Look into my eyes, not around the eyes; into the eyes.
And the gong goes to…the Chanui ad.
I know I am about 6 months to a year behind here, but I was just sitting there tonight, watching the farce that is House Rules — you know, the one where the millionaire gentry are posing as first homeowners (cough) — and up it came.
The guy from the Chanui ad.
I’m immediately thinking “raised on a fundamentalist Christian commune for sure”, and all the people who jump in to support the brand look like colluders in a great mind-bending tea scandal.
But of course, it’s just tea. Tea for the workman. Tea for the housewife. Tea for the lonely housewife. Tea for the fucking business analyst. A tea for each and every demographic and type of New Zealander.
If you hate the tea, you’ll get your money back. But, who in their right mind would want to deal with these people to get $3.36 back? You might never get your mind back, let alone your money.
Your money back and (or) be drawn into the dark recesses of the proprietor’s madness.
Those eyes. He searches your every mental crevice for weakness. You know you want the tea. You’re thirsty. You need a good strong breakfast tea before hitting the building sites of the infill housing boom. He knows, and you know.
From the company website, people are SAYING THINGS about the tea.
Jason, from Palmerston North, doesn’t usually like the sharpness of green tea. But Chanui is different. It treats his palate gently. Gently stroking it, with overtones of honey and eroticism.
Even Kerry from Auckland — who was a dyed-in-the-wool Dilmah girl — has made the switch. The switch of her life. To Chanui, with a 100% money back guarantee.
Listening to this advertisement, and the selection of words in the script, makes me feel like I don’t need a cup of tea — I need a prescription for booze to ease my unease after seeing these unhinged people talk about tea as if it’s some kind of holy grail — of tea.
This advertisement is only rivaled by one other: for wool insulation under the guise of a company called Earth Wool.
Earth Wool? That sounds strangely similar to ‘toe jam.’
A man and wife duo shift large phallic objects around and into a very plain dwelling, while a rock tune that’s somewhere between Keith Urban and John ‘Man in Motion’ Parr drowns out any dialogue. It doesn’t matter anyway because there’s subtitles. Misspelled subtitles.
I love recylced things. Recylcing. The way of the futrue.
And most perplexing of all — the product is pixelated, making it one of the most unintentionally funny advertisements in the history of humanity.
There is nothing more comic than a dude walking toward a woman, with a bit fat pixelated cylinder.
A pixelated cylinder.
These two advertisements have one thing in common: the man who runs the store has made the ad; and it shows.
Congratulations on winning the Golden Chanui, for Worst Possible Advertising, and the Earth Wool Chalice for labyrinthine weirdness.