Hello, everyone, how’s it going? I’m Luciano Sewaybricker, and this is The Underside of Happiness.
In today’s episode, we’re continuing to seek answers to the question, “Why do we talk so much about happiness?”
The first answer we discussed – in the previous episode – was that happiness is such a talked-about topic precisely because we’re not happy. You really can’t get more pessimistic than that. We also explored why we suffer so much from a lack of happiness these days and saw that advertising plays a major role. This is one of the factors that sets contemporary times apart from other periods. I know that social networks also play an important role – but I will keep today’s focus on advertising, as it represents a certain logic.
So, this episode’s answer will explore the connection between consumerism and happiness. We talk so much about happiness specifically because it has become a part of advertising. In other words, we talk about happiness because someone figured out that associating it with products increases sales.
The key point for today’s episode will be to understand how happiness became central to advertising. The story that matters to us takes place in the 20th-century United States.
First, a Broad Overview of Changes from the Early 20th Century to Today.
In 1900, industries didn’t market their products as being associated with happiness. It would have seemed absurd to sell a shirt by claiming it would make someone successful, joyful, or healthy—as if the shirt had “magical” properties beyond being… well, a shirt. A shirt’s purpose was simply to cover the body; it could be made of more or less durable material, it could fit well or not, and that was it. There weren’t shirts in a variety of colors or cuts as we have today.
Think about it: the first department store only opened in 1852 in France. That’s when products started being sold on a larger scale and in places different from where they were produced.
Today, it’s an entirely different world. We, armed with our “freedom cards” (credit cards), have seemingly infinite currency to consume (and accumulate debt). Everywhere we look, there are stores with products from all over the world and advertisements that talk more about the magic promised by these products than anything else. The symbolic value of products is far more complex today than it was in the early 20th century.
The social scientist Daniel Yankelovich captures this historical shift well. Open quote.
“We’ve gone from a market conception of limited needs (where, once you meet them, they’re fulfilled) to a market conception of unlimited and ever-transforming needs, guided by self-expression.”
End quote.
As Yankelovich describes, this transformation unfolded in stages throughout the 20th century and solidified between the 1970s and 1980s. The idea that talking about happiness is more effective for mobilizing people than discussing objective characteristics is relatively recent.
Let’s start from the beginning of this story.
At the start of the 20th century, industry, driven by the two Industrial Revolutions, was rapidly increasing its production capacity. However, this growth brought about a new problem: basic needs were being met thanks to this production boom, and demand was growing much more slowly than supply. Put simply, people who needed frying pans already had them, and those who needed clothes already had clothes. It was as if industries had hit the ceiling of what could be sold.
But the industrial magnates—already wealthy and powerful at the time—weren’t about to sit around and lament. Instead, they began strategizing on how to sell more. The path they found, heavily supported by governments, came from economics and psychology.
The change in economics came first, happening as early as the 19th century. English economist William Stanley Jevons proposed a significant shift in the theory of value. Instead of basing a product’s value on the labor required to produce it (e.g., whether it took 30 or 100 hours to make)—the prevailing idea of the time—he argued that value came from the amount of pleasure a product generated.
This was a monumental change! The market’s purpose was no longer simply to generate value but to generate pleasure. A thriving market meant, on average, a society living with more pleasure.
But there was a major flaw in Jevons’ theory. He assumed people made entirely rational decisions and were capable of accurately predicting the amount of pleasure they’d get from consuming something. However, in reality, humans are terrible at estimating how much pleasure something will bring (Kahneman).
Enter Sigmund Freud in 1901 with his theory of the unconscious. Freud introduced a much more complex understanding of human behavior, including consumer behavior: decisions were not the result of rational processes but of emotional, unconscious ones. There was far more driving our choices than we could consciously articulate.
This was a game-changer. Industrialists now had both a reason to encourage people to consume more—to increase societal pleasure—and a better guide on how to achieve it: by tapping into the unconscious and emotions, not by relying on purely objective descriptions of products.
On the other hand, American politicians also saw an opportunity. At the time, there was a looming fear that the social mobilizations and protests of the early 20th century—like World War I and the Russian Revolution of 1917—could happen anywhere. From their perspective, the population was an unpredictable, volatile force capable of anything. They felt it was their responsibility, as leaders, to calm people down.
The combination of advertising and Freud’s theory of the unconscious provided a solution. The key? Redirect all of society’s tensions into the market, where people could spend their frustrations by consuming—until their brains were ready to explode.
In 1927, Paul Mazur, a banker at Lehman Brothers, stated. Open quote:
“We must shift America from a culture of need to a culture of desire. People must be trained to desire, to want new things before they have consumed everything they own. We must shape America.”
End quote.
Similarly, Stanley Resor, president of the advertising agency JWT, commented on the noble role of advertising. Open quote:
“Advertising, after all, is a form of education, of mass education.”
