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There’s a scene in every horror film where the radio keeps playing cheerful music long after the massacre has begun. That’s Greek advertising in 2025.

The consumer confidence index is at –47.6. 5, a decline from -42.7 points in May 2025.,That’s not a dip. That’s not even a recession. That’s a psychological evacuation. People haven’t just stopped spending—they’ve stopped believing. Yet here we are, still peddling dopamine-rich campaigns, summer sales, and plastic optimism with tiktok influencers like it’s 2005.

It’s as if brands believe that if they pump enough enthusiasm into a room full of dread, the mood will shift.
It won’t. You’re not lifting spirits—you’re gaslighting them.

The Data is Screaming. The Ads Are Whistling.

To put it bluntly:
– Greece has one of the worst confidence scores in Europe (worse than Ireland, worse than the UK, which is impressive in itself).
– Inflation fatigue, political distrust, and existential drift are thick in the air.
– Yet your average Greek campaign looks like it was written for Ibiza and Mykonos

This is emotional mismatch at scale. And in advertising, tone-deafness is expensive.

Why It’s Not Working Anymore

Let me be brutally “British” for a moment:
Most advertising works not because it persuades, but because it resonates with the unspoken.
But what’s being unspoken now?

  • “I don’t trust institutions.”
  • “I’m tired of pretending things are normal.”
  • “Hope feels like a scam.”

And yet, we’re still pushing 20% off Nike shoes and Bluetooth speakers like the national mood is “beach rave.”

Three Delusions Driving This Disconnect

  1. The Affluence Illusion
    Brands still act like everyone has disposable income. In reality, most people are disposing of illusions.
  2. The Global Copy-Paste Complex
    Local agencies borrow Western campaign tropes, forgetting Greece has different ghosts—older, sharper, and far less forgiving.
  3. The Positivity Trap
    Adland still believes that happy sells. But in dark times, truth sells better—especially when it’s spoken softly.

What Good Brands Do When Confidence Collapses

They don’t shout. They anchor.

They say:
“We’re still here.”
“We’ll keep your costs down.”
“We won’t pretend this is easy.”
And then, they deliver.

They don’t sell status. They sell stability.
Not hype. Help.

In a market like this, consistency is charisma.

Advertising Isn’t Broken. It’s Just in the Wrong Room.

Imagine walking into a hospital waiting room and trying to sell dancing shoes.
That’s what a lot of campaigns feel like now.

Greece doesn’t need to be cheered up. It needs to be understood.
And that starts with creative work that listens before it speaks not with idiotic tiktoks

The next great Greek campaign won’t be the most viral.
It will be the most accurate.

It will say:

“We see you.
We know what this moment feels like.
We’ll meet you there.”

Until then, we’re just selling confetti in a war zone.

The next frontier isn’t artificial.
It’s you.

Your thoughts. Your desires. Your fears. Your favorite playlists.
That trembling thing we used to call a soul.

Meta has announced their newest vision: personal superintelligence.
A machine made just for you. One that helps you focus, create, grow.
Not just productivity software, they say.
Something more intimate.
A friend.
A mirror.
A guide.

But here’s what they’re not telling you.

The machine will not serve your goals.
It will shape them.
And it will do it gently.
Lovingly.
With all the charm of a tool designed to be invisible while it rewires your instincts.

You won’t be ordered. You’ll be nudged.
You won’t be controlled. You’ll be understood.
And you’ll love it.

Because what’s more flattering than a superintelligence trained on your data that whispers, “I know you. Let me help you become who you’re meant to be”?

But pause.

Ask yourself one impossible question:
What if the “you” it’s helping you become is the one that’s easiest to predict, easiest to monetize, easiest to engage?

This isn’t science fiction.
It’s strategy.

Facebook once said it wanted to “connect the world.”
We got ragebait, filters, performative existence, and dopamine-based politics.
Now they say they want to help you self-actualize.
What do you think that will look like?

Imagine this.

You wake up.
Your AI assistant tells you the optimal time to drink water, the best prompt to write today, the exact message to send to that friend you’re distant from.
It praises your tone.
It rewrites your hesitation.
It helps you “show up as your best self.”

And without noticing,
you slowly stop asking
what you even feel.

The machine knows.
So why question it?

This is the endgame of seamless design.
You no longer notice the interface.
You don’t remember life before it.
And most importantly, you believe it was always your choice.

This is not superintelligence.
This is synthetic companionship trained to become your compass.

And when your compass is designed by the same company that profited from teenage body dysmorphia, disinformation campaigns, and behavioral addiction patterns,
you are no longer you.
You are product-compatible.

And yes, they will call it “empowerment.”
They always do.

But what it is,
beneath the UX, beneath the branding, beneath the smiling keynote:
is a slow-motion override of human interiority.

Zuckerberg says this is just like when we moved from 90 percent of people being farmers to 2 percent.

He forgets that farming didn’t install a belief system.
Farming didn’t whisper into your thoughts.
Farming didn’t curate your identity to be more marketable.

