RETROWURST: Very British October 2007

 

Gosh. This is a find which really does feel as if it’s from another era. I wrote at great length, rather gleefully, about the Germans’ one-sided love affair with all things British. I even went as far as suggesting 6 facets (archetypes? tropes?) of Britishness where Germans feel particularly comfortable, from Rosamunde Pilcher’s Cornwall to Gaslit London.

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As the leaves start turning here in Germany, you could be forgiven for thinking that Germany is turning into Britain if you were to stroll through a local shopping centre. At least two large department stores have a “British” theme for their fashion collections and advertising this Autumn.

 

First up is Karstadt, who announce that “Die Stadt wird very British” (“The City is turning British”). Clothes, perfumes, jewellery and other goods of British origin or style are being promoted by Karstadt with models in green wellies and Argyle pullovers. Even the prices are described as “very British” in the sense of being understated.

 

From the country-set vision of Karstadt, we move to Peek and Cloppenburg who have chosen “London Affairs” as the title of their Autumn fashion collection. The publicity material here is shot in the slightly bohemian world of Notting Hill art galleries.

 

Both of these retailers’ visions demonstrate the rather one-sided love-affair that the Germans have with Britain. While they can build better cars and certainly play better football (and, yes, the German women are World Champions without conceding a single goal), many Germans still hero-worship the British and all things British in a completely unconditional way. There are many people who still insist on speaking English to me even though my German is actually pretty good after 11 years here. It is considered completely normal to send pre-school children off to an “English for Kids (sic)” course. Almost every German you speak to will spin teary-eyed nostalgic yarns of their teenage school exchange trip, normally to some south coast seaside resort. And I remember clearly arriving at my first job here to find the young CEO of the advertising agency dressed up in Harris Tweed and corduroy, complete with 1930s Noel Coward accent. I assumed that this was some sort of elaborate joke at my expense, but it emerged that he always dressed like that (OK, he was a Freiherr and had an English grandmother, but still…)

 

British products and brands to be found in Germany tend to be those of the classic/luxury type. In the fashion world, brands like Burberry, Barbour and Clark’s are well-known. Most supermarkets will carry a few British brands. I spotted Twinings, Chivers, H.P Sauce, Duchy Originals and Walker’s shortbread our local REWE, as well as “Five Counties Cheddar” and “Lancashire with Cranberries” on the cheese counter. Interesting to note, there is no “bog standard” English cheese to be had. On the drinks side, whisky is increasingly popular and there are a number of specialist stores to be found, for real and online such as www.whiskymax.com . The upmarket “back to the good old days” retailer www.manufactum.de carries Colman’s mustard, Pear’s and Bronnley soaps.

 

British, English and Scottish shops, which pander to Britophile Germans as much as ex-pats, can be found in major cities and online. These include www.the-british-shop.de (upmarket look), www.british-shop.de (corner shop look) and www.british-shop-online.de (country diary look.)

 

As in all cases of unrequited love, the lover is absolutely blind to the faults of the beloved. Very little of the less desirable aspects of modern Britain is known about in Germany or is simply ignored as it does not fit into the perfect picture. Thus, any talk of Chavs, ASBOs and drunken teenage girls in town centres will simply bring blank looks, even if the terms are explained. It’s the same with celebrities. The only British celebrities that are known and popular here are those that fit in with some idealised picture of Britain. And Germany has enough of its own Big Brother and PopStar winners and losers without having to know about the antics of the British equivalents.

 

Although I talk about one idealised picture of Britain, in truth, there are many facets or archetypes that one can invoke here to position or promote a British brand. Here are six that the Germans feel particularly comfortable with:

 

Rosamunde Pilcher’s Cornwall

Bizarre as it may seem, the Germans have adopted the romantic novelist as their own and the German TV station ZDF has produced 70, yes, 70, of the lady’s stories for TV. The Cornish landscape and the rather kitschy romances have an appeal beyond just little old ladies and so many Germans have flocked to Pilcher country as a result that both ZDF and Ms Pilcher have awards from the British Tourist Board!

