Dispatches from Youth Culture, No. 4
Here’s a game you can play if you’re at the mall this week: try to figure out what companies are saying to teenagers to sell them stuff. Check and see if identity—the question of “Who am I?”—is a theme.
On one such research-walk through a clothing store targeting young people, I once noticed a bait-and-switch as intriguing for its creativity as it was disquieting for the messages it sent to kids defenseless to guard against them.
Over the sales floor stood pictures of young people of indeterminate age, probably early-twenties at most (and therefore within “be-like-Mike” reach of kids and teens) and largely devoid of clothing.
This wasn’t the typical, family-department-store-model showing of skin, the kind that might make young kids ask questions but wouldn’t make the average adult more than a little self-conscious. This was different. In these photos, it was impossible to tell whether the models had reached 18. They could have been any college student, but they also could have been high-schoolers. Might that have been the point?
Not that they were just bodies: there was, for example, the occasional showing of jeans at the lower end of the frame, maybe a couple inches of actual denim visible below the torso that filled the rest of the shot. But the skin was the focus. The males had chiseled abs, of course. Some of the women (girls?) weren’t wearing anything at all above the waist, though the editors had used camera angles to keep the photos just this side of “PG-13” and out of “R” territory (and probably the courts). But it was close.
The message wasn’t hard to decipher. What could be the point of bombarding teenagers—a demographic thirsty for nurture, attention, and acceptance—with near-nude photos of people who could have been their peers, just at the moment of deciding whether to try on a shirt? Could it have something to do with the insecurity that comes with a changing body, surrounded by changing friends, changing tastes, changing relationships, changing everything? Could it be an example of preying upon teenagers’ normal, healthy desire to be noticed, loved, and appreciated?
That was the “bait.” The “switch” happened outside the fitting rooms. Here, the pictures changed. Gone were the scanty photos of the young, replaced instead with kids doing . . . well, nothing unusual at all: hanging out with friends, laughing, having a good old time. Nary a square inch of scandalous skin in sight, and all smiles and laughs.
See the game here? On the sales floor, the message was, “You want to be noticed for your body, and our clothing can get you there.” But at the moment of entering the fitting room, the message shifted. Now it was, “You don’t really subscribe to all that showy nonsense out there on the sales floor. All you really want is friendship, to be loved, and to have a good time, right? That garment you’re holding may help. Why not try it on?”
You almost have to admire the subtlety. After all, somebody makes a buck by making teenagers feel insecure: buy this clothing, get this body-type, use this body-wash, and you’ll finally have what you want. In this case, the store used one insecurity (physical fantasy, on the sales floor) immediately trumped by another, more accessible one (relational, by the fitting rooms)—a one-two punch in a kid’s desire to be known.
We’re not new to this, of course. Companies create an itch, sell a product to scratch it, and then create a new itch. But adolescence is a time for establishing an identity—answering the “who-am-I?” question on the road to adulthood—so the stakes are higher. That’s why understanding teen-target commerce is so important for churches who want to work with youth. If kids are hit constantly with the message that “You’re not quite good enough,” there’s a good chance they’re entering the church just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for us to join the chorus and prey on them like everybody else.
Let’s have none of that. Yes, we’re all sinners in need of God’s forgiveness. That’s real. But he has already declared us Good Enough To Love. “God,” the Bible says, “proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Turns out, God thinks pretty highly of us already, including teens.
In a consumer culture, the idea that God has already declared us lovable can be a powerful message, especially for the young, many of whom are new to putting up defenses against corporate greed. Let’s set a Jesus-worthy example for them: getting to know them, learning to love them, showing by word and deed that yeah, they’re actually pretty cool just the way they are, even if they don’t buy the jeans.
Here’s a game you can play if you’re at the mall this week: try to figure out what companies are saying to teenagers to sell them stuff. Check and see if identity—the question of “Who am I?”—is a theme.
On one such research-walk through a clothing store targeting young people, I once noticed a bait-and-switch as intriguing for its creativity as it was disquieting for the messages it sent to kids defenseless to guard against them.
Over the sales floor stood pictures of young people of indeterminate age, probably early-twenties at most (and therefore within “be-like-Mike” reach of kids and teens) and largely devoid of clothing.
This wasn’t the typical, family-department-store-model showing of skin, the kind that might make young kids ask questions but wouldn’t make the average adult more than a little self-conscious. This was different. In these photos, it was impossible to tell whether the models had reached 18. They could have been any college student, but they also could have been high-schoolers. Might that have been the point?
Not that they were just bodies: there was, for example, the occasional showing of jeans at the lower end of the frame, maybe a couple inches of actual denim visible below the torso that filled the rest of the shot. But the skin was the focus. The males had chiseled abs, of course. Some of the women (girls?) weren’t wearing anything at all above the waist, though the editors had used camera angles to keep the photos just this side of “PG-13” and out of “R” territory (and probably the courts). But it was close.
The message wasn’t hard to decipher. What could be the point of bombarding teenagers—a demographic thirsty for nurture, attention, and acceptance—with near-nude photos of people who could have been their peers, just at the moment of deciding whether to try on a shirt? Could it have something to do with the insecurity that comes with a changing body, surrounded by changing friends, changing tastes, changing relationships, changing everything? Could it be an example of preying upon teenagers’ normal, healthy desire to be noticed, loved, and appreciated?
That was the “bait.” The “switch” happened outside the fitting rooms. Here, the pictures changed. Gone were the scanty photos of the young, replaced instead with kids doing . . . well, nothing unusual at all: hanging out with friends, laughing, having a good old time. Nary a square inch of scandalous skin in sight, and all smiles and laughs.
See the game here? On the sales floor, the message was, “You want to be noticed for your body, and our clothing can get you there.” But at the moment of entering the fitting room, the message shifted. Now it was, “You don’t really subscribe to all that showy nonsense out there on the sales floor. All you really want is friendship, to be loved, and to have a good time, right? That garment you’re holding may help. Why not try it on?”
You almost have to admire the subtlety. After all, somebody makes a buck by making teenagers feel insecure: buy this clothing, get this body-type, use this body-wash, and you’ll finally have what you want. In this case, the store used one insecurity (physical fantasy, on the sales floor) immediately trumped by another, more accessible one (relational, by the fitting rooms)—a one-two punch in a kid’s desire to be known.
We’re not new to this, of course. Companies create an itch, sell a product to scratch it, and then create a new itch. But adolescence is a time for establishing an identity—answering the “who-am-I?” question on the road to adulthood—so the stakes are higher. That’s why understanding teen-target commerce is so important for churches who want to work with youth. If kids are hit constantly with the message that “You’re not quite good enough,” there’s a good chance they’re entering the church just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for us to join the chorus and prey on them like everybody else.
Let’s have none of that. Yes, we’re all sinners in need of God’s forgiveness. That’s real. But he has already declared us Good Enough To Love. “God,” the Bible says, “proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Turns out, God thinks pretty highly of us already, including teens.
In a consumer culture, the idea that God has already declared us lovable can be a powerful message, especially for the young, many of whom are new to putting up defenses against corporate greed. Let’s set a Jesus-worthy example for them: getting to know them, learning to love them, showing by word and deed that yeah, they’re actually pretty cool just the way they are, even if they don’t buy the jeans.
This article appeared in the April, 2015 edition of The Circuit Rider, the magazine of Salmon Creek Church in Vancouver, Wash. Visit Salmon Creek Church, which is a United Methodist ministry, at www.salmoncreekchurch.org.
