Take a picture, it'll last longer
Day 3 of Ad-vent
It’s the phones. The phones are the reason we can’t concentrate long enough to read a book or appreciate a sunset. They’re why middle schoolers have body image issues. They’re the reason our country is neck-deep in fascism and sinking. But hey, get this, they can also record home movies. The kind of home movies that bring your grandmother to tears1. And me, apparently. Making me cry isn’t that hard, but I think Apple struck a special nerve with this ad. The holidays have a heartbreaking quality that we don’t usually notice.
Around this time of year, we eat the same foods, light the same candles, hang the same decorations, and see the same people we do every year. We emphasize traditions to anchor ourselves in an otherwise chaotic world. They help us mark time on earth, and reflect on another year that’s now safely behind us. The flip side of this is that every Christmas blends together. Sure, they each have their memorable moments. There was the one where the power went out and you had to shove your sister through the kitchen window at midnight to unlock the door. There was the last Christmas in Aunt Benita’s house, though we didn’t know it at the time. There was the one where Santa gave everyone electric toothbrushes. But can you say for sure what year any of those happened?
Your memory of Christmas is a boundless, soupy, superposition of every Christmas you’ve ever experienced. It’s an unreality where your favorite foods are always cooking and your favorite people are always around you. In the moment, though, it doesn’t feel that way. In the moment, it feels special and distinct. This isn’t the same as all the other ones. This might be the last Christmas you get with your grandmother. Your nephew’s getting too old to believe in Santa. Your little sister is starting a family of her own. Everything is just as it should be, and you feel the urgent need to capture the moment before it slips into Christmas past.
That’s when you pull out your iPhone 5s. But even if you filled all 16 gigabytes of flash storage with 1080p videos and 8 megapixel photos, the fidelity of this Christmas will fade and its memory will congeal together with all the others. But your family understands the impulse, and they’re happy you cared enough to try.2
The crying grandmother is a recurring trope in Christmas media. She’s there to show something miraculous has happened. Not once in her seventy-five Decembers has she seen something this breathtaking, this achingly beautiful. Her life has been building to this moment. We should follow her lead and feel it.
Title: Misunderstood. Company: Apple. Year: 2013. Agency: TBWA
I also cried with the grandma!