This is an advert for Foot Locker. A place we rarely/never enter because the music is too loud and the staff all shouty. And they don’t have those Clarks measuring machines that make your feet feel nice. And you don’t get bummed in the changing rooms.
This advert is using various jokes about cock to sell a pair of trainers. It’s not particularly droll, just a little. It’s kind of like the advert you’d come up with during your first fortnight at an agency right out of university, which they end up making so you can learn from your mistakes, move on, become a better person.
But what is more startling is the pair of trainers they have used, presumably as a showcase for their stores’ clobber. They are quite possibly the worst trainers we have ever seen, fiddle-de-dee. And you’re talking to people who spent the weekend in Brighton open-mouthed at provincial gays.
And you’re also talking to people who sat on a train to Brighton whilst, on the table next to them, a gay in floor-to-ceiling polyester shrilled, ‘Girl, I haven’t bleached my fuckin’ ‘air!’ Cue ‘girl’ – who was a rounded sort of gay squeezed into shorty-shorts, a plunging V and all the wrong accesssories – pulling out all the necessary paraphernalia.
Some frantic mixing, a smattering of ‘girl, you’re fucking kidding me!’s and some sibilant phone calls later, and ‘girl’ is painting a strip of bleach on the left side of his companion’s hair using the plastic spoon that came with their McFlurry.
Open-mouthed, we tell you. Open-mouthed.