The ADgenda: cold, dead-eyed Kooples

The week's oddest advert.

We've all heard that sex sells. Well, so does shared catatonic boredom if The Kooples adverts are anything to go by. You're sure to have seen them adorning the sides of buses in cities across the country - the hollow-eyed, sullen slouchers who represent a brand with a smugger than smug outlook on life.  The Kooples rely on the assumption that you spend your days coordinating outfits with the ultimate accessory, your impeccably dressed girlfriend/boyfriend. These Kooples also inhabit a strange world where same sex and mixed race relationships are non-existent and women are in thrall to their talented men – Cantona balancing a ball and blondie slouching on his BMX like an oversized child while their girlfriends stand idly by. 

The tagline declares something along the lines of "Stefano and Arietty have been together for five years" – each of those years cooler, hipper and more fashion savvy than the last. No morning breath, snoring, shout-whisper arguments in public places for them. No, the Kooples are here to show us that our aspirations are futile, however hard you strive you will never be as achingly beautiful a unit as these ethereal beings. 

Evidenced by the cool £87m they notched up last year, it seems a few of us are buying into this message. Walk past any of their stores and you're sure to see either an awkward looking couple dubiously eyeing the his'n'hers leather get-up, or a nervously determined singleton, head held high, weathering the "This is not for you" disdain that the brand so effortlessly oozes. Never has an advertising campaign delivered such a hefty kick in the teeth to all singletons, or to the ultimate sinners – a sartorially clashing twosome. Nothing says "relationship on the rocks" like a bomber jacket boy strolling next to a flowery dress girl. God forbid. 

It's hard to imagine daily reality for these impeccably turned-out twosomes. Dinner at a restaurant would resound with the clinking of cutlery – the universal sign for awkward social occasions.  Polite enquiries would be met with bizarre self-satisfaction: "How did you two meet?", "Well, I noticed that the angle of his cheekbones perfectly complemented the shade of my suede trousers and I knew he was 'the one'".  

The Kooples business model revolves around disdain – tapping into that primal need for approval hardwired into our systems since school days spent hankering to be one of the cool kids, left wanting it all the more when our efforts were rewarded with a withering glance. The only difference is now the cool kids seem faintly ridiculous, insistent on our attention as they stare down at us from bus sidings, like precocious children their eyes shout "Look at us! We're the ideal!" To which the average passer-by responds with a bemused acknowledgement. Quick, applaud the beautiful people before they start to stamp their feet. 

Photo: Getty
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Vote Leave have won two referendums. Can they win a third?

The Remain campaign will hope that it is third-time unlucky for Vote Leave's tried-and-tested approach.

Vote Leave have launched a new campaign today, offering a £50m prize if you can guess the winner of every game at the Euros this summer. They’ve chosen the £50m figure as that is the sum that Vote Leave say the United Kingdom send to the European Union every day.

If you wanted to sum up Vote Leave’s approach to the In-Out referendum in a single gimmick, this is surely it, as it is deceitful – and effective. The £50m figure is a double deception – it’s well in excess of what Britain actually pays, and your chances of winning are so small they can only be viewed through an electron microscope. Saying that “the UK pays £50m to the EU” is like saying “I paid £10 for breakfast at Gregg’s this morning” – yes, I paid with a £10 note, but I got £8 back.  The true figure is closer to £26,000 a day.

But the depressing truth is that this sort of fact-free campaigning works – and has worked before. It’s the same strategy that Matthew Elliott, the head of Vote Leave, deployed to devastating effect, when he was head of the No to AV campaign, and that Dominic Cummings, head of strategy at Vote Leave, used when he was in charge of the anti-North East Assembly campaign: focus on costs, often highly-inflated ones, and repeat, over and over again.

This competition is a great vessel for that message, too, with the potential to reach anyone who has at least one Facebook friend with an interest in betting or football, i.e. everyone. And as my colleague Kirsty Styles revealed yesterday, this latest campaign is just one in a series of Internet-based, factually dubious campaigns and adverts being used by Vote Leave on the Internet.

The difficulty for the opponents of No2AV was, as one alumni of that campaign reflected recently, “how do you repudiate it without repeating it?”. A row over whether the United Kingdom sends £50m or £26,000 – itself £1,000 higher than the average British salary – helps the Leave campaign whichever way it ends up.

Neither Yes to Fairer Votes or supporters of a devolved assembly for the North East ever found a defence against the Elliott-Cummings approach. Time is running out for Britain Stronger In Europe to prevent them completing the hattrick. 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. He usually writes about politics.