5 Infomercial Products We Love to HatePosted on by Chelsea Terris (CTerris)
URL for sharing: http://thisorth.at/1iap
We've all had them. Those nights, alone, shoving popcorn and beer in our faces and watching bad, aimless TV. Welcome to the zone. The Infomercial Zone. A place in which time bends, facts distort, and suddenly crappy, badly made items become wildly appealing for only $19.95. Below are the most wretched infomercial products we love to hate.
When I ponder a world in which a stylist waits on me hair and foot, the word "bump" never factors into the glorious tousled tendrils I would expect. Enter Bumpits, which boost our torridly low self-esteem with the assurance that "anyone can be a stylist!" Yes, anyone can shove a piece of plastic into her scalp and throw down a duck face like Snooki, but are these really good options?
The fact that the person in question must also tease the bejesus out of her hair prior to inserting said hard, plastic headpiece is also a real big turnoff and ruins any chances of feeling "salon pampered." At least the dang things come in four colors, because human follicular variety is obviously limited to blonde, black, brown, and red (while supplies last), and no one will ever catch the glint of plastic thinly veiled beneath my plumped up locks if it's within seven shades of my actual hair color.
2. The Pillow Pet
"It's a pillow. It's a pet. It's a pillow pet." Right, so wait, what is it again? All I know is, the last pet I had pooped in a litter box and didn't collapse on the floor with a pull of Velcro, and I expect very little "personality" in a pillow. The dual nature of this product carries an awful lot of baggage. I can appreciate the versatility, but when I'm lying awake in bed wondering whether or not the thing supporting my head is in fact the pillow it seems to be, or merely masquerading as such and planning its big reveal as a ladybug, well, it makes me want to throw in the towel. The Towel Pet. Help!
3. Personal Massagers
Okay, can we cut the crap for a second? The phrase "Soothing vibrations penetrate deep to relax and relieve sore, aching muscles," does, in fact, turn me on. That these white, cucumber-shaped devices are actually cheaply-priced, industrial vibrators that spare us the titillating awkwardness of perusing our local "Peep Show" store is awesome. What makes them cheesy, however, is the marketing. The woman pictured in the ads and on TV is always in the implied nude, with her bare neck and back exposed, teasing her skin with the object in question. Why not just call a spade a spade and let it be known exactly what sort of ache is being relieved? Let that model spice it up and throw on some Victoria's Secret for her photo shoot. Isn't that what late-night TV is all about?
4. PedEgg Professional
Paging Human Clone Experts and Skin Sample Fetishists! Women everywhere are collecting shower-moistened foot skin into a hand-held cup and forgetting to empty it! I'm all about cheap ways to get callous-free, but the mere mention of collecting wet, dead skin into a piece of plastic makes me retch. Besides the questionable hygiene and obvious gross-out factors, what is the real reason for holding onto these bodily residuals? To look at them? Show them to your boyfriend? "Wow, babe, my feet are that soft because all of THIS is gone!" I highly doubt anyone has enough callous to clog a drain, so there is no practical use for the magical "egg" aspect that defines this product. Do yourselves (and your boyfriends) a favor and ditch this abomination for a pumice stone.
5. Pajama Jeans
Ah, the vulnerable over-40 market. Nothing says "women who feel fat and miss their skinny jeans will do anything to feel good about themselves" quite like this item. Leggings are hip. Jeans are cool. Pajama jeans? I'll venture lazy and insulting. Like The Pillow Pet, these winners are not what they say they are, but something new and unique...and unattractive. The back "pockets" look like badly-sewn kindergarten crafts made from felt, and the texture of the pants themselves is closer to that of The Snuggie (hmmm, I smell conspiracy and shared manufacturers) than an honest-to-goodness pair of denim.
But let's dig deeper. Why pretend to wear a pair of jeans? Isn't that more embarrassing than rocking some velour sweats that actually fit and don't make you look like a former hottie pining after bygone years at Bon Jovi concerts? Any circumstance that would call for this uber-fake hybrid would also fully accommodate a tasteful sweatsuit. Or, if you're feeling up to it, a pair of jeans. No pressure.