This is, without a doubt, one of the most repulsive and offensive TV advertising campaigns I've ever seen. I cringe and hold tight with teeth and toenails against the desire to shriek with horror every time I see one.
The motto? "Every kiss begins with Kay."
It's ... it's nightmarish! It's like, hand out a rock and get your sex on. No jewelry equals no kiss, nor, presumably, anything else. No kiss, no nookie, certainly no engagement or marriage.
"Every kiss begins with Kay."
It goes against every fiber of my being just to HEAR it!
Yes, I realize, there are a lot of things on Earth to be pissed off over, but for some reason, any time I see these commercials (which is to say, any time Christmas or Mother's Day or Valentine's day is approaching), I just cringe and boil with rage over the sheer thoughtlessness that led to this particular motto. It's as though every woman is just some kind of high-priced call girl to be bought with the price of a diamond ring.
Or earrings. Or little teensy diamond pendants. Something!
But it always seems to be diamonds in these commercials.
And, to be quite honest with you, and in the hopes that I will not, in this admission, lose any girly points, I have to say that I pretty much hate diamonds anyway! Give me a nice, synthetic emerald! Yes, or an amethyst, or something with a little color to it! I will tell you right now that you can get an amethyst the size of Fort Worth Texas for the price of a diamond the size of my pinky nail. You can get an Opal at least the size of Rhode Island for the price of a toenail-sized diamond.
Biggest marketing scam of all time.
No, I'm not bitter.
To me, the whole Kay campaign is just a seething cauldron of grossitude and horrifying assumptions.
(Although it has led to some hilarious moments like when I go to kiss my husband and suddenly go, "Wait! Where's my diamond, motherfucker?")
And then sing "Every kiss begins with Kaaaayyyy!"
That had us both rolling on the floor laughing our asses off.
So, I suppose it's not ALL bad.
Just mostly bad.
Now, Charlie has, in fact, in the past, given me jewelry. He once gave me a whopping-ass big amethyst that ever after, he and I referred to as my "thunkin' ring," since it is of a size as to make not only a handy weapon, but also a quite satisfying and resounding "THUNK!" if you whack someone in the forehead with it.
And although I loved the ring, and still do, it wasn't the best thing he ever got me. For example, he gave me a set of screwdrivers once. And not just ANY set of screwdrivers, mind you, but one of those cool ones that ratchets both ways with a twist of the dial, and has all these different tips that store in the handle. I mean, it had different sizes of phillips and slot tips and even weird ones like that little starry shaped thing that I have no idea what to call it.
And it's all in this ONE screwdriver package.
It was useful AND beautiful. (Especially because I'm always taking computers apart and putting them back together and you can never find the right screwdriver when you need one.)
Now, THAT's love, man.
Fuck the jewelry. Give me a Bulgarian AK and a ratcheting screwdriver, and I'm a happy gal.
Although, I suppose, "Every kiss begins with a screwdriver and 4,000 rounds of 7.62 millimeter ammo" doesn't quite have the same ring to it. Those advertising execs are so provincial. Just so unwilling to take the slightest risk for what could be the greatest advertising slogan of all time.
But I digress.
This last Christmas, he bought me these two big, fluffy, thirsty bath towels. I can't explain how thrilled this made me, because it would likely sound stupid, but suffice it to say that a towel for me and one for my hair that were JUST mine and nobody else's (and hence, not about to disappear from the towel rack without my noticing until I got into the shower) was one of the coolest and most thoughtful things anyone had ever gotten for me.
Well, other than the screwdrivers, of course.
(As a side note, while I was along the lines of thanking him profusely, and telling him that he was, in fact, the Best Husband Ever, he begged me not to blog about how my husband got me towels for Christmas, because all my friends would think he was horrible and unromantic, and so forth.
So, I didn't blog about it, but it's STILL romantic, because it meant a lot to me, and he knew that it would, and that's what it's really about.)
To get back to the point of all this, I find the "Every kiss begins with Kay" slogan to be composed of complete and utter suckitude. It is lame, and outdated;, uninspired and insulting. I would fight to the death for Kay's right to free expression, but honestly, that might be one of the cases where I might "accidentally" miss the bad guy and hit the victim, you know what I'm saying?
But never let it be said that I, MrsVeteran, do not offer constructive criticism! No, no. Let it not be said that I would be such a person as would say "That sucks" without offering at least some token means (however small) of fixing the problem.
And thus, I unveil to you, my idea, nay, my VISION! for the new, more modern, more hip and edgy, Kay Jeweler's Television Advertising campaign:
Exterior House, Night.
The charming young couple walks hand-in-hand under the streetlights. A breeze gently ruffles her hair. They slowly walk up the stairs to her home, while soft music plays.
They gaze into each other's eyes, the chemistry between them builds as though to fog the eye of the camera with the heat of their sheer passion, and the camera slowly zooms in on the faces of the young lovers, while the music swells to a shining crescendo!
Then, just as their lips are about to meet ...
"Wait!" she says, and the music grinds to a screeching halt. "Where's my diamond, motherfucker?"
The young man looks shamed and forlorn, and sadly trudges off into the night, alone, banished, and forgotten. The lady suddenly pulls out a Bulgarian AK-47 and bump-fires a few rounds at his departing heels just to encourage him a bit on his way.
She turns to the camera, blows the smoke from the end of the rifle, and smiles.
Cue to end titles:
"Every kiss begins with Kayyyyyyy!"
And now, I think I'd better go order Charlie some flowers. Or at least something with a diesel engine.
Because that is the kind of romantic fool I, indeed, am.
*I should point out that I composed this entry based on several comments I made on the above-linked ginmar post because I had fallen in love with the subject matter. Sorry for the copitude, folks.