Cowboys, Cabins, and the Red, White, and Blue
The branding power of American iconography
Before he ruined his brand by dropping dead a month into his presidency, William Henry Harrison proved himself a brilliant marketer.
Harrison, the Whig Party nominee in 1840, sought to paint the incumbent Democrat, Martin Van Buren, as an out of touch aristocrat. Trouble was, few were more aristocratic than Harrison, grand scion of Virginia royalty.
He was also really old. A prominent Democratic newspaper made that an issue. “Give him a barrel of hard cider and settle a pension of two thousand a year on him,” the editor wrote, “and take my word for it, he will sit the remainder of his days in his log cabin.”
Those ill-chosen words were a gift. Making fun of hard cider and log cabins would be like ridiculing pickup trucks and country music. Those were archetypal symbols of down home American values.
Instead of running from the Democrats’ characterization, Harrison embraced it. At rallies, frenzied supporters drank themselves blotto on free hard cider while chanting and cheering and marching for miles with a giant tin ball plastered with pro-Harrison rhymes. Everywhere you looked — on campaign buttons and posters, sure, but also on cups and saucers, sewing boxes and hair brushes — there was Harrison, standing next to a humble log cabin. While in repose in the wine room of his two-and-a-half story brick mansion, he must have smiled at the irony.
Harrison built what one might call a fiercely loyal brand community. No one had run a campaign like that before. Meanwhile, poor Van Buren was curing insomnia with tedious facts and rational arguments. Harrison won in a breeze.
Similarly, in today’s politics, conservatives understand the persuasive power of symbols and have appropriated imagery associated with the American Revolution. Think of the term “tea party,” the “don’t tread on me” snake, and the Betsy Ross flag; what these things say, largely unconsciously, is that conservative values are American values.
By contrast, progressive message-makers are stuck in the 1830s, informing rather than inspiring. Their strategists hate symbolism, which reeks of marketing, which is for the scoundrels who sell soap and hamburgers, not for the dignified, high-minded world of politics. It is remarkable these people still make their voices heard with their heads buried so deep in the sand.
Clever consumer marketers, though, like clever politicians, understand the non-partisan magic of American cultural iconography. Powerful brands can be built upon the foundation of these instantly understood semiotic cues.
Symbols of the Frontier
John Wayne movies and dime novels taught us to love the Old West, where the fearless American spirit ran wild. We see ourselves in those rugged cowboys, swashbuckling gunslingers, and steadfast marshals.
· The National Football League franchise in Dallas chose as its nickname the Cowboys to symbolize toughness and determination. It’s not complete coincidence that they are known as “America’s Team.”
· Wells Fargo’s stagecoach logo and Clarendon font harken back to the company’s origins delivering mail and money from the Great Plains to California.
· Levi’s brags that its jeans were the choice of lumberjacks, gold miners, and other frontier roughnecks. A pair of 1880s Levi’s found in a mine shaft recently sold for $87,000 — above the right back pocket is the same old-timey two-horse brown patch that Levi’s uses today.
Symbols of the Family Farm
We are no longer an agrarian society, but we used to be, and we miss it. Farmers’ self-reliance, family ties, and work ethic are irreplaceable threads in our cultural fabric.
· Del Monte’s long-running “Growers of Good” campaign celebrates the family farmers who supply the produce that goes into the brand’s packaged fruits and vegetables; the images of red barns and tractors remind us of a simpler way of life.
· Hidden Valley Ranch labels depict green fields stretching into infinity under a dreamlike California sun.
· The Pepperidge Farm logo calls to mind an old-time New England grist mill on a frosty winter day, with the miller inside, nose to the grindstone (literally).
Symbols of the Founders’ values
It is hard to argue with freedom, independence, and security.
· PepsiCo denies it, but the guy on the Quaker Oats container was modeled after William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania, leading Quaker, and symbol of purity and trust.
· Sam Adams Boston Lager is named after a Founding Father whose thirst for independence mirrored that of Boston Beer’s founding father, Jim Koch, who offered an alternative to mainstream American suds.
· Liberty Mutual has deployed the Statue of Liberty in advertising. It is a unique brand asset that represents security and coats the brand with a patina of patriotic idealism.
Geographic symbolism
Cities and landmarks also can carry widely understood cultural meaning.
· Coors Light uses its home, the Rocky Mountains, as a symbol of the cold, refreshing taste of its beer.
· Shinola boasts of its origins in Detroit, the erstwhile, gritty soul of American manufacturing.
· Texas Roadhouse is no more native to Lone Star State than the emperor penguin. Its founder lived in Colorado, its first location was in Indiana, and its headquarters is in Kentucky. Nonetheless, when we hear the words “Texas roadhouse” a certain picture pops to mind — a rough-around-the-edges, uniquely American grotto that is raucous and fun and serves a decent ribeye. And that’s exactly what Texas Roadhouse is. The name explains everything.
Marketers sometimes worry about the shadow side of symbols like these. Yes, the bucolic family farm is going the way of the covered wagon. Yes, Detroit is also a symbol of urban decay. Yes, young consumers in a multicultural society have little in common with a primly dressed theologian from the 1700s.
All that is both true and, from a marketing perspective, meaningless. Symbols tell stories and stories seduce. They illuminate certain truths and eliminate others, and we are mostly OK with that. Some lines can’t be crossed — overtly racist brand names and imagery are finally being swept into the dustbin — but most of the time we’re happy to check our skepticism and let ourselves be carried away.
Although William Henry Harrison was a skilled politician, nothing is inherently political about these kinds of symbols, which live in America’s collective unconscious. They offer a shortcut to a differentiated brand image and an emotional connection with consumers.
James Forr is Head of Insights at Olson Zaltman