End quote.
To conclude this sequence of quotes, President Herbert Hoover in 1929, during a meeting with advertising executives, assigned them a special mission. Final “open ‘quote”:
“You advertisers have the job of transforming people into constantly moving happiness machines.”
End quote.
Advertising was seen as the solution for everyone—or, at least, for everyone who held power and money. The rest of the population was expected to consume and conform.
One of the most emblematic examples of this new role of advertising came through the clever work of Edward Bernays, Freud’s nephew. Bernays played a pivotal role in this history. To clarify his credentials: not only was he Freud’s nephew—which already carries significant weight—but he also invented the profession of Public Relations, introduced Freud’s works to the United States, worked with at least four U.S. presidents, and even orchestrated wars. Among his many accomplishments was a famous campaign involving Lucky Strike cigarettes.
In the 1920s, Lucky Strike, a tobacco company, approached Bernays to help boost its sales. Together, they chose to tap into the women’s market, which had been largely untapped due to societal taboos surrounding women smoking. Bernays meticulously coordinated several actions to break this barrier.
Bernays recognized that simply advertising to women wouldn’t be enough; he needed to reshape societal norms. To do this, he leveraged psychology and symbolism.
Edward Bernay encouraged French designers to adopt green—the color of the Lucky Strike pack at the time—as the fashionable color of the year. He organized a gala at the prestigious Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, themed around the same green, where celebrities discussed the freedom of “smoking in public.” To top it off, Bernays staged a trap for reporters by announcing that suffragette women would protest by lighting the “torch of freedom” during a parade in New York. In reality, these supposed protesters were beautiful models he had hired, who smoked at the perfect moment—right in front of the reporters.
This combination of actions and the subsequent media coverage prompted women to start smoking as an act of self-assertion and defiance against men.
The result? Lucky Strike sold cigarettes like never before, and the brand remains iconic to this day.
This marked just the beginning. From there, techniques to influence consumer decisions became increasingly sophisticated, with psychologists playing a significant role in this evolution. If people weren’t good at knowing what they wanted, and asking them directly would probably lead to no useful answer, one solution for market research was to borrow therapeutic strategies.
Take boxed cake mixes, for example. You’ve probably bought—or at least eaten—one in your life. These cakes are practically magic. In just a few steps, you get a fluffy, tasty, delicious artificial treat.
But when Betty Crocker launched this revolutionary product in 1952, it flopped. The mix only required adding water, putting it in the oven, and voilà—a perfect cake. Yet, it wasn’t a success.
The company turned to Ernest Dichter, a psychologist who pioneered focus groups in advertising, to figure out the problem. Through his research, Dichter discovered that housewives felt diminished and even replaced by the simplicity of the product. His solution? He added an egg to give them more of a role in the process.
The egg served a dual purpose:
- It reduced guilt by giving the homemaker a sense of participation.
- Symbolically, it represented adding “life” to the mix.
The strategy worked, and today Betty Crocker is still a household name. We’re still cracking eggs into boxed cake mixes.
Now let’s move to another chapter of this story.
Everything seemed to align with the strategy of increasing consumption—until the end of World War II, when academics and social groups began questioning these practices.
One major trigger was the negative image of Nazi propaganda, which many saw as eerily similar to advertising strategies in the United States. To this day, the word “propaganda” evokes feelings of manipulation, control, and distortion.
Books started surfacing across the U.S. exposing the methods used to make people buy more—such as advertising techniques and planned obsolescence.
These critiques highlighted the darker side of consumerism and marked the beginning of a more skeptical view of advertising’s role in shaping society.
At universities, new theoretical fields critical of the prevailing social model, like Critical Theory and Existentialism, began gaining traction. These ideas fueled social movements—some more artistic, like Rock’n’Roll, some less violent, like the Hippies, and others more forceful, like the Weathermen and the Black Panther.
It’s worth noting that while these movements criticized consumerism, their real targets were broader: manipulation, control, and a lack of transparency from the U.S. government, particularly regarding issues like the Vietnam War. They sought profound change—a new State altogether.
Challenging a government armed with wealth, a formidable military, and little patience for dissent was no small feat. Protests—even peaceful ones—were met with severe repression. A tragic example occurred at Kent State University in 1970, where four students were killed during a peaceful demonstration. The US army thought peaceful students sitting on the grass were a threat big enough to deserve being shot.
Over time, these movements have reached a dead end. How can we change a government that isn’t open to dialogue? As collective efforts faltered, the focus shifted from external change to internal transformation. A new philosophy began to take shape:
“If I can’t create a new social order, at least I can free myself individually from societal constraints and manipulations.”
Like the “Invictus” poem by the British poet William Ernest Henley,
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul.
This pivot turned the struggle inward, toward personal liberation.
