第19期 · 广告是操控我们还是服务我们

We swim in a sea of advertising — from the billboards that tower over our commutes to the algorithmically targeted ads that follow us across every screen we touch. Estimates suggest the average urban dweller encounters between three and five thousand commercial messages daily. Whether this relentless bombardment enriches our lives or merely exploits our insecurities is a question that has grown more urgent as advertising has become more sophisticated. In my view, while advertising does serve a legitimate informational function, the balance has tilted decisively toward manipulation — and the psychological toll this exacts on individuals and societies warrants serious concern. To dismiss advertising entirely would be to overlook its genuine utility. In a market economy characterised by information asymmetry — where producers know far more about their products than consumers do — advertising serves as a bridge. It alerts us to innovations that might genuinely improve our lives: a new medication, a more energy-efficient appliance, an educational app for children. For small businesses without the advantage of brand recognition, advertising is often the difference between obscurity and survival. The classified sections of newspapers, now largely migrated online, have long connected job seekers with employers, tenants with landlords, and buyers with sellers — demonstrating that not all advertising is glossy manipulation; some of it is simply functional matchmaking. Moreover, advertising subsidises much of the content we consume for free: without it, the internet as we know it — from search engines to social media — would likely retreat behind paywalls. Yet the line between informing and manipulating has become perilously blurred. Modern advertising has evolved far beyond the straightforward presentation of product features. It now operates on the terrain of identity and aspiration, meticulously crafting narratives that tie a brand of running shoes to athletic excellence, a fragrance to romantic desirability, or a smartphone to social belonging. This is not information — it is myth-making. The rise of digital surveillance advertising has compounded the problem: algorithms that track our browsing, purchasing, and even emotional states can identify our vulnerabilities with unnerving precision and serve us ads precisely calibrated to exploit them. A person who has been searching for weight-loss content, for instance, will find themselves pursued across platforms by advertisements promising rapid, effortless transformation — a commercial assault on the very insecurity the internet helped cultivate. The result is not consumer choice but a kind of engineered discontent, where satisfaction is perpetually deferred to the next purchase. On balance, I believe advertising in its current form does more harm than good — not because commerce is inherently malevolent, but because the incentives of the attention economy have driven the industry toward ever more invasive and psychologically manipulative practices. The solution is not to ban advertising, which would be both impractical and illiberal, but to impose meaningful guardrails. These could include restrictions on the use of personal data for behavioural targeting, particularly of vulnerable populations such as children and those exhibiting signs of financial or psychological distress; mandatory transparency about algorithmic ad delivery; and a levy on digital advertising revenue to fund media literacy programmes that equip citizens to recognise and resist manipulation. An informed consumer is advertising's best customer — but only when advertising respects the boundary between persuasion and exploitation.