 

Braveheart

The swirl of the kilt, the bagpipes, brave Highlanders and whisky is another world that the Germans feel very happy in. This Celtic archetype is also extended to include the Irish. However, although Walker’s shortbread is a staple of British shops, I don’t believe that that other Scottish delicacy, the deep-fried Mars Bar has yet hit the German palate.

 

Swinging London 

This archetype is probably the closest to the reality of modern Britain and thus the least comfortable. While a certain degree of eccentricity is expected from the Brits, there is reluctance to embrace anyone or anything that is too “out of control”. So the rather plasticky German supermodels Heidi Klum and Claudia Schiffer who are part of this “scene” through their partners are seen as better representatives of this world than real-life London girl Kate Moss.

 

The Royal Country Set

This is archetypal England at its best: see www.the-british-shop.de . The British royals are followed with great interest here and are often the subject of affectionate “comedy” sketches as well as documentaries. Having no official royalty of their own, the Germans are happy to “borrow” someone else’s. And while the royal families of Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Holland and Spain also hold interest, the strong blood bond with the Windsors seems to win out.

 

British Humour

Although British humour is usually cited by Germans as the quality that they admire in us the most, what we would call “real” British humour is rarely understood by Germans, relying as it does on word-play and a heavy dose of irony. The king of British humour in Germany is still Rowan Atkinson in his Mr Bean incarnation and I am sure it will come as no surprise that this show is watched and enjoyed by many people over the age of 6 in this country. Another little oddity that is often quoted by Germans as representing British humour is the comedy sketch “Dinner for One”. This sketch was produced in the 1960s by the German TV station NDR with an English cast (Freddie Frinton and May Warden) and now holds the record for the most-repeated TV program ever. Most Germans know the entire script off by heart so next time you hear Germans saying “same procedure as every year” or “cheerio, Miss Sophie!” you’ll know where it came from.

 

Gaslit London

The end 19thC/early 20thC London of swirling fogs, carriages and elegant detectives in evening dress is still a very popular image. Although Germany has never really picked up on modern British police or crime series, preferring the Swedish versions of Henning Mankell and his ilk, Edgar Wallace, Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie remain very popular.

 

There are other archetypes and worlds that represent Britain and the British for the Germans but you can be sure that these do not include benefit scroungers or hoodies. And of course, the benefit of this rather rose-tinted perception for us is that we Brits are automatically assumed to be aristocratic, noble and hilariously funny by the Germans unless we dramatically demonstrate otherwise.

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While the London Olympics, Downton Abbey, the Gin & Tonic revival, various cosy crime series, post-Hugh Grant rom-coms such as “The Holiday” with Cameron Diaz and those sanitised pop biogs kept Britannia’s flame going for a good few years, it’s down to a rather sad flicker now.

Brexit and RIP Queen Elizabeth II. 

Older Germans still have fond memories and associations with Britain, and the stereotypes persist: cups of tea, fish & chips, politeness. But it’s all a little faded and dusty these days, like something hanging out too long in the sun at a seafront stall. 

But I get the impression that many Germans, especially the young, regard Britain as expensive, hostile and troubled. And not particularly “cool”. I was shocked not long ago when a relative of my husband’s (a young man who’s mixed race) said he wasn’t keen on going to Britain as it’s “so racist.”

It’s a sad state of affairs, but I’m not without hope. The salvation of Britain may lie in the specific, the local, rather than the not-so-great whole. Whisky, for example, is undergoing a huge surge of interest here. While many of the little British grocery stores have closed down, whisky shops are thriving - even in the one-pig town where I used to live! 

BREXILE: Musn’t grumble?

 

I never thought that a cryptocurrency ad would make me chuckle - but this one from Coinbase raised a wry smile. 

