online community focused on sharing and reminiscing about video, audio, and images that stir our memories of the past – old television, theme songs, commercials, print advertisements, the sights and sounds you remember
The idea was great: give Barbie a haircut, style her hair, curl it, and somehow keep the fun going without ruining the doll forever. Of course, commercials always made these toys look effortless. At home, I’m guessing it depended on patience, steady hands, and whether Barbie’s hair ended up looking salon-ready or like she had just lost a fight with a brush.
But here’s what I really want to know: Did you have Barbie Cut ’n Curl? Did it actually work the way the commercial showed?
And even better, did any of you start by cutting and styling Barbie’s hair and later end up becoming a hair stylist, barber, or working in cosmetology? Sometimes those childhood toys really did point us toward what we’d do later in life.
The Wendy’s Soviet Fashion Show ad was a wonderfully odd 1985 commercial from the same general era as Wendy’s famous “Where’s the Beef?” campaign.
The setup was simple: a fake Soviet fashion show where every outfit looked almost exactly the same: gray, shapeless, dull, and joyless. The announcer presents each look as if it’s glamorous high fashion: daywear, eveningwear, and the best-remembered punchline, “Swimwear.”
The joke was Cold War-era contrast. Wendy’s was saying other fast-food burgers were all the same, boring and uniform, while Wendy’s offered something better and different. It was a very 1980s ad idea: take a shot at Soviet sameness, then turn it into a hamburger comparison.
The spot was directed by Joe Sedelmaier, who was known for offbeat, deadpan commercials, including Wendy’s Where’s the Beef? work. IMDb lists the writers as Cliff Freeman and Joe Sedelmaier, with Lily Monkus among the credited performers.
It also drew some complaints at the time, though not as many as you might think. A 1985 Washington Post article reported Wendy’s received about 120 letters criticizing the Soviet-themed commercial, while the company noted that was small compared with its daily customer count.
Looking back, it’s pure 1980s advertising: Cold War humor, deadpan delivery, one unforgettable visual gag, and a punchline people still remember decades later:
The Swing Wing was a wonderfully weird 1960s toy introduced by Transogram Games in 1965. It was worn on your head like a little cap, with a long ribbon or tail attached. The idea was to whip your head and neck back and forth until the tail spun around like a helicopter. Think Hula Hoop, but for your head.
The commercials made it look like pure kid fun: boys and girls swinging, twisting, dancing, and making the Swing Wing fly around them. But watching it now, you can almost hear every chiropractor in America screaming.
It was supposed to be Transogram’s answer to the Hula Hoop craze, with company hopes that it might become the next big toy sensation. It didn’t.
That’s probably why people remember it now more as a “what were they thinking?” toy than a classic. It had the perfect 1960s formula: bright colors, a catchy commercial, kids moving around like crazy, and absolutely no adult in the room asking, “Should children be violently snapping their necks for fun?”
Looking back, the Swing Wing is peak retro toy madness. Simple idea, great commercial, questionable safety, and the kind of thing that makes you wonder how any of us made it out of childhood with our heads still attached
Josephine from the Comet cleanser commercials was played by Jane Withers, who had already been famous years earlier as a 1930s child star. Later, a whole new generation knew her not from the movies, but as Josephine the Plumber.
Josephine appeared in Comet commercials from the 1960s into the 1970s, usually dressed in white work overalls and showing how Comet could handle stains, sinks, tubs, and other tough cleaning jobs.
What made the campaign stand out was that a woman plumber was highly unusual on TV at the time. That was part of the hook. Instead of using a typical male repairman, Comet gave viewers Josephine — friendly, confident, and no-nonsense. She knew the pipes, the porcelain, and exactly what cleaner to use.
The character worked because she felt practical and believable. She was not glamorous or fancy. She was the woman who knew how to get the job done. Jane Withers reportedly even took a plumbing course to make the role feel more authentic.
For a lot of viewers, Josephine was one of those commercial faces you trusted. If she said Comet cleaned better, you believed her. She had that perfect old-school ad quality: part neighbor, part expert, part TV personality, and completely unforgettable.
It was catchy, silly, and easy for kids to repeat, which is exactly what made old snack commercials work. A plain lunch suddenly felt more exciting when you added a bag of Fritos.
That was the charm of the campaign. It did not need a complicated story. It was just a happy little reminder that Fritos were salty, crunchy, and perfect next to a sandwich.
Here’s another earworm from the ’70s to get stuck in your head for the rest of the day.
Ken-L Ration was one of the big names in dog food for decades, dating back to the 1920s. The brand became known for canned dog food and later dry food, but most of us remember it because of that insanely catchy commercial jingle.
