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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Fight: Arron Banks versus Mary Beard on the fall of Rome

On the one hand: one of Britain's most respected classicists. On the other: Nigel Farage's sugar daddy. 

Tom Lehrer once said that he would quit satire after Henry Kissinger – him of napalm strikes and the Nixon administration – received the Nobel Peace Prize.

Your mole is likewise minded to hand in hat, glasses and pen after the latest clash of the titans.

In the blue corner: Arron Banks, insurance millionaire and Nigel Farage’s sugar daddy.

In the red corner: Mary Beard, Professor of Classics, University of Cambridge, documentarian, author, historian of the ancient world.

It all started when Banks suggested that the fall of the Roman Empire was down to…you guessed it, immigration:

To which Beard responded:

Now, some might back down at this point. But not Banks, the only bank that never suffers from a loss of confidence.

Did Banks have another life as a classical scholar, perhaps? Twitter users were intrigued as to where he learnt so much about the ancient world. To which Banks revealed all:

I, Claudius is a novel. It was written in 1934, and concerns events approximately three centuries from the fall of Rome. But that wasn't the end of Banks' expertise:

Gladiator is a 2000 film. It is set 200 years before the fall of Rome.

Your mole rests. 

I'm a mole, innit.