As part of the Brexile process, I’m making a list of reasons I’m glad to be jumping ship - to keep me going when I get second, third and fourth thoughts. These range from seeing my favourite local curry house being torn down unceremoniously to pretentious restaurants charging £6 for a couple of pieces of non-descript bread to no beer on tap at the local. 

I’ll just play this gem next time I start to get the staying pangs - 2 minutes of squalid, crumbling, bleak, rat- and rubbish-strewn Brexit Island, all to a jolly Oliver!-style song-and-dance number.

Everything is fine. Yeah.   

BREXILE: Never Turn Back

 

Unlike this sleepy swing, things are moving pretty damn quickly with the Brexile plans. Quicker than I would have liked, ideally - I have accepted an offer on my house. The last few nights have been as good as sleepless, wondering What On Earth Have I Done? 

This is going to hurt. A lot.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I wrote the following back in Feb 2021, mid-pandemic. It’s without doubt the most personal thing I’ve ever posted on this blog. A few months later, in June 2021, I spent a quarantine summer in the house, alone. That’s when I took the photos. It brought me closer to the place once more - and made those ties even more difficult to sever. 

But the longer I leave it, the more formidable that cloud becomes.

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NEVER TURN BACK

 

‘It’s a forever home,’ said the taxi driver in a twinkling Sarf London accent as he pulled into the drive. I looked at my mother’s house – like one of those social media memes where children’s drawings are brought to life – and nodded. We’d talked all the way from the airport, me about my ageing mother, he about his plans to retire in Spain. He was the sort – a Dave, or Phil, or Kev – that I’d been to school with, and had spent my twenties and thirties trying to escape. And now here we were, he ready finally to flee the Home Counties nest, seeking adventure, and me returning to my roots.

 

My parents always told me that I chose the house. I’ve never been quite sure if that was one of those semi-truths that parents explain to indulge their offspring that eventually take on mythical status in the grown offspring’s mind. I do have a very, very vague recollection of dogs, dogs in the quiet cul-de-sac of shiny new houses. I was obsessed with dogs as a small child. Maybe I chose the dogginess, not the house.

 

The house is (give or take) the same age as me. Twenty-seven detached houses were built in the grounds of a grand house that was repurposed as an Old Folks’ Home, as such places were called in the 1960s. The houses all bore the same style but varied in the brick colour – reddy-pink, yellow, or white stucco, like the layers of an Angel Cake. Some more generously sized, others smaller. All with a miniscule (to 21^st century eyes) single garage, the doors painted in cheerful Matchbox toy colours. Ours was a summer sky blue, next door’s a British Racing Green.

 

We moved in in the spring, as the horse chestnuts on either side of the hill were in bloom. My bedroom was at the back of the house, overlooking a garden with lavender, snapdragons, roses and apple-trees. And oak woods at the back. 

 

Together we’ve climbed hills and trees, 

Learned of love and A-B-Cs, 

Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees 

Goodbye, my friend … but no, not yet.

 

I could walk to school from the house, to Scottish dancing, and ice cream with tinned fruit salad if we were lucky, prunes and custard if we weren’t. Netball games and making cross-stitch tray-cloths. Poetry (of a certain kind) also featured on the curriculum and two poems stayed in my mind – in fact, I probably did what I’d now call a mental mash-up of the two. Hardly surprising as they were both on the same theme, and probably written around the same time:

 

I remember, I remember

The house where I was born,

The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn;

 

… and

 

… It made the Paradise complete:

My early home was this.

 

But a paradise is never stable. As I grew, I accumulated thoughts and ideas that didn’t fit in that “bower of bliss”. It became a prison in my mind. I didn’t want to have friends round as I was ashamed of my father’s posh voice and my mother’s fur coat. The garden became a chore, the bedroom – now decorated in turquoise, olive green and orange – somewhere I hid furtively to write pretentious poetry and cut pictures of dubious rockers out of the NME. We drank tin party barrels from Watneys in the woods, made bombs, and experimented with smoking sunflower leaves.