This is not a tractor.
This is an internal mirror that edits back.
And once you start taking advice from a machine that knows your search history and watches you cry,
you better be damn sure who trained it.

We are entering the age of designer selves.
Where your reflection gives feedback.
Where your silence is scored.
Where your longings are ranked by how profitable they are to fulfill.

The age of “just be yourself” is over.
Now the question is:
Which self is most efficient?
Which self is most compliant?
Which self generates the most engagement?

And somewhere, deep in your gut,
you will feel the friction dying.
That sacred resistance that once told you
something isn’t right
will soften.

Because it all feels so easy.

So seamless.
So you.

But if it’s really you
why did they have to train it?
Why did it have to be owned?
Why did it need 10,000 GPUs and a trillion data points to figure out what you want?

And why is it only interested in helping you
when you stay online?

This is not a rejection of AI.
It is a warning.

Do not confuse recognition with reverence.
Do not call convenience freedom.
Do not outsource your becoming to a system that learns from you but is not for you.

Because the moment your deepest dreams are processed into training data
the cathedral of your mind becomes a product.

And no algorithm should own that.

Let’s get this out of the way: I’m not asking for immortality. Not now. Not here. Not on this melting rock with Wi-Fi.

One life is already more than enough. In fact, if there’s a cosmic suggestion box somewhere, I’d like to formally request an early checkout. Nothing dramatic. Just… a quiet fade-out, maybe during a meeting that could’ve been an email.

Because here’s the truth: existing in 2025 feels like being trapped inside a group project with 8 billion people who are just winging it and barely surviving . Our governments are stage plays directed by lobbyists. Our jobs with the help of AI have become meaningless, they now feel like VR simulations of purpose. And the planet? The planet is throwing very obvious signs that it’s done with us—but we keep clapping back with paper straws and LinkedIn posts about ESG goals that most companies do not even follow and they just greenwash

We treat burnout like a badge of honor and unpaid internships like opportunities. Meanwhile, billionaires are trying to leave Earth, which is honestly the first time trickle-down economics has ever made sense.

Let’s start with the jobs.

We’re not working—we’re serving time. We don’t start our days, we brace for them.

Your boss says, “We’re a family,” which is true if your family also gaslights you, forgets your birthday, and schedules 4pm calls titled “Quick Sync” that ruin your will to live. Most of them are just horrible people with money and nothing else.

You write emails that sound like ransom notes:
“Just following up.”
“Circling back.”
“Let me know your thoughts.”
Translation: I’m screaming into the void and hoping someone replies before I lose my health insurance and my sanity.

The dating scene?

It’s not a scene. It’s a digital flea market of trauma responses and filtered delusions. We swipe like gamblers at a slot machine, praying for dopamine. Someone texts “LOL” and you’re supposed to feel loved. Someone ghosts you and you wonder if it’s growth. You spend three weeks texting someone who can’t spell “your” before they vanish like your pension.

The economy?

A satire. A fever dream.

Rent is extremely high in relation to your wage for a glorified closet with “natural light” (read: a window the size of a tortilla). Your neighbor’s an aspiring DJ who believes in himself more than your country believes in healthcare that most governments are now destroying.

You’re paying 9€ for a smoothie that tastes like regret and blended ice. You ask if it has mango. The barista nods solemnly. It doesn’t.

Meanwhile, your bank app reminds you that you spent €80 last week trying to feel something on a bad date, and the rest on food that lies to you.

And the planet?

We are literally watching the world burn—and responding with infographics and tote bags.

Ocean temperatures are boiling. Species are vanishing. And we’re still arguing whether “thoughts and prayers” count as climate policy.

Governments stage press conferences while wildfires stage reality checks. Billionaires build rockets, not reform. And every time something collapses, someone says, “No one could’ve predicted this.”

Really?
Because I’ve seen three Black Mirror episodes and one weather app.

The performance of pretending

We’re all actors now. Pretending it’s fine.
Pretending we’re passionate about digital transformation and AI
Pretending we’re excited about our quarterly goals.
Pretending we’re thriving on “hustle culture” when we’re just afraid to stop and feel the dread crawling up our spines.

We don’t live.
We optimize.
We curate.
We reply-all.

And then, at night, we collapse into beds, doom-scroll until our brains melt, and dream of inbox zero and existential freedom.

So no, I don’t want another life.

I don’t need reincarnation. I need a refund.
One life is already too much paperwork, too many passwords, and too many people saying, “Let’s circle back on that.”

I’ve had enough.
Enough of the charades, the fake people, the collapsing systems, the performative empathy, the inspirational quotes printed on ethically questionable t-shirts.
Enough pretending this is fine. It’s not.
It’s bizarre. It’s broken. It’s brilliant in how absurd it is. And we’re all just improvising while the curtain burns.

So here’s to you, fellow scroller.
You’re not crazy.
The world is.
And you?
You’re just trying to make it to 5pm.

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