Ironically, this shift created a fresh challenge for industry. How could companies manipulate the desires of people whose primary goal was not to be manipulated?
The life insurance industry was one of the first to feel the effects of this new mindset. When people are focused inward, they are less focused on others – those who will stay after they die. “My death will be a problem for others, not me”.
The life insurance industry commissioned studies to figure out how to adapt. Researchers discovered that people were increasingly uninterested in the future. They cared about the here and now, about self-discovery and exploration.
Traditional methods of categorizing consumers by social class, gender, or age group no longer reliably predict buying habits—at least not by themselves.
It was Stanford University that pioneered a new way of classifying consumers based on lifestyle categories. Among these, the most significant group was labeled the self-expressives.
Advertising, they concluded, shouldn’t just appeal to emotions—it needed to tap into specific emotions tied to authenticity and the strengthening of the individual self. People were looking for opportunities to reinforce their identity for themselves and others—why not offer another opportunity in consumerism?
The impact of this new approach was explosive in the 1970s and 1980s. Advertising campaigns increasingly focused on personal narratives, self-empowerment, and individual authenticity.
Brands started selling not just products but the promise of a better you, a more authentic self. This strategy became a cornerstone of modern consumer culture, blending the desire for freedom with the mechanisms of consumption.
In the last season of Mad Men (which I highly recommend), the main character, Don Draper, goes to the Esalen Institute, all lost, to “find himself.” The type of therapy shown in the series, aimed at helping people find their true “selves,” grew dramatically during this time.
This is the moment when psychologists from the so-called Human Potential Movement, including Fritz Perls, Carl Rogers, Viktor Frankl, and Abraham Maslow, gained prominence.
It’s also when figures like Tony Robbins, who even has a Netflix documentary, begin to gain prestige as a life and professional coach. Or, for those who’ve seen the documentary Wild Wild Country, about the creation of Rajneeshpuram by the Indian guru Osho in the United States, this happens at the start of the 1980s.
It’s also during this period that politicians like Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher are elected, with campaigns defending that the government should get out of the way and let people flourish in their individualities (marking the beginning of what we now call neoliberalism). Campaigns, by the way, that pioneered in presenting candidates with the same marketing strategies used for products.
In order to sell (or to elect), it was necessary to appeal to the individual and the desire for uniqueness.
That is, since the criticism of post-World War II wasn’t about consumption itself but rather about manipulation, advertising managed to connect the act of consuming with the idea of expressing one’s true self.
To make this shift happen, two strategies can be highlighted:
1. The first is about Product Diversification: It was no longer possible for everyone to consume the same products. After all, no one can show their individuality if they wear the same shirt, right? Consequently, industries underwent a massive change and diversified their products.
- It was no longer about offering 2 or 3 types of shampoos but 75 different kinds (and, if you are me, ending up accidentally buying conditioner…). Today this is super clear. Fast Fashion is the perfect example with its over 20 collections instead of the old 4 seasons.
2. The second strategy involved concepts that would better align with this need for authenticity. This is where happiness comes into play.
Let me give you an example of this.
In the 1980s, Chile was ruled by Pinochet’s dictatorial regime. And as is often the case with dictatorships, Pinochet’s was very bloody. His government persecuted, killed, tortured… And, of course, it sparked a series of protests against it. These protests were met with completely disproportionate police/military force. More death, persecution, torture… and protests… all locked in an endless cycle.
But there came a point when Pinochet got tired of spilling people’s blood – probably not because of a change of heart, but of boredom -, and he gave in to a recurring demand for plebiscite. On October 5, 1988, a vote was scheduled to decide whether Pinochet would stay in power for another eight years or if there would be a democratic election. The military felt at ease: they controlled the media, had more money… and with that, they began crafting their “Yes” campaign, which was pro-Pinochet. Their slogan was: “For your family, for your Chile.”
But what’s relevant to us is the “No” campaign, because it’s the almost perfect example for our happiness discussion.
Think about it: if you were leading a campaign against a dictatorship, how would you design that campaign? I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d expose everything bad that was happening. But thankfully, I wasn’t in charge of that campaign, because my strategy would have been an objective description of the reality or the product I was opposing. And that’s a strategy, let’s say, a bit outdated when it comes to advertising.
The Chileans were already tired of all the misery and persecution. Everyone had already heard about the cruelty under Pinochet’s dictatorship… a political campaign wasn’t going to reveal any new tragedies to them.
On the other hand, what they weren’t tired of was something good—a life with better prospects. In other words, thinking of the campaign as an opportunity to present a product, the Chileans would be more drawn to a campaign that spoke to something they desired for their lives, that created hope. Not just a vote to end the tragedies, but one to bring a better life.
The film called “No”, starring Gael Garcia Bernal as the hero-leader of the campaign, beautifully portrays the team searching for the right tone for the “No” campaign. The brainstorming goes back and forth, and they start thinking of words—things that people desire above all else. Would it be democracy? Freedom? Justice? Love? …No, those weren’t strong enough words for them.