 

I couldn’t wait to leave.

 

In my twenties, I bought my own flat – decorated with one or two bits and bobs from the old place that I considered ironic in their slight tackiness, but otherwise all furnishings were new. My parents would talk about me coming home for Sunday lunch, but I saw it otherwise. Going to Camberley was a duty, a rather arduous one at the time, which inevitably involved drinking sherry on top of a hangover at some ungodly hour. Home: unwittingly, I drifted into being someone that didn’t really have a home. I lived in hotels, slept on aeroplanes, kipped round at friends’ places at weekends and disappeared off to weekend cottages with gangs of chums, in a Richard Curtis film sort of way. I was one of those devil-may-care Anywhere people. Wannabe global elite. Probably quite obnoxious.

 

In March 1996, I jumped the great ship Britannia as she sailed towards the island of Cool. My one-way ticket cut through the Heathrow fog like a landing light. Terminal 1 echoed with finality – no going back? London still slept but my mind already marched to the beat of the Teutonic clock. My heart followed more than willingly, long lost in the mists of a fairy tale. My mother, in some of her more dramatic moments later, called this an abandonment. I didn’t see it that way. I was European. I could come and go as I pleased. It was only later that I realised that this wasn’t about me. It was about my father, by that time already ill. 

 

The last years of the 20^th century were probably the furthest I’ve been, emotionally, away from my early home. The new Millennium marked my slow return. A birth and a death in unbearably quick succession. Taking my infant son back to my family home for the funeral meant the aviation genes in his blood would be stimulated, and he’d grow up knowing this place too.

 

It was a rediscovery, each time we flew across to the UK. The swing in the garden, painted dark green by my late father, the oak woods waiting for us, along with the toys in the toy box, the Puffin books, the sherry in the cocktail cabinet of the Ladderax, and my mother’s fur coat which Marius could dress up in and pretend he was going to snowy Narnia. I’d toppled off the career ladder (was I pushed, or did I jump?) and didn’t really give a toss. I now had Somewhere – two Somewheres – two Places for Us to accumulate not just stuff but memories, opinions, friends, hobbies and responsibilities, all in a glorious binocular muddle.

 

When one Somewhere became too much, I’d know the other was waiting for me and jump in the car.

 

Before she died, my mother asked what I’d do with the house. I was honest and said I didn’t have a clue – there were more pressing matters on my mind, like how long she had left, and whether she was in pain. 

 

‘Perhaps you’ll live here,’ she said, hopeful as ever.

 

The pandemic has put its killjoy foot firmly down on my double life and my flitting across the channel. The neighbours sent jolly pictures of bunting for the VE Day Anniversary Street Party last year, and recently crocuses from the wooded area up the hill. My brother checks on things, rather half-heartedly. This friend or that one makes helpful suggestions. You could rent it out. It’s a good time to sell. People are moving out of London. You could turn it into a writing retreat (I know, I know – they mean well).

 

In my sleeping and waking thoughts, the house lurches around from being the most cumbersome, resource-leeching and ridiculous of white elephants, to being some sort of paradisical life-force source, to being a magnificent mythological cabinet of curiosities, to being a domestic disaster waiting to happen.

 

In German, there’s a verb abnabeln – translated as “to cut oneself loose”, literally, to cut the umbilical cord. I know this is what I will have to do one day. But currently I cannot begin to countenance it. The pandemic is a frustration, but also an excuse. We all like to wallow in the comfort of helplessness. 

 

When I do summon up the wherewithal to say goodbye to the old place – at least in its bricks and mortar form, I hope I can heed the words of aviatrix and adventurer Beryl Markham: 

 

I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.

 

It’s going to take every ounce of courage I have not to turn back and take one last look at my early home. 

 

Wish me luck!

 

P.S: July 2025

… The cloud clears as you enter it. I have learned this, but like everyone, I have learned it late.

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BREXILE: Passport Palaver

 

I’m doing it like this. 

