Why Every Brand Suddenly Wants to Be Your Therapist
First it was candles. Then oat milk. Now even airlines want to talk about your feelings. Somewhere along the line, brand strategy quietly enrolled in psychology school and started diagnosing us in the middle of pre-roll ads. And yes, it’s working.
Increasingly, brands have stopped selling products and started offering validation. You’ve never seen a can of tuna say, “Hey, it’s okay to feel burned out.” But today, the number of ads turning anxiety into a selling point is uncanny. Consider the rise of "sadvertising"—not just big-budget Super Bowl tears, but quick local campaigns leaning into quiet burnout, mild hopelessness, and that creeping sense that weekends are too short. There’s power in the line, “We get it,” even if it’s splashed next to a new gin flavour.
But here's the twist: it's not empathy for empathy's sake. It's strategy. Emotion is more memorable than price. A well-shot 30-second spot recognising your Sunday scaries has more cut-through than shouting about 10% off. What's fascinating is how deftly New Zealand brands are doing this under the radar. A Whanganui craft brewery released an ad about “balancing brewing with surviving modern life.” A virtual therapy app sparked a branded mental health podcast that barely mentioned the app at all. It’s not always slick, but it’s strangely moving.
There's a risk, of course. If everyone’s marketing feelings, we enter some kind of emotional inflation. Not every toothpaste ad needs a mental health subplot. But done with care, it’s the kind of advertising that doesn’t feel like advertising at all. Just soft, strange intimacy shared at arm’s length, through a screen, in between bite-size dramas.
Increasingly, brands have stopped selling products and started offering validation. You’ve never seen a can of tuna say, “Hey, it’s okay to feel burned out.” But today, the number of ads turning anxiety into a selling point is uncanny. Consider the rise of "sadvertising"—not just big-budget Super Bowl tears, but quick local campaigns leaning into quiet burnout, mild hopelessness, and that creeping sense that weekends are too short. There’s power in the line, “We get it,” even if it’s splashed next to a new gin flavour.
But here's the twist: it's not empathy for empathy's sake. It's strategy. Emotion is more memorable than price. A well-shot 30-second spot recognising your Sunday scaries has more cut-through than shouting about 10% off. What's fascinating is how deftly New Zealand brands are doing this under the radar. A Whanganui craft brewery released an ad about “balancing brewing with surviving modern life.” A virtual therapy app sparked a branded mental health podcast that barely mentioned the app at all. It’s not always slick, but it’s strangely moving.
There's a risk, of course. If everyone’s marketing feelings, we enter some kind of emotional inflation. Not every toothpaste ad needs a mental health subplot. But done with care, it’s the kind of advertising that doesn’t feel like advertising at all. Just soft, strange intimacy shared at arm’s length, through a screen, in between bite-size dramas.