The Charmin bears.

We need to talk about the Charmin bears. They're eating shit.

[Hold for gratuitous applause as I make my long-awaited return to blogging after a six-year absence.]

So, we need to talk about the Charmin bears. Charmin has been advertising on TV using cartoon anthropomorphic bears as mascots for decades, and now I need to complain about them.

For the longest time, there was nothing notable about these ads. In the world of Charmin, some wild bears needed to make caca, but they didn’t have toilet paper. Then they discovered Charmin toilet paper and noticed how soft and strong it felt, and they used it and were happy. As far as commercials go, these spots were tame and mostly tolerable. More importantly, they didn’t spend too long actually talking about the intricacies and usage of toilet paper. They communicated a few key points about the product and moved on. Oh, and they also weren’t annoying.

But gradually, Charmin modernized the bears. . . and soon their computer-animated descendants became absolutely obsessed with toilet paper to the point of delirium.

At this point, the bears do not seem to have lives outside of defecating. Each spot features one of two bear families: an all-blue clan captivated by Charmin’s ultra soft variety, and a parallel red crew that gets off to the ultra strength. They talk about the bathroom, contemplate their inevitable trips to the bathroom, and detail trials and tribulations upon using said bathroom. The mothers are constantly micromanaging their cubs’ excretions by reminding them to not use too much toilet paper. Each ad culminates with the entire bear family singing, dancing, or rapping about their devotion to the brand.

Now if they had stopped here, I might not have an argument. Commercials like that come close to a line, but don’t exactly cross it. These ads made us think about the toilet paper, the toilet paper’s qualities, how it differentiated itself from competing brands, and how it performed under some basic tests. Fine. That moves product. (Don’t get me wrong, all of these ads are annoying as hell, but they aren’t particularly off-putting or gross, even considering the bathroom setting.) But unfortunately, Charmin didn’t stop there.

Soon, the bear families started to reference “pieces left behind,” “skid marks,” a song and dance about a “clean heinie,” and even the implication that using Charmin toilet paper keeps your underwear “clean” when it otherwise wouldn’t be. Rather than keep the narrative to the product itself, Charmin felt the need to “expand” the narrative into discussions about the actual WASTE that was previously only alluded to.

Why? Why do we need this? Why does the world need this? I just don’t see the need. We all know what toilet paper does, we all understand the issues that arise in that department. We know what can go wrong in there, and hopefully we’ve been handling it all our lives without too much trouble. Did we need to bring these private musings into the living room? Charmin was already doing its job: it had recognizable mascots, they were a household name, no doubt brand awareness was strong. Why did we then need to be subjected to these cartoons singing and dancing. . . to the literal concept of feces? Feces theoretically outside the toilet where it belongs? And while we’re settling in to watch America’s Got Talent? Nobody asked for this. We as a civilized people do not need to turn on our televisions to hear cartoon bears singing about pieces of toilet paper sticking to one’s buttocks!

It’s crazy when you realize that none of this NEEDS to exist in the world in the first place. The entire lore and mythology of the Charmin bears isn’t one of the world’s inherent evils; it is merely the product of office workers like you or me going to work one day and needing to come up with something to earn a paycheck! One day, those same people were like, “We need some new copy where they actually reference the doodoo.”

But before that, the national slate of ads were only talking about the strength and softness of the toilet paper, the bigger rolls, the superior quality to competitors. Was all of this not successful enough for Procter & Gamble to build a campaign on? I mean, I understand the need to refresh marketing tactics after years of running them, but did introducing these specific concepts around feces effectively elevate market share or brand recognition in a way that couldn’t have been done with other editorial choices? And by how much?

The worst part of all is how the bears sort of playfully wink at the audience, as if to say, “aren’t we cute? Aren’t we a fun, relatable American family (who just so happen to be bears)? We’re just trying to get through the day and enjoy our time in the bathroom, too! I’m a busy mom trying to make sure my rambunctious kids have clean heinies! My husband is an idiot! We’re just like you!”

I’m sure they THINK we’re sitting there giggling, smiling, and nodding along. We’re not. We’re tired, we have a lot of other shit to deal with. We’re just trying to settle in and forget our lives watching America’s Got Talent. We do not need to be lulled into a peaceful stupor only to be bombarded with conversation about someone not wanting to touch underwear with feces in or around it.

Imagine doctors, professors, or Nobel Prize laureates settling in for a little television treat, perhaps their one night a week when they’re free enough to do so, and being subjected to advertisements where cartoons teach them how to better wipe themselves with toilet paper. JUST IMAGINE IT.

Now, why did I spend more than six hours writing this. . .? ✍︎