It could only be… Happiness! Perfect, right? Just kidding— they chose the word Joy (the Spanish “alegria”). It would have been perfect for my argument here if it had been happiness, but you can’t complain too much because the campaign, after all, toppled a dictatorship.
Anyway, Joy and Happiness are very close words semantically, and the example still works to illustrate this shift in tone in the way products were presented to people.
For those who’ve never heard it, the jingle for the “No” campaign, in Spanish, went like this:
XXX
“Chile, la alegría ya viene”
XXX
As the advertising campaign for the “No” vote in Chile in 1988 shows, concepts like joy or happiness are special in this process of massifying individuality: happiness is exactly what everyone desires, without dispute, and at the same time, it’s a personal concept: I can only speak about my own happiness, I can only feel my happiness… rigourously, there is no such a thing as a collective happiness.
For this reason, happiness has exploded in the world of advertising, in jingles, book titles, and… well, podcasts.
Happiness gave advertising a new boost in guiding mass behavior. Advertising moved away from the mass manipulation of emotions (which is more closely related to a feeling of belonging, being common, being similar, fitting in) and moved to the field of expressing individuality (which is related to breaking away, standing out, being unique).
And the most brilliant thing about using the promise of happiness in consumption is that even failure is capitalized. French philosopher and sociologist, Gilles Lipovetsky, refers to this as part of the “Society of Disappointment.” People consume with the promise of feeling more whole, more authentic, but invariably experience disillusionment. (After all, it’s not the shirt that’s going to give you that).
A couple of years ago, I saw a group of students commenting on the style of people who lived in the same neighbourhood as me here in São Paulo – a kind of hipster style. I joined them and was all pointing fingers and criticising fashion choices until I paid a bit of attention to what I was wearing that day. I was a perfect example of my neighbourhood… I became a hipster! In my attempt to be unique, I got closer to people that were similar to me, that were driven by certain standards and objects like me – that were targeted by similar ads as me. After all, products and advertisements are not made just for me. Tim Cook from Apple doesn’t call his team once every two years and say: “hey everyone, let’s start working on the new iPhone for Luciano – that Luciano guy from Brazil”.
And, in the face of disappointment or suffering, another range of products is sold, such as antidepressants and the whole mental-health portfolio. Even when the first promise fails, people turn to a new promise and consume.
As long as happiness is associated with consumption, the solution for any moment, whether good or bad, will be available as a product.
Another way of putting this is summed up by political scientist William Davies in his book “The Happiness Industry”. Open quote:
“In utilitarian terms, the market’s trick is to maintain a careful balance between happiness and unhappiness, pleasure and suffering. The market needs to be built as a space where desires can be pursued but never fully satisfied, or else the will to consume would vanish.”
End quote.
Well, to try to summarize today’s episode in one sentence: We talk so much about happiness because advertisements made it a key concept. Happiness is something everyone desires and at the same time speaks explicitly to a personal dimension, the self, the authentic self, which became central to the subject post-1970. Happiness encompasses, in itself, the purpose of self-expression, authenticity, individuality, and life’s purpose…
Before finishing, I’d like to highlight an idea that runs through this entire discussion of happiness and consumption (and which carries a substantial ethical weight): Is it wrong to give people what they want, even if they don’t know that they want it? Or, reformulating, is it wrong to give people happiness?
If it’s possible to distribute happiness like that, it doesn’t seem like much of a problem. If I were sure someone could give me happiness, real happiness, I wouldn’t deny it.
But things aren’t that simple, precisely because our life is far from this hypothetical scenario.
The problem might start with another question: Do advertised products deliver happiness, or is it fake happiness? Are they just empty promises?
I’m not sure how much you agree with these provocations, but the fact is that Positive Psychology (the most emblematic field of science for researching happiness) presents itself as the area that is discovering more and more secrets of happiness. And that could change a lot of things: for example, justifying that certain products do, indeed, contain happiness.
But I’m already giving spoilers. Let’s save the rest for the next episode’s response. Because we’ve never been closer to uncovering the secrets of happiness.
To close, I’ll leave you with a quote from the film critic Rex Harrison. Open quote: “Someone who thinks that money cannot buy happiness doesn’t know where to shop.” End quote. (Vitali & Moran, 2022, p.1)
I hope you enjoyed it, and I’ll see you in the next episode.
References
Curtis, A. The Century of the Self (2002). BBC.
Davies, W. (2015). The happiness industry: How the government and big business sold us well-being. Verso Books.
http://www.strategicbusinessinsights.com/vals/presurvey.shtml
https://brasil.elpais.com/brasil/2017/03/30/opinion/1490904977_268765.html
The Underside of Happiness 