in and around downtown.

You won't necessarily notice it from your pedal tavern or Salemtown Airbnb, but all of this change has done a number on the city's politics, in a way that is instructive for how once-insular cities are changing in the face of huge inflows of population from the coasts. The challenge is not so much managing growth — it's managing the political change that growth brings.

Instead of one power center, the gentry, there are now three. The first newcomer is a liberal elite that, like its parallel at the national level, manages to be both left-leaning and pro-business. It embraces things like L.G.B.T.Q. awareness and smart-growth policies. It welcomes Amazon, but it also wants to see the tax revenues it will bring used for things like mass transit, affordable housing and education. It wants to be a top-tier city like Atlanta, but in the right way.

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In sharp contrast is a coalition of local business people, Trumpist ideologues and religious conservatives, united by an opposition to the left and the sort of activist government it espouses. These folks have been around for decades: Phil Valentine, the Nashville radio host who died last week of Covid, made his name in the 1990s opposing immigration and tax increases. But they have been emboldened by the influx of tourist dollars over the past 20 years, which has lined the pockets of developers and entertainment entrepreneurs who see any effort at regulation as a threat to their livelihood.

And although the members of the gentry don't have quite the sway they once did, they still have some power. Mayor John Cooper, a developer who defeated a progressive in 2019, came into office promising little more than a return to the status quo ante. His brother, Jim Cooper, is the city's representative in the U.S. House.

For over 20 years, Nashville was led by a loose alliance of pro-business liberals and the gentry, which kept the anti-tax conservative right at bay. The gentry weren't necessarily pro-growth, but as long as it was well-managed and to their benefit, they went along. That all fell apart in 2018, when Mayor Megan Barry, a liberal, resigned amid a sex scandal. She had been the driving force behind a billion-dollar plan to upgrade the city's transit infrastructure, which had the gentry's approval but faced fierce opposition from the ideological right (backed by money from the Koch brothers' Americans for Prosperity). Her fall not only doomed the plan, but also sundered public faith in the liberal-gentry alliance.

Absent that leadership, Nashville, which just a few years ago felt like a promised land for folks fleeing big-city problems, faces several challenges of its own. First is affordability. Housing prices are shooting up, squeezing out the working class. Unregulated, developers are replacing entire neighborhoods with McMansions and short-term rentals. As people are pushed to the edges and beyond, commuting is becoming unbearable.

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Second is the culture clash between progressives and Trumpists. School board meetings over mask mandates have turned into fist fights, instigated in part by right-wing provocateurs. Nashville is the capital of Tennessee, which makes it home to battles over red-state concerns like transgender rights and Confederate monuments. These conflicts may be easy to dismiss as sideshows, but left unresolved they can poison the sort of consensus-building that long-term planning requires.

Third is the city's budget, and the leadership's failure to take advantage of its good fortune. In a state with no income tax, local property taxes are vital sources of government revenue. Yet Nashville has repeatedly rejected efforts to keep them in line with rising valuations. That has meant cuts to education, public works and infrastructure, and foreclosed the possibility of big-idea plans that may carry the city forward (though the City Council did vote recently to increase teacher pay).

Taken together, these problems represent a fundamental challenge to the gentry's leadership, even as they make it harder to see either of the other factions taking hold. Liberals are ascendant, with President Biden capturing the highest percentage of the city's votes since Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1944. But the left is unlikely to take a commanding role over a city that covers 526 square miles, much of it exurban or rural, a metropolitan structure that was, ironically, one of the great achievements of the city's last liberal-gentry alliance, in the 1960s. And there is an ascendant populist left, including a serious primary opponent for Jim Cooper next year, that is challenging the historical pro-business orientation among liberals.

But there are enough people on the left, however fractious, to offset the populist right, which, despite the arrival of national mascots like Candace Owens, Ben Shapiro and Tomi Lahren — all of whom relocated to Nashville in recent years — represents a rowdy, disjointed minority. They may have allies among some of the ideologically oriented business elite, but the gentry won't touch them, and their boisterous divisiveness makes them a hard sell among Nashville's moderate middle.

The result is chaos. A city that has so much going for it — tourism, tech and finance relocation, millions of young, educated migrants — is fatally hamstrung by a political leadership that has lost control but can't yet cede power to a successor. In its absence, growth will continue; Nashville is still a fun, relatively affordable place to live. But that growth will be unguided and metastatic. In other words, it will be Atlanta — the very thing that the gentry wished so hard to avoid emulating.

And this isn't just about Nashville. Again, it's about McPizza. Nashville is a canary, a test case, a harbinger. A reminder that growth, without smart, unified leadership, can do much more harm than good.

Eric Coomer, former director of product strategy and security for Dominion Voting Systems.Bryan Schutmaat for The New York Times

He was the 'perfect villain' for voting conspiracists

Eric Coomer had an election-security job at Dominion Voting Systems. He also had posted anti-Trump messages on Facebook.

Then he found himself at the center of an ever-expanding conspiracy theory about the election — with no end in sight.

In The New York Times Magazine this week, the writer Susan Dominus explores how Coomer inadvertently gave these pro-Trump conspiracy theorists "a valuable resource, a grain of sand they could transform into something that had the feel — the false promise — of proof."

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