Has anyone seen that bank ad telling you to take out your phone at look at the last five photos?

You know it – it’s that soppy ad/attempt to encourage customers to forge emotional associations between themselves and a massive profit generating corporation. Because, let’s face it, banks never get a great wrap. It’s hard to think of a bank and not think of Dick Van Dyke* clawing after a young boy’s tuppence in a fake beard and old man make up. All we want to do is feed the birds, man.

The whole premise of the ad is based off the assumption that people are taking meaningful photos with their smartphones. And hey, maybe their target audience ARE taking meaningful photos on their smartphones. Because their target audience is generally made up of A) wealthy Baby Boomers who keep their phones in those card-holder-wallet-cases and take photos with them using with too hands or B) young families who are trying to build themselves a home – be that metaphorically or literally – who take a shitload of photos of their cute babies doing cute stuff or C) people who generally have their lives together.

I fall into neither of these categories.

And perhaps the last five photos on my phone can indicate as to why I am not the target audience for a banking ad.

Let’s do a little experiment, shall we?

The last photo I took was a screenshot of Facebook post showing a piggin’ cake that was made for someone’s 18^th. It is actually incredible. It’s this dark brown feral pig lying on its side in very realistic-looking dirt, which I imagine is a crunchy chocolate dream. The big has tusks (obvs) and yellow eyes and a big eff-off bloody fondant knife sticking out of its neck. It’s dripping in fake blood, it’s a little bit sick and it’s a lot bit marvellous.

This isn’t particularly telling in itself, but it indicates my tendency to follow the social media accounts of cake artists. I mean, this particular account is run by a girl from back home who I want to support. But the other accounts I follow on Instagram are run by strangers. So I’m really in it for the food porn. And the fact that I openly salivate over baked goods leads to impulsive decision-making that, in the heat of the moment, deems it perfectly reasonably to pay more than $5 for a doughnut.

Bakery Insty accounts are a gateway drug to financial frivolity and ruin.

The second last photo is actually a Snapchat I saved of me being extremely excited about the second-hand clothing I bought for an absolute barg from the Sydney Theatre Company’s garage sale (check out how cult-cha-ed I am now). I spent $12 and ended up with two shirts, a skirt, a cardigan and a novelty vase with some sweet gumnut detailing. You might argue that this is a financially-sound pursuit, because of the bargains. And you’re right. But my excitement – nay, elation – isn’t just rooted in saving money in general, but is a reaction to the need to save money to begin with. When you second-guess spending $15 on a winter coat, you have to wonder why you’re being so stingy. And judging from my above remark about impulse-buy doughnuts, you don’t really need to wonder.

Upon reflection, this indicates I’m investing my money in the wrong areas. Instead of practicality, like clothing, I pool my money into sugar-laden treats that will give me a few moments of delight before ending up in the sewer system.

The third photo is a screen shotted Snapchat of my parents on my Dad’s birthday, sent to me by my sister. Now, you might think that this is proving the banking ad correct, because there is that emotional attachment. However, when viewed after being coated with the obsesssve-self-reflective scrutiny fair dusty I often like to sprinkle around, this photo can be attached to more flippant financial thought-processes which see me randomly buy plane tickets back to Queensland on short notice. I get family-related FOMO pretty badly these days, leading me to book my tickets less than a month before flying, when they’re more expensive. And that may help the homesickness, but doesn’t do much for the home-buying fund (HAHAHAHHA I do not have one of those funds).

The last few photos are of me trying to get a good look at my pus-riddled throat and inflamed tonsils using a spoon as a tongue depressor. Apparently I’m an infected one ATM and I wanted to see just how gross my throat looked. I don’t really know what this indicates in a fiscal sense, but I doubt this is what the marketing team expected audiences to have on their phone.

* Don’t worry, I just looked it up and Dick Van Dyke is still alive. The delightful man is 92 and, I sincerely hope, is going strong.