Dialogue: Helpless prey to hypnotic lure of the infomercial

In the many years I worked within the advertising industry, my colleagues and I dismissed infomercials as poor cousins to the real McCoy - an irritating, cheap and nasty alternative that refused to go away.

At first we ignored infomercials, as it was thought consumers would not like or trust the direct hard-sell tactics. Then we laughed as Suzanne Paul's common-as-muck accent and luminous spheres became almost iconic.

But now the not-so-humble infomercial has reached a level of sophistication that makes it not only socially acceptable but also downright compelling.

And for me, the tables have turned, as I find myself becoming one of the consumers I thought never existed - square-eyed and helpless prey to the lure of the infomercial.

Still revelling in the novelty of being a stay-at-home mum, I spend much time nursing baby in front of TV, waiting for Oprah. And it was thus that I succumbed to the hypnotic power of the infomercial.

During one 30-minute feed I bought a bunch of diverse items that oddly I had never before deemed essential.

I snapped up the titanium drill bits, which allegedly drill through absolutely any surface (our household has many different surfaces), and the Rapid Roller system for easy paint application (should I ever want to paint something). Buying the Reading Master system for my daughter was a no-brainer - it remains in the box, unread. But wait, there's more.

Almost as soon as I ordered the brochure for the trampoline I was considering the Thermopot electricity-free cooker (great for caravaning, even though we don't have a caravan).

I was nudged out of my trance when they presented an unusual vacuum-seal product which encourages one to vacuum-pack clothes for greater wardrobe space.

Huh? They'd gone too far. It was reminiscent of the Japanese artform Chingoku that champions useless inventions. (My favourite Chingoku is the slippers that double as a dustpan and brush set - so you can sweep up without bending over.)

Infomercials thrive on these sorts of products which sound really good at the time. So, if consumers are supposedly smarter, savvier and more switched on than they have ever been, what is it about these infomercials and their left-of-centre products that gets us every time?

First, the products cleverly aim at the Achilles heel of the core target whom I assume are ageing housewives at home, with fat thighs and bums (Trim and Lift undies), increased facial hair (hair-removal system), families not eating their meals (Save and Seal system for leftovers).

Second, the value-for-money strategy is unbeatable. Under normal circumstances we would be suspicious if something worth over $200 was available for $39.95. But the special-deal offers leave no room for indecision, as they are usually available only for literally a set number of minutes. If you want the free set of knives you can't muck around.

But probably the most compelling thing about infomercials is that there is a refreshing naivete about them. It's as if advertising has come full circle using the "as seen on TV" (wow - it must be good) techniques of the 1960s.

And ironically, with this naivete comes a certain honesty. While there is a time and place for sugary techniques and fantasy scenarios, the same old "slice of life" set-ups are wearing thin. First we had years of white, middle-class, breakfast-cereal families and now there's the new genre of ads featuring an extended Italian clan who are passionate about the family business in olive oil or pasta sauce.

I know these people don't exist. And Neil Martin, L.V.'s son, does. Now there is someone who really is carrying on the family business. Genuine, wholesome and trustworthy, he gently forces your hand with his soothing presence and enthusiastic product demonstrations.

And while many an adman will continue to knock infomercials as an inappropriate way to push product, I challenge even the greatest cynic to sit through a morning of television and not feel the urge to pick up and dial 0800 SPEND.

And let's remember, it's Suzanne Paul who got rich, had her own TV show, then retired. Suzanne, I salute you. Neil, give me a call. I want to reconsider the Thermopot.