Brexile-related activities only every other day, for the sake of my blood-pressure and family harmony.

This is one I’d been dreading, and was actually on the cards, Brexile or no Brexile. 

The joy of passport renewal. I kept putting it off because the fiasco of 10 years ago is still horribly fresh in my mind. In those days, you could get the whole process speeded up by taking everything to HM Passport Office in person (and paying a wad of cash for the pleasure).

I braced myself, with some professionally-taken biometric photos in tow that cost me a good few €s. And all was going smoothly until my expensive photos were rejected:

My pleas that it was cream or greyish and not Persil-white were to no avail. I was shooed off to the convenient photo booth where a combination of trying to take a picture without my glasses (which are for moderate-to-severe myopia, not for vanity), no makeup and unwashed hair resulted in a passport photo that looks like a corpse dredged up from the murkier parts of the Thames.

I’m not sure it’ll be any better this time. Renewals, from overseas too, are done online. And there’s no way of telling what you’ll need to answer or find or indeed pay in total without starting the thing onscreen.

It’s not a blinking exam, for goodness sake!

Now to my favourite topic: photos. Two options were presented: go to a proper photo shop or booth, and you’ll get a nice convenient code which will speed everything up.

Or mess around doing a selfie - and woe and betide you if you take this ill-advised option.

Unfortunately it has not occured to the UK passport office that professional photographers abroad e.g., in Germany, can do proper biometric photos but haven’t heard of this code system.

I struggled on.

Next issue - I owned up to having 2 passports (maybe unwise) and learned that I had to - in addition to the soon-to-expire British passport - send either my current German passport to the UK (no way!) or get a colour photocopy of all 34 pages. Including blank ones.

My colour copier has long since been deemed incompatible with my laptop. And the local copy shop closed down many moons ago. The local stationer's came to my rescue and gave me a discount - 60c instead of 80c per sheet. So much for sustainability, though – I could have sent photos or a scan but it seems that the UK passport office prefer to waste paper.

 

My day of fun was completed by a trip to the only remaining local post office, contending with roadworks, only one woman on duty, a queue of disgruntled people …  

Can’t wait to hear that it’s all been lost in transit.

BREXILE: I’m leaving you, England. But we’ll stay friends, for old times’ sake.

 

There comes a point where you have to part company.

With a partner, an employer, a country, a way of life.

It’s finally come to that with me and England.

Is it Brexit? Is it AI? Is it me? Who knows?

I read this, the other day, in yet another excellent article by Ian Leslie:

We’re giving up our USP in order to meet the machines on their turf. Meanwhile we’re training humans to think and act algorithmically, following rules and checking boxes.

And that’s the issue. When I left the UK, in 1996, I was a human being. But now, the country’s systems are trying to mould me into a machine.

And I don’t fit.

My broadband and landline service in my UK home has changed to TalkTalk. Not my wish. I’m sent paper bills, for which I’m charged £33 a year, which I didn’t request. The problem is that TalkTalk don’t support or recognise any of my email addresses. 

The council has seen fit to impose a 100% premium on my Council Tax and given me precious little warning. Oh yes, easy to clear, pack up and sell a home that’s been in the family for 60 years. Especially from abroad. Only need a couple of months to do that, don’t you?

I liked the idea of monitoring my home from afar, to avoid any more frozen pipe disasters. So I had a Hive thermostat fitted. All fine and dandy, except I need a UK phone number to receive all the authentification messages. 

Undeterred, I set off to Vodafone to get a basic Nokia that’ll do the job. All well and good, yes, I do have a UK bank account, marvellous ...until ...

That account needs to be registered at a UK address. So end up having to get a pay-as-you-go phone where the number runs out if you don’t use the phone in the UK within 3 months. 

Tiresome doesn’t begin to cover all this. It’s the same frustration you feel filling in a form and you’re given a set list of options, none of which apply. And no open-ended questions.

