Schumpeter: We want to be your friend ONE of Kingsley Amis's many bêtes noires was pretentious advertisements for beer. The poet laureate of alcohol thought that all such ads needed were three things: the name of the beer, a picture of a mother-in-law falling over and the slogan: "Makes You Drunk." These days advertisements are even more pretentious than they were when Amis was harrumphing. Guinness's blather on about the true nature of human character, and so on. But spare a thought for the poor admen. Their industry is going through a particularly difficult time. Not only are they confronting a proliferation of new "channels" through which to pump their messages; they are also having to puzzle out how to craft them in an age of mass scepticism. Consumers are bombarded with brands wherever they look - the average Westerner sees a logo (sometimes the same one repeatedly) perhaps 3,000 times each day - and thus are becoming jaded. They are also increasingly familiar with the tricks of the marketing trade and determined to cut through the clutter to get a bargain. Scepticism and sophistication are especially pronounced among those born since the early 1980s. A study by the Boston Consulting Group found that 46% of American "millennials" use their smartphones to check prices and online comments when they visit a shop. In Western societies particularly, respect for traditional voices of authority - from priests to political leaders - has eroded. So has their faith in brands. Havas Media, a big marketing agency, says trust in them has been declining for three decades. Last August it published the latest in a series of worldwide surveys, in which 134,000 consumers in 23 countries were asked what they thought of 700 brands. A majority of those taking part would not care if 73% of them just vanished. In Europe and America 92% would not be missed. Only in places like Asia and Latin America, with lots of newish consumers, is there a bit more attachment to brands, though Havas Media reports that it is declining there too. Some advertisers think there is an advantage in acknowledging consumers" scepticism. An ad for FirstBank, of Colorado, showed a new leather sofa and television in the middle of a square, with a large sign saying: "Free." People strolled by, ignoring the bounty. A voice-over asks: "What if "free" really just meant "free"?" A second method is to drown the scepticism with humour: a depressing number of brands nowadays rely on chirpy talking animals. A third is to disarm it with honesty. In 2009 Dominos launched a campaign featuring consumers talking about how awful its pizzas had been for the past 50 years. Then there is do-goodery: innumerable brands argue that the best way to save the planet or help the poor is to buy their products. The holy grail of advertising is to make friends with the consumer. Companies used to do everything possible to convey authority and reliability. They adopted solid-sounding names like Bank of America or Fidelity and employed authoritative figures like doctors and dentists to deliver their "messages." Now they are more interested in conveying chumminess. They are giving themselves jolly names like Wonga, Giffgaff and Ally. They are also finding clever ways to persuade ordinary people to endorse their products. Coca-Cola filmed students reacting with delight when one of its vending machines dispensed not just free soft drinks but also free pizza and bunches of flowers. Many companies want to go further and bypass conventional ad campaigns altogether. It has long been known that "earned media" - word-of-mouth recommendations from friends, family and news articles - are highly trusted. Nielsen's studies show that strangers" comments on social media and online forums are also now seen as credible sources, rivalling traditional "paid media." So companies are seeking to shape the public conversation about their products. Some have done it clumsily, planting fake reviews on consumer websites or paying bloggers to eulogise them. Others have been more subtle. Mercadona, a big Spanish retailer, is a master of word-of-mouth advertising. In 2005-06 it invited close to half a million women to visit its refurbished cosmetics departments, offering advice and free samples. Its sales have grown rapidly, despite Spain's recession-ravaged economy. It is all too easy for advertisers to mess up when trying out new ways to reach consumers, and affecting an irreverent tone of voice. Hyundai, a carmaker, suffered a backlash when it produced an online ad, in the hope that it would go "viral," in which it sought to demonstrate its vehicles" lack of noxious emissions by depicting someone attempting suicide. Companies often hope their campaigns will be shared and commented on in social media, giving a multiplier effect to their ad spending. But if just a few people find the ads objectionable, the offence-taking can spread like wildfire. KFC found this out when it ran a viral campaign for boneless chicken pieces with the slogan, "I ate the bones": it triggered a vibrant online discussion, but much of it was about whether the ads were racist or sexually suggestive. Trouser worship Combating the public's scepticism and mistrust is made all the more difficult by the existence of a powerful counter-current in some people's attitude to brands: a loyalty that can sometimes verge on idolatry. Those supposedly streetwise, sceptical millennials seem more willing than baby-boomers to follow the recommendations of celebrities, or to kid themselves that by wearing this or that brand they will help save the world. Yet they are fickle, and may turn against their favourites in an instant if others seem to be doing so. Amis recognised one problem for advertisers: that they were so intent on appearing clever that they forgot simple truths, such as beer's main purpose. The problem today is that they may be so keen on dispelling scepticism that they end up reinforcing it.