Last weekend, an easily missed news item showed up in the press announcing the dissolution of Prince Charles’ complimentary medicine charity. The board claim they feel their work is complete as ‘alternative’ therapies are now widely accepted by the NHS and conventional practitioners, but there are also some financial problems involved. This may bring a slight reduction in unscientific process promoted as useful medical advice, but I very much doubt the endless tirade of questionable claims in beauty product advertising will diminish any time soon.
Of course, if you’re looking for examples of science as marketing, skin care would be the richest seam to mine. As early as 1918, Woodbury soap was claiming its application would make a lady’s skin flawless for her soldier, but at nearly 700 words, I’m not sure their advertisement would carry much weight today. Since then, the cosmetic business has built its messaging to embrace the kind of terminology that would baffle Dr. Who. Which is the whole point – no lay person really understands their chemical explanations, assertive jargon and studious bar charts, and so we tend to believe it must be correct because it’s ‘clever’.
We’ve all heard the promise that ‘biospheres’ will inflate up to nine times to fill our wrinkles, but a moment’s research reveals a ‘biosphere’, in the real, grown-up world, is a project to encase an eco-system, often in space. But it sounds convincing, doesn’t it?
Similarly, calling a product ‘Code’, suggests it contains a substance ready to drill into your DNA and reverse its annoying habit of making you age. Add some double-helix graphics on the tub and the confusion is complete. Most intelligent people know genectic code can only be altered with great skill and laborious lab work, but our desire for youth tends to mask this common-sense logic and wishful thinking takes over.
The language and window dressing surrounding the pseudo science is vital too. Use words like ‘revolutionary’, ‘breakthrough’ and ‘advanced’ and you give the impression you’re responsible for pushing back the frontiers of biology. Couple it with close-up Photoshop work on your chosen model or celeb and you’re really motoring. You could even insist your salespeople wear white lab coats in stores, as one famous manufacturer does.
This would all be quite amusing if it wasn’t so unfair.
The rise of cosmetic surgery from taboo secret to mark of success has driven people (and let’s be honest, mostly women) to a state where one’s physical appearance is never quite sufficient, where perpetual teenagehood is one of life’s most important goals. And, as the surgeon’s blade is beyond the purse of most, in step the creams and potions, marketed as the perfect alternative. Not that they’re particularly cheap, with some well-known skin brands retail at £400 for a tub.
So what is behind the beguiling marketing? Are any of these lotions actually wildly different from the others? Well, the truth, in one word is: ‘moisture’. Skin tends to look better if it has a high water content as it, unsurprisingly, swells slightly. It feels better too, less tight and smoother. Central heating, air conditioning and weather can cause skin moisture to evaporate. That’s real science.
Now, almost all skin creams start life as something called Aquabase (a sort hydrated jelly) which happens to be pretty good at moisturising skin. What defines one cream from another is the scent, oils and other stuff added to the Aquabase. Finally, those chemical compounds we hear so much about are tested for safety (rather than efficacy), named (almost always by marketeers, rather than scientists) and added, usually in tiny amounts. Everything else is packaging, branding and advertising.
Aquabase, I should add, costs around £10.00 per kilo.
You might be surprised to know that I’m not actually against the bundling and marketing of gunky, moisturising skin goodies for profit. They do, after all, make the skin feel and look a bit better for a short while. When plain old watery water is subjected to the same regime, no-one seems to mind – and as our lovely ad from 1918 shows, the process is nothing new. What I do object to is the suggestion of scientific miracles in pots – that somehow this is medicine not make-up. Because proper medicine is terribly important and slightly damper cheeks really isn’t.
Of course, if you’re looking for examples of science as marketing, skin care would be the richest seam to mine. As early as 1918, Woodbury soap was claiming its application would make a lady’s skin flawless for her soldier, but at nearly 700 words, I’m not sure their advertisement would carry much weight today. Since then, the cosmetic business has built its messaging to embrace the kind of terminology that would baffle Dr. Who. Which is the whole point – no lay person really understands their chemical explanations, assertive jargon and studious bar charts, and so we tend to believe it must be correct because it’s ‘clever’.
We’ve all heard the promise that ‘biospheres’ will inflate up to nine times to fill our wrinkles, but a moment’s research reveals a ‘biosphere’, in the real, grown-up world, is a project to encase an eco-system, often in space. But it sounds convincing, doesn’t it?
Similarly, calling a product ‘Code’, suggests it contains a substance ready to drill into your DNA and reverse its annoying habit of making you age. Add some double-helix graphics on the tub and the confusion is complete. Most intelligent people know genectic code can only be altered with great skill and laborious lab work, but our desire for youth tends to mask this common-sense logic and wishful thinking takes over.
The language and window dressing surrounding the pseudo science is vital too. Use words like ‘revolutionary’, ‘breakthrough’ and ‘advanced’ and you give the impression you’re responsible for pushing back the frontiers of biology. Couple it with close-up Photoshop work on your chosen model or celeb and you’re really motoring. You could even insist your salespeople wear white lab coats in stores, as one famous manufacturer does.
This would all be quite amusing if it wasn’t so unfair.
The rise of cosmetic surgery from taboo secret to mark of success has driven people (and let’s be honest, mostly women) to a state where one’s physical appearance is never quite sufficient, where perpetual teenagehood is one of life’s most important goals. And, as the surgeon’s blade is beyond the purse of most, in step the creams and potions, marketed as the perfect alternative. Not that they’re particularly cheap, with some well-known skin brands retail at £400 for a tub.
So what is behind the beguiling marketing? Are any of these lotions actually wildly different from the others? Well, the truth, in one word is: ‘moisture’. Skin tends to look better if it has a high water content as it, unsurprisingly, swells slightly. It feels better too, less tight and smoother. Central heating, air conditioning and weather can cause skin moisture to evaporate. That’s real science.
Now, almost all skin creams start life as something called Aquabase (a sort hydrated jelly) which happens to be pretty good at moisturising skin. What defines one cream from another is the scent, oils and other stuff added to the Aquabase. Finally, those chemical compounds we hear so much about are tested for safety (rather than efficacy), named (almost always by marketeers, rather than scientists) and added, usually in tiny amounts. Everything else is packaging, branding and advertising.
Aquabase, I should add, costs around £10.00 per kilo.
You might be surprised to know that I’m not actually against the bundling and marketing of gunky, moisturising skin goodies for profit. They do, after all, make the skin feel and look a bit better for a short while. When plain old watery water is subjected to the same regime, no-one seems to mind – and as our lovely ad from 1918 shows, the process is nothing new. What I do object to is the suggestion of scientific miracles in pots – that somehow this is medicine not make-up. Because proper medicine is terribly important and slightly damper cheeks really isn’t.