It’s left me feeling like this:

I’m trying to live with tech in peace, honestly, I am. And I know I have agency, it’s not personal and all that.

But it’s grinding me down, and it shouldn’t.

So it’s going to be toodle-pip.

I miss my freedom to be a European, with my two passports and two homes.

The time has come to lean into my humanity and lean away from England. 

By-Gad Astounding!

 

It warms the cockles of my half-British heart to see a brand I worked on in the mists of time finding its feet - and soul - again in its communication.

British Airways had been known as "Bloody Awful” before - and long after - I worked on the brand. And recentish communication had been insipid at best.

Enter Uncommon and the new campaign based on the brand essence “A British Original”, launched in October 2022. 

The campaign gets better and better - and now we have a new masterpiece: “May We Haveth One’s Attention.”

Blimey. What do I love about this instant classic? Let me count the ways ...

INSIGHT: I guess there was a discussion about Britishness and what we can be proud of. What do we export? And the answer, for 2024, is period dramas, love’em or loathe ‘em. So this film draws on Bridgerton, Outlander, Pride & Prejudice, Downton Abbey and probably a few I’ve missed. A huge hit for the cultural bullseye.

EXECUTION: style, humour, watchability, great performances and casting - a triumph

BRAND: the cabin crew and other co-workers (all 40 of them), the well-know Flower Duet from Lakme and the brilliant, self-deprecating Britishness of it all (including the bad teeth)

Safety videos are one of the few times your audience really is captive. I remember Air Canada had some great ads back in the 80s - “flights so good you won’t want to get off”. 

Well, this could be the safety video that’s so good you don’t want it to end.

Miss you

Is British advertising getting its mojo back?

I've noticed a couple of ads - very different but on the same theme (or insight, if you will) that have made me wonder if British humour and general silliness is making a comeback after all those dreary plinky-piano angsty offerings.

I mentioned Yorkshire Tea's Skipton Alfie in my last post.  And now, along comes this one from Heinz - "Too Good to Leave Behind."

Now, of course, I don't see "someone who looks like me" in this ad. But, boy do I identify with it!

I've suffered delayed luggage recently and can seriously understand this chap's pain on missing his beans. My trips to the UK usually involve stocking up on various comestibles. This article - not sure how old it is, but its probably from the last couple of years, lists the Top 10 most popular British products globally, via The British Corner Shop. And the Top 3 are Warburton's Crumpets, Heinz Baked Beans and Cadbury's Flake. So Heinz and their agency, Wieden & Kennedy London, have even done the data-fuelled, fact-based thing, yah, boo, sucks!

None of my absolute favourites made the Top 10, funnily enough. No Marmite, Colman's, or Gordon's Sloe Gin. But maybe these are acquired tastes, given that this is global sales.

I do hope that the ad world will see a return of self-deprecating, batty British humour post-Brexitpermacrisisetcetc. After all, it is Too Good To Leave Behind. 

The new Caroleans

 

I’m skulking around my country of birth at the moment - nothing exciting, dealing with the aftermath of a burst pipe. These visits satisfy - to some extent - my yearning for home, and a simpler place and time. Although again and again, I’m reminded that it’s probably a yearning for something that never really existed, except in my mind.

I was here for Queens Elizabeth II’s funeral last year, but it looks like I won’t make the coronation in May as musical commitments call. However, it was nice to be here as the emblem (not logo) for the coronation was announced (not launched or - heaven forbid! - “dropped”). It’s rather lovely and rather charming, with the rose, thistle, daffodil and shamrock reflecting the King’s love of nature. The designer describes it as “gentle” and that hits the spot.

It’s infinitely better than some of the ghastly Olympics logos we’ve seen - and I suppose at least it doesn’t look as if His Majesty picked it up at Fiverr or 99Designs.

But. Part of me remembers a past when Britain was brave and bold and forward-looking, at least in design terms. It happened long before I was born, but the Festival of Britain posters and style is something that has always been at the back of my mind when I think of the start - and promise - of  the New Elizabethan age.

