Yet another paper for my Semiotics course last semester. We had to analyze an advertisement from a semiological stance. I chose a Botox advertisement. I don’t have it anymore (my professor has it) and I couldn’t find an identical ad to scan in, but I found a copy online which is almost identical, save the first line or so. You can download it (in pdf form) here.

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“It takes 43 muscles to frown but only 17 to smile,” or so says the oft-repeated statistic. Though this aphorism is certainly not grounded in medical research, it deals with a concept around which much research has revolved: the role our faces play in conveying emotion. A week after birth, the average human infant is capable of imitating facial expressions; within six months the “social smile” emerges. Seeing only a ten-second clip of someone speaking, the average person can easily identify how the speaker is feeling. Furthermore, the arsenal of facial contortions to which each person is privy seems to be one of the few universal human characteristics — a smile means the same thing in essentially every culture. The muscles of the face are capable of incredibly fine contractions, and the precise synchronization of these contractions is what enables us to so accurately convey that which we have no exact words for: the nuances of human emotion.

Which is exactly why the advertisers of Botox have their work cut out for them. Botox, or Botulinum Toxin Type A, temporarily paralyzes muscles when injected into them. Plastic surgeons inject the toxin into the muscles of the forehead or the outside corners of the eyes in order to relax the muscles and eliminate what they call wrinkles. Drug advertisers always have to walk a fine line between oversimplifying the drug and extolling its limitless powers: on one hand, they have to convince the public that the drug is harmless and safe, but on the other hand they must also promote the drug as effective and indispensable. Botox advertisers have the added weight of pushing the drug as a cosmetic procedure. They have to create a perceived need for the surgery, and justify fulfilling that need; they have to convince consumers that the benefits of the procedure, i.e. the elimination of “frown lines,” far outweigh the drawbacks, i.e. facial paralysis and potential harm. They need to inspire insecurity in the public, and then quickly present a solution to the problem — but at the same time, they need to make the solution seem attainable and realistic. In short, they must create an entirely new paradigm, a world in which to immerse the consumer and convince her that she needs the product. Botox advertisements, such as the attached, are wildly successful in meeting these goals, manipulating the consumer with evasive subtlety.

A prime example of this evasion is that the advertisement never overtly states that having wrinkles — and, by extension, aging — is bad, but insinuates it through careful choice of words. Right off the bat the demographic of the intended audience is announced: “It took forty years to get it,” the large text proclaims, “And ten minutes to do something about it.” Though what exactly “it” is remains unstated, it is quickly established that “it” comes with age, and “it” should be eliminated. The smaller text clarifies somewhat, mentioning “your toughest wrinkle” and “the muscles between your brows that cause lines to form.” At no point does the advertisement bluntly state that wrinkles are unattractive, or that aging is undesirable, but it presents wrinkles as something that can be reduced, and in giving this choice subtly suggest that reducing them is the more appealing option.

For the choice that the consumer is given is not a choice at all, but a challenge. The language of the advertisement is almost empowering, telling the consumer that she “can choose to live with wrinkles” or “choose to live without them.” The wrinkles are treated as a symbol of wisdom, a culmination of “forty years” of toil and strife, but at the same time they are treated as an intruder — even the word “toughest” imbues the wrinkles with an antagonistic side. The aging woman becomes a crusader, fighting off wrinkles left and right with Botox. “It’s really up to you,” the advertisement says, but it’s clear that the only acceptable option is to eradicate the invading wrinkles.

In an effort to reach out to the consumer and show her what could be, the advertisement prominently features a photograph of the Modern Botox Woman. She is Every Woman, vacant of any distinguishing characteristics that would alienate her from any specific group of women. Her hair is cropped short and combed into a nondescript style; her earrings are simple diamonds; her nails are painted a natural shade; her eyes are simultaneously blue, brown, and green; her makeup is understated; her unembellished sweater is a neutral tone. On her left ring finger, where a wedding ring is traditionally donned, she has two gold rings that aren’t exactly wedding bands–she is both single and married. Her age is ambiguous. And the finishing touch: in the middle of her forehead, the words “your toughest wrinkle.” Here the consumer is asked to identify with the woman, to imagine that the wrinkle-free forehead is the consumer’s very own.

The crowning achievement of the advertisement, however, is how easily it skirts the issue of how Botox works and what possible side effects it might have, instead pushing Botox as your faithful sidekick in combating wrinkles. “Paralyzes” is discarded in favor of the more gentle “relaxes,” and an emphasis is placed on the fact that the procedure takes only ten minutes and consists of “a few tiny injections.” It “can dramatically reduce” wrinkles — can, not necessarily will — for “up to four months [italics are mine]“. The logo, which is graced with a rather benign rainbow, proclaims, “It’s not magic, it’s Botox,” implying that there is something magical about the way that Botox works. A few mild side effects, including the vague “temporary eyelid droop,” are sandwiched between two boldface paragraphs. It is only when the advertisement is turned over that the consumer is confronted with a page of extremely small type, hidden amongst which lurks the phrase “the most serious adverse events reported… include rare spontaneous reports of death.”

As a testament to the wonders of Botox, the advertisement includes pictures of a woman frowning before and after a Botox treatment. In the before picture, the woman’s eyebrows are furrowed and her forehead has visible creases on it; in the after picture, her eyebrows are in the neutral position and her forehead is crease-free. It is worth noting that these photos are cropped very closely and show only the woman’s eyes and a slight bit of her forehead — one can only assume that this is so the consumer cannot see just how strange the woman looks frowning with the top half of her face frozen. We are not shown the entire story, but rather a snippet of it, the very small piece that shows what the advertisers want us to see.

The advertisers are not interested in showing the consumer just how integral the facial muscles are in everyday expression of emotions. To alert potential customers to this would be disastrous; in order to create and maintain a perceived need for Botox, it is necessary to portray “frown lines” as bothersome and unattractive, and the alternative smooth forehead as ideal. Advertisers create an entirely new world for the consumer, in which she sees only what the advertisers want her to see, leaving her completely vulnerable to their messages. If a prospective Botox client were to see a picture of the entire face of a woman frowning after a treatment, the advertiser�s illusion would crumble as the client realized just how alien the face, frozen from the nose up, seemed. Botox makes money by inspiring insecurity — through making the public believe that mechanisms used to convey emotion are, more importantly, a signifier of age, and an unattractive one at that — and in order to maintain the delicate balance between telling consumers that there is something wrong with them and alienating them with insults, it is necessary to put an immense amount of thought into controlling what they see.