A certain series of commercials have really been chapping my ass as of late.
Undoubtedly, you too have probably seen those FreeCreditReport.com commercials, replete with pithy jingles lauding the importance of checking that all-important credit score that determines just how often you shit, eat, get laid, etc. The star of these commercials is some Average Joe schlub with an accoustic guitar and oh-so fashionably shabby wardrobe that all but screams his preference for indie rock, making sure you see that he’s drinking Starbucks with a trendy little cup, and playing the “sensitive guy” card to get in chicks pants. I like to call him the “Credit Score Whore.”
I hate these commercials. I hate these commercials with every fiber of my being. I hate them with the sort of fire and fury that can only be matched by a Quentin Tarantino heroine on a mission of revenge.
In particular, I hate this latest installment in this series of commercials:
In this newest commercial, the Credit Score Whore is shown playing guitar with his equally scrubby buddies, strumming his guitar while his young, cute wife rushes around in a huff attempting to do laundry.
“Well I married my dream girl / I married my dream girl
But she didn’t tell me her credit was bad.
So now instead of living in a pleasant suburb
We’re living in the basement at her Mom and Dad’sNo we can’t get a loan
For a respectable home
Just because my girl defaulted on some old credit card
If we’d just gone to FreeCreditReport.com
I’d be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard.”
Seriously, dude? FUCK YOU.Where to begin?! First of all, on a purely superficial note, who the fuck does this guy think he is? Okay, okay. I know it’s a character we’re talking about here. However, it’s a very cleverly crafted character that is supposed to appeal to the “Average Schlub” in all of us. A winking nod to a generation of self-entitled wannabe hipsters who don’t really want to go out and set the world on fire, but would prefer — and insist — that someone else does it FOR them. They want the fairy tale but don’t want to do anything to bring that dream closer. While this is definitely a pre-fabricated character dreamed up by Madison Avenue types, it has been carefully cultivated to appeal to a certain demographic to stress the importance of this “Credit Score Culture” that has become so prevalent in recent years.
This smirking Credit Score Whore with his guitar bemoans his fate of having to live with his wife’s parents’, whereas if he had only observed her more stellar qualities… those little things that really do count for the long haul, like a credit score above 720, then he’d be living on easy street right now.
Uhh, buddy? I’m SO sure that your wife’s parents are totally fucking jazzed to have you and your loser friends shacking up with their daughter in their basement right now. Because I’m sure they really wouldn’t rather have the house to themselves and having a life of their own without you and your doucherag friends having a shit-riffic “jam session” right around now. Yeah. You’re a real fucking catch with your baggy pants, track jacket and sassy little hairdo. She really hit the fucking jackpot when she married you, brother.
This is the same goof from the commercials who rides around in a hatchback, whining that if he had only checked his credit score, he may have been able to drive off of the lot in a sports car or a gas-guzzling SUV. Instead, his used jalopy causes his legs to stick to the vinyl and he and his “posse” are getting laughed at. Again, pal… News flash!! Girls would be laughing at your sorry ass REGARDLESS of what car you’re driving. Not all of us are that shallow or that materialistic that suddenly a bottom-feeding douche nozzle morphs into Prince Charming if he’s standing next to a Porche or an Escalade.
But, I digress. Apparently, this commercial creation had somehow found his “dream girl” and married her. And suddenly, the dream goes sour when he finds that her credit is a hinderance to that elusive suburban dream that he so craves.
So, you’d “be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard” if you hadn’t married that girl running around wringing out your tighty-whities right now? Well then why don’t you get up off your ass and get the house in YOUR name? If your credit was so jaw-droppingly amazing, then you would be able to do this on your own, without having to rely upon your wife’s credit or lack thereof.
On a larger scale, I resent what this commercial attempts to stress to the public at large. That somehow, a person’s credit score defines who they are and how worthy of a meaningful relationship they may be. Apparently, all of a person’s good qualities are lobbed out the window like a live grenade in the face of a credit score that falls below 600.
In this era of high cost of living, exorbitant college tuition and the resulting student loans, and sometimes having to use your credit card to get by in a pinch and the fees these credit card companies love to cornhole cardholders with, you would be hard-pressed to find someone who DIDN’T have a blemish on their credit report. Furthermore, one mark on your credit resulting from a bad month where you accidentally miss one bill can decimate your score and require years of dilligent credit bearing behavior to attempt to repair it.
It doesn’t seem very fair, does it? Not only have we become enveloped in consumer culture, but commercials like this encourage us to buy into the myth that suburban life is where it’s at and unless you can find someone to give that to you, you’re not truly living.
Sure, financial security is always a good thing. However, when you look into the eyes of your (and I am loathe to use this term) “soulmate,” do you see something real, or do you see dollar signs and credit scores?
Fuck you, Credit Score Whore. Die slow, muthafucker.