Welcome, everyone, to The Hall of Extinct Marketing Species. Here you will learn about trends that once ruled the creative ecosystem, those evolutionary giants that once ruled our industry… only to collapse under the weight of their own success. Please keep your voice down, your phone silent, and your judgment ready.

Ah. Over here. Let’s start where it all began. Or at least, as far as this humble tour guide can remember.

This first exhibit is quite melodic. Yup, these are Jingles. Those musical mascots of the nineties onwards that got stuck in your head for a couple of decades. Let’s see if you can complete this… “Zero nine zero zero seven eight six zero one…” Any takers? Yes! Telefun! See? It still works.

The Jingles were a magical time. Pure, catchy, and absolutely everywhere. McDonald’s, Lipton… For every brand with a marketing budget and a composer on speed dial. For a while, it worked. There was brand equity in melody, and they hammered them enough so they got stuck in our heads. But then, like a pop song overplayed on the radio… haha, remember those? Anyway, that’s when the fatigue set in. The notes remained, but the resonance faded. I mean, some – ahem – tea brands continue to milk them. But, by and large, their time is gone.

And now… right this way, please…

You’ll notice a spotlighted zone with absurd mannequins frozen mid-expression. Yes, that’s a donkey right there, also called a gadha. These are The Slapstick TV Ads. A species born in the early 2000s, led famously by Ufone’s absurdist humour and Faisal Qureshi’s elastic facial muscles. It was funny. Until everyone did it. Then they became… “Oh, another one.” The punchlines got lazy, and the skits got stale. And one day, without fanfare, the laughter died out.

Watch your step here.

You are entering The Grand Hall of Overproduction. See the giant revolving stage? The elaborate LED setup? Welcome to the Song and Dance Era. From Tarang to Telenor, this was where budgets met choreography. Brands confused scale with substance, and the more dancers you had, the more successful your TVC. But after a while, no one remembered the product. Just the twirl. Or maybe not even that. So, the curtain fell.

Oh, and look over there.

A quiet little diorama, just two screens side-by-side. On the left: a glamorous shampoo ad from Vietnam. On the right: the same ad, shot-for-shot, but with Urdu dubbing and a local actor. These are The International Adaptations. They were efficient in a way because they avoided the risk of actually thinking something up from scratch. Agencies loved them because they helped them pad their productions. But also, they are kind of a sad nod to creative surrender. Brands like P&G and Unilever were key perpetrators. The result? Generic global blandness pretending to be local.

Just past this display, you’ll find an eerily lifelike set of a morning show studio.

Fake plants. Sofas. A host holding a cooking oil bottle mid dua. This one is called Content Integrations. The local brands really went overboard with this one, from laal sherbet to chai. It started as a clever way to sneak brands into morning chatter. But after a few years, the audience began to notice the not-so-subtle product placements. And the trust? It quietly left the building.

Now, we are entering The Domestic Drama section.

Here you’ll see two contrasting but closely related species. On the left: The Slice of Life Ads. Harmless, upper-middle-class scenes. Family dinners. Light-hearted banter. Usually used by banks, insurance companies and cooking oils. For a decade, they were considered ‘safe’ . But safety, as you’ll see, can be a slow death. They all began to look the same – you couldn’t tell if it was a tea ad or a new savings account.

On the right: Tearjerker Ramzan Ads. You know the ones. A boy gives away his shoes. A daughter prepares iftar for her father. Surf Excel and Shan led the movement. They tugged the heartstrings so hard that the public couldn’t feel anymore. What once evoked tears now triggered eye-rolls. Question from the back? Yes, you, ma’am. Haha, did these ads ever work? Oh, absolutely. Many of them dominated awards and sentiment charts. But that’s the thing about advertising: even a good thing has an expiry date, especially if everyone starts copying it.

Right ahead now…

Plug in your headphones as we pass through The Music Hall. You’ll hear echoes of Coke Studio, Pepsi Battle of the Bands, Cornetto Pop Rock and Nescafé Basement. This was a golden era. Brands became enablers of art. For a time, it was magic. But when brand managers began confusing KPIs with chords, the soul began to drain. Today, the exhibits here still sound good — but listen closely, and you’ll hear the weariness in the notes.

The next exhibit has flashing lights and dramatic fans.

This one’s The Big Celebrity Endorsements. Step inside, and you’ll see holograms of Kareena Kapoor holding a QMobile, Mahira Khan sipping Slice and Shahid Afridi shampooing in slow-mo for Head & Shoulders. These were glorious campaigns. Often, unrealistically glorious. Until consumers realised: Kareena doesn’t use QMobile. Mahira doesn’t drink Slice. (As a matter of fact, nobody should consume mangoes like that. It’s terribly inefficient and unnervingly a thirst trap.) And Afridi… well, we’ll let you decide. It all started to feel like cosplay. Expensive, forced cosplay.

Now, tread lightly.

You’re entering The Digital Desperation Corridor. On your left Guess & Win social posts and contests. They were interactive. Engaging. But quickly became a running joke. “Guess who will win today’s match!” “Tag your friends to win a free giveaway!” Nobody remembered the brand. But everyone remembered the cringe. Some brands still use these tactics, giving out Toyota Fortuners and whatnot. But by and large, it’s gone for good.

And then, The Urdu Rap Era.

Neon lights. Auto-tuned verses. Brands trying to rhyme their taglines with the Young Stunners’ energy. KFC, Zong, and other such brands led the wave, trying to resonate with their impressionable young audiences. But subculture cannot be manufactured in boardrooms. And the moment marketers found it cool… it wasn’t. Sad, really.

Ahead… whoops, brace yourself…

Here is The Hall of Organic Reach Remains. On one side: Influencer Integrations so forced they squeaked. On the other, The Crumble-Style Meme Marketing Trend. Brands clambering onto every viral trend with ‘funny posts’ that looked like they were made by interns held hostage. For a while, it worked. Then everyone did it. And the memes became advertising. And nobody laughed.

Now, as we reach the end, I invite you to step into the final chamber.

This is The Aurora Shrine. From 1998 to 2025, it stood not as a marketing pattern by itself, but as the observer of marketing trends. A publication that documented the ecosystem with editorial integrity, sharp wit and maybe a little too much restraint and rigour. While trends rose and fell, Aurora held the line. It gave space to the practitioners, elevated the dialogue, and sometimes even let absurd fictional creative writing pieces be run under the guise of ‘marketing’. Alas, as attention spans shifted to brain-rot memes and three-second dopamine hits, long-form information just didn’t fly. Nobody had time to read anymore, I guess. Please feel free to take a moment. The page – or screen – in front of you plays a loop of its final editorial: equal parts wisdom, warning and wonder.

And with that, our tour concludes.

Thank you for joining us. We hope it’s been an interesting tour, and that you enjoyed seeing all these bygone marvels exhibited in their original glory. As you depart, we urge you to think a little. Creativity lives, dies and is reborn, but history only remembers the ones who mattered.

And luckily, we archived the rest. Who knows, maybe this tour is also going to be a self referential exhibit one day? Enjoy the gift shop. We have discounts on AI gimmicks this week.

Umair Kazi is Partner, Ishtehari,