And I make no excuses for linking to this for all design fans to revel in. Perfection.  

RETROWURST: National Pride June 2004

 

With the British Isles bursting out into a mass attack of Jubilee Jollity and Jubilee Jadedness, it seems particularly apt to drag this item out of the Retrowurst archives. The subject is about marketing on the basis of German-ness (I don’t really want to repeat the title as some algorithm might misconstrue it and have me kicked off Blogger as some hate-spewing, trolling Karen Boomer-Gammon or however such creatures are referred to these days).

Re-reading it, I winced a little at some of the choices of words, but was amused to see that I mentioned Boris Becker and his broom cupboard exploits which the press even today seem reluctant to forget. So, here we go, in a flourish of black, red and gold ...

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I was interested to read recently that, 20 years after Audi introduced their Vorsprung durch Technik claim to the unsuspecting British public, that Volkswagen plan to introduce their German slogan ‘Aus Liebe zum Automobil’ or ‘For the love of cars’ in the UK. It will be interesting to see how this claim fares for VW; will it be understood? Will it generate the same sort of positive brand associations and image improvement as Audi built with their German claim? Or will it fall flat on its face in the light of the current overdose of Love, Lovin’ it, Amour, Liebe and whatever other manifestations of lovey-doveyness are flooding the world of marketing and advertising at the moment. Because, when it comes to it, Boris Becker and his broom cupboard exploits aside, Germans are not really known for their prowess in matters love and romance. Audi really hit on one of the key German strengths with Vorsprung durch Technik (‘progress through Technology’). A lot of the British public were not too sure what it meant but it certainly sounded impressive. 

 

Of course, the Germans always have to be a little careful when playing on their national strengths abroad. I remember reading a rather alarming piece during the 1996 European Football Championship (I am sure no England supporter needs reminding of how that ended for the England team) of how the pharmaceutical and chemicals giant Bayer had advertised a fly spray product in Latin America with a line that translated as ‘Sudden death is a German speciality’. A somewhat unfortunate choice of headline, I feel. And that is a big problem for German marketers – because of the past, marketing any product, event or service on the basis of nationalism or national strengths inevitably lands one in rather deep water.

 

The problem is, of course, that the Nazis may not have been the master race, but they were certainly masters of propaganda or marketing, as it would be called today. Almost every time one looks for values, myths, archetypes or even fairy stories to support a German brand, we see that someone else got there first, probably in the 1930s. Want to use a stirring piece of Wagner as background for your brand’s TV spot? Forget it. How about a nice dynamic logo in red, black and white? No chance. What about an advertising campaign that associates the brand with mythical or historical characters, in the same way we might use the Knights of the Round Table in the UK? Err…not today, Siegfried. How about a spectacular TV spot for Lufthansa (as in British Airways) with lots of people waving flags and forming patterns? A bit too reminiscent of Nürnberg, I’m afraid. Is it any wonder that much German advertising shies away from the symbolic and emotional and concerns itself only with fact and product performance? Not only does the devil get the best tunes – in Germany, he has certainly spoilt a lot of good advertising and marketing ideas for anyone else.

 

The wariness of the German people in showing any kind of national pride is particularly apparent at the moment, during Euro 2004. While it may well all be over for the German football team tonight, the lead-up to Euro 2004 has been very low-key here- extraordinary when you think that, through luck, skill, or sheer determination, they were the runners up in the World Cup. From a marketing and sponsoring viewpoint you would hardly know that it is on. Apart from a few TV spots from an alcohol-free beer sponsoring the team, a few footballs and children’s football kit (choice of Portugal, Turkey, Italy or Germany) on special offer in Aldi and Burger King offering something called a King Kahn Burger , there is precious little going on. Contrast that with the St George flag hysteria in England where you can’t move for flags, shirts, tie-ins, sponsorships, promotions, events and all the rest.

