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Beschreibung des Verlags
THE CONCEPT OF subliminal advertising has long terrified America. When the 1950s adman James Vicary claimed to have boosted concession sales at a New Jersey theater by briefly flashing phrases like "drink Coca-Cola" on the screen as the main feature played, pundits and politicians worried that we were now just one double feature away from turning into brainwashed, popcorn-gobbling Stalinists. In the 1970s, the Canadian academic Wilson Bryan Key convinced millions that magazine ads for booze, cigarettes, and even Ritz Crackers featured more sexual debauchery than a busy night at Plato's Retreat, inducing feelings of panic and shame in those who viewed them. Today, even the trashiest Ritz Cracker can't compete with the explicit sexual imagery that pervades pop culture, so we channel our angst about advertising into new realms. Does that mommyblogger truly believe that the ivory-whitening power in some tainted Chinese toothpaste outweighs its toxicity, or is she being paid to endorse it? Did the Ford Transit Connect that Ashton Kutcher drives in Valentine's Day get cast because it was the best compact minivan for the job, with enhanced cargo space that just lights up the screen, or because Ford struck a deal with the movie's producers? And can watching too much NBC subtly pressure me into kicking my bottled water habit once and for all?