The song was based on “My Dog’s Bigger Than Your Dog” by folk singer Tom Paxton, and the ad turned it into a playground-style brag between kids. The idea was simple: my dog is bigger, faster, shinier, and better because he eats Ken-L Ration.
It was the kind of jingle advertisers loved because you didn’t just hear it — you repeated it. Kids could sing it, parents remembered it, and the brand name was baked right into the hook.
Ken-L Ration was eventually owned by Quaker Oats and later sold to H.J. Heinz in the 1990s, but the product faded from store shelves. The jingle, though? That survived. For a lot of us, all it takes is one line:
“My dog’s bigger than your dog…”
…and suddenly the whole thing comes running back like a dog hearing the can opener.
The StarKist “Sorry, Charlie” campaign started in 1961 and gave us one of the great advertising mascots: Charlie the Tuna. He was created by Tom Rogers of the Leo Burnett Agency as a beatnik-style tuna with a beret, thick glasses, and plenty of confidence. Charlie thought his “good taste” made him perfect for StarKist, but the joke was that StarKist did not want tuna with good taste — they wanted tuna that tastes good.
Charlie himself was originally voiced by actor Herschel Bernardi, who gave him that hip, New York, slightly theatrical sound. The famous announcer line “Sorry, Charlie” was voiced by Danny Dark, one of the biggest commercial voice-over artists of his era. StarKist’s own history page credits Dark as the narrator who delivered the line.
The commercials worked because Charlie was trying so hard to be chosen. He dressed sharp, talked cool, and acted like a sophisticated fish who deserved to end up in the can. Instead, he was rejected every time. Poor Charlie never understood that he was selling the product by not being good enough.
Looking back, it was a perfect old-school ad gag: one simple joke, a catchy phrase, and a character everyone remembered. “Sorry, Charlie” became bigger than tuna and turned into something people said whenever someone got rejected.
1963 was a little early for me to go out and get a quick tan. I just did it the old-fashioned way — by playing outside! But I sure remember the jingle.
Back then, nobody thought much about sunscreen warnings. You went outside, rode bikes, played ball, ran around the neighborhood, and by the end of summer you had the tan lines to prove it.
QT promised color without baking in the sun, which sounds funny now because self-tanners later became famous for streaks, blotches, and that dreaded orange look. But in that era, tanning was sold as healthy, glamorous, and fashionable.
Looking back, QT feels like a perfect little time capsule: a bottle promising summer color on demand, indoor or outdoor, rain or shine. Before spray tans, tanning beds, bronzers, and modern sunscreen warnings, there was Coppertone QT telling everyone they could hurry up and get tan.
Hai Karate was one of those aftershaves that sold the joke as much as the scent.
It launched in 1967 and the whole idea was that the stuff made a man so irresistible that women would practically attack him. That is why the package and commercials leaned into the gag that every man needed self-defense instructions after putting it on. The famous warning was: “Be careful how you use it.”
The commercials were pure 1960s and early 1970s male fantasy advertising. A regular guy splashes on Hai Karate, and suddenly a woman goes wild for him. He has to use goofy karate moves to fend her off. It was played for broad slapstick laughs, with the martial arts craze and the “irresistible aftershave” idea mashed together into one very memorable campaign.
The campaign came from the ad firm McCaffrey & McCall, and one of the people behind the marketing plan was George Newall, who later became famous as a co-creator and songwriter for Schoolhouse Rock!
Looking back, it feels like the granddaddy of those later body spray ads where one spritz supposedly turns you into a babe magnet. Back then, though, Hai Karate had the extra gimmick: not only would women chase you, but you might need to defend yourself afterward.
It was silly, sexist, over-the-top, and very much of its time. But that is exactly why people remember it. The bottle may have been aftershave, but the real product was the joke.
That line was everywhere. The ads promised you didn’t need much, just a small dab, and suddenly you’d look sharp, smooth, and “debonair.” The jingle was credited to Hanley M. Norins of the Young & Rubicam advertising agency.
Of course, the best part was the promise that “the gals’ll all pursue ya” and love running their fingers through your hair. That was peak old-school advertising: use the product, look handsome, and suddenly romance is chasing you down the street.
By the 1960s, the Beatles and the dry, natural hair look started making heavily slicked hair seem old-fashioned, so Brylcreem had to adjust its pitch. But for anyone who grew up hearing that jingle, “a little dab’ll do ya” is still one of those lines that instantly brings back a whole era of bathroom mirrors, combs, crew cuts, and Dad’s medicine cabinet.
