Hansaplast ads

Hansaplast is a brand of products for the treatment of wounds, injuries, insect bites, etc. I think it’s originated in Germany. A few days ago I burned my hand in two places while taking food out of the oven, and the only bandages I have in my medicine cabinet are small strips. I was looking for something on the Internet and I found the above Hansaplast ads, which are useless to me, as I’ve never seen those products in my local supermarket.

I’d love to have “plasters” as they are called, with silver in them to treat infections. It doesn’t seem Hansaplast delivers to the States (only to Canada in North America—those Canadians always get the best stuff), but it looks like Curad has some bandages with silver.

What the heck does all that have to do with the reason you are here? Not much, except the ads are cute, and they show shrunken chubby people working hard at healing those gaping wounds on much larger body parts. The hand is male, but that’s not my fault.

Apparently, the idea behind this approach in advertising was that cuts and bruises are very painful for children, and there’s a bit of hoopla when they take place and the kids come running home (or the school nurse) to have them treated. Then the child’s caretaker should distract that child by telling him that little professionals arrive at the wound site to make it better.

Does that seem like a good idea to you?

I don’t think so. The ads’ philosophy behind all that is also that kids want to grow up to be doctors, firefighters, nurses, people in a generally helpful capacity, but I don’t think that would have worked very well for me, because when I was a little girl I wanted to grow up to become a sniper, or a vampire, or both.

Either profession would have greatly increased the stock value of companies like Hansaplast, no? But if my mom had told me a story about the little people that would visit my cut to heal it, I would have given her a long, hard look, and I would have said, “Woman, have you taken leave of your senses? Miniature people have better things to do than heal my skin, and unless you are talking about the leukocytes about which I learned in school today, still your tongue.”

Please send your love letters / hate mail to:

Advertising Agency: TBWA, Barcelona, Spain
Creative Directors: Ramon Sala, Juank Espejo
Art Director: Jordi Rins
Copywriter: Juank Espejo
Illustrator: Urano
Photographer: Jordi Bernabé

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4 thoughts on “Hansaplast ads

  1. Among my pet conspiracy theories is a parallel universe thread that starts in myth from other cultures, stories of titans, giantesses, Nephilim who lived among us for a while. Despite what the cold shower of physics tells us, I fantasize they could be in torpor around here somewhere, and even if not, they left their large fingerprints upon the memory and imagination of our collective unconscious.

    Europe seems to be more in touch with this (or else they haven’t seen fit to cast aside their fairy tales, ibid.), happily bringing out gigantic models for underwear or make up, digging out scores of tiny little people for eyedrops or first aid. Not so much in the States, where maybe a Nascar driver is racing along the track to avoid his son’s over-sized hand, or a giantess writes her number on a billboard for a cute guy in jeans. Or that series of miniature Arsenio Hall interacting with normal-sized women who are increasingly attracted to him (and one does eventually kidnap him, yes).

    I see this stuff, and I wonder if the size fetish is more acceptable, less risible in other nations and cultures. Maybe somewhere it’s taken as a fact of life. Somewhere a child asks his great-grandmother, “Where does this come from?” And she decides, even though it’s a week before his 12th birthday, to make a couple pitch torches and lead him carefully into the bowels of a mountain, to stand before one vast and beautiful face in silica, one who waits.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Physics shmysics. I like your pet theory. What I don’t like about it is then according the same status to furries. I’m so very sorry, but I don’t see parallel me having yiffy sex with a tiny man-cat. I can imagine forcing a puppy costume on my tiny man on Halloween, and telling him if he doesn’t act like a puppy to amuse my friends, he’s destined to spend the night in the dollhouse’s doghouse. Or better, my boot. That works for me.

      But those visions, those dreams of mine, of being a giantess and extinguishing volcanoes as though they aren’t much more than camp fires… those exude a different dendritic bouquet. My notions of ravishing a tiny man, my ideas of what he’d do, or say, belong to one of my pet theories, which is that of past life remnant memories. It looks like bullshit when I see it typed on my screen, but I like the way it feels.

      If ads are a reflection of how advertisers feel about powerful women, then that explains why we don’t churn them out the way other countries do. On the other hand, it doesn’t matter how many giantess ads are created in LATAM, when I know the truth about how we’re treated there. If I had stayed there, I would have probably been constantly told that “women don’t have fetishes”, as I watched male siblings be introduced to giantess porn at an early age.

      I like your version better, though the great-grandmother takes her great-granddaughter into the cave, and shows her what she’ll become.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I had originally thought of the great-grandfather leading the kid into the caverns, but… yeah, a guy showing a guy the secrets of the giantesses? I wanted to mix it up a little bit but hadn’t thought about it very deeply.

        Why couldn’t your vision be past-life residue? Either you were a giantess in a realm of giantesses, and your preconscious translated that state with normal-day props and sizes, or you come from a land of tiny little people. Why not? I mean, just look at magnets. Nobody knows how they work.

        Liked by 1 person

        • I think it works with any ancestor leading any descendant into a burial / preservation chamber, and explaining to them what’s what. “When you come of age, you’ll find that each day, you get smaller, and smaller…” “But Paw-paw, how come you’re not small?” “You see, it skips a few generations.” “How come I have to be small?” “It’s the prophecy.” “What prophecy?” “Well…”

          I think it softens the blow to hear it from a beloved elder. When I was eleven years old, I would have loved for my paternal grandmother to take me aside, or take me to the city’s highest point, and reveal that I would grow extremely tall in a few years. Well, maybe I wouldn’t have loved it then. It would have been traumatic, as I was still playing with dolls at that age. But later…

          I used to believe in past lives. I’ve gone through some changes these past few years. I’ve come to realize it doesn’t matter if we lived before, or not; we keep making the same stupid mistakes. We don’t learn from history.

          Either way, I do NOT come from a land of tiny people. 😀

          And I *can* look at magnets. No one can tell me magnets don’t exist. They are there. They can be touched. Some dude comes up to to me and tells me he loves me, and he loved me back then, on the planet Tectu, where I was an awesome singer, and we lived in a house made of clouds, I’m going to give him such a look.

          (Which is what I should have done when I was eighteen.)

          Liked by 1 person

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