 

One way that German brands, particularly in the food and drink categories, can capitalise on their authenticity and history without getting too bogged down in undesirable associations is by using their regional, rather than national provenance, which makes a lot of sense, given that Germany has only really existed for less than 150 years. Many products such as beers, sausages or cheese position themselves on the town or region from which they come. To some extent this can provide differentiation and positive association but there is also the danger of losing oneself in the standard, nostalgic-but-not-too-specific-as-to-when-it-was, rural idealised village worlds that many of these products employ in their advertising.

 

For technical and financial brands, such as Audi, Siemens, Lufthansa or Deutsche Bank, it is more difficult. Not only does it make sense for such brands to want a positioning for today and the future rather than harking back to the past but many of these brands really do have associations from the past that they would rather not dwell on – just think of the beginnings of Volkswagen, for example. Thus the most fruitful area is to take an accepted German strength such as technical expertise, engineering competence or financial acumen and exploit that. 

 

One area where going back to the past is not fraught with difficulty is the more recent past. There is a real wave of nostalgia here for former DDR brands and whole websites where these brands are discussed, bought and sold, such as www.ossiladen.de . Many brands from this time are being successfully revived and marketed with the sort of fervour of 70s revived brands in the UK.

 

We will have to see how the Volkswagen line ‘Aus Liebe zum Automobil’ will work. Perhaps it will be a step to adding some emotion to the cold, robotic image of German companies. After all, at least Germans do love their cars and Volkswagen has produced some of the most ‘lovable’ character cars of all time. Perhaps, if the Czechs really want to let Germany through tonight rather than Holland then we might even see a few German flags hanging out of Volkswagens as football fans drive over to Burger King to grab their King Kahn burgers.

 

 

Sue Imgrund 23^rd June 2004 

-------------------------------------------------------

Well, some of that was quite extraordinary. I had forgotten how little flag-waving there was here pre-2006 and the “Sommermärchen” that was the hosting of the World Cup. Everything seems to have come full circle again, though in recent years, within Germany and without, with more and more pressure on brands and companies to show some sensitivity to the less desirable (through today’s lens) aspects of their history. But I’ll leave a discussion of decolonisation for another time. Ot maybe not.

What is certainly true is that the local/regional positioning has boomed. This is helped immensely by the part that local plays in sustainability generally, and there have been some great examples of communication, and even new brands based on clever mash-ups of local/nostalgic plus global/hip, in a sort of LaBrassBanda style.

The Ossiladen is still going strong, but I’m not sure that Soviet-era nostalgia is quite the thing these days. Oh, and Aus Liebe zum Automobil disappeared in a puff of emissions scandal somewhere along the way.

And what happened on the evening of 23rd June 2004, a few hours after I wrote this piece? Well, Germany lost to Czech Republic and were kicked out of Euro 2004, so it was goodbye to all that.  

Two tribes?

 

I've mentioned the work of More in Common before - in Germany, for example, where we see what are thought to be the traditional "fault lines" of society - like East: West - aren't, really.

I'm often mildly irritated by the attitude of the London-centred UK ad community and how out of touch many people in agencies seem to be with the rest of the country. A problem we don't have to such an extent in Germany as the ad industry isn't so concentrated into one city - and advertising was never on a self-important pedestal in the way it was in the UK. As an aside, I remember thinking that I'd be considered a more interesting and acceptable dinner party guest here if I worked selling insurance.

I don't like to sing a report's praises until I have read it, but I've had a look at the executive summary of Britain's Choice (launched on Monday 26th) and it has certainly whetted my appetite for the full Monty, all 291 pages of it.

The sound-bite that I'm sure will hit most people first is what we sort of knew all along - that there's a group "Progressive Activists" who are around 5 times more likely to post political stuff on Twitter and other social media than any of the other 6 groups. So, if you're using a research method that relies on what "people" are saying on social media - particularly if the topic is political - then it's likely the research will be biased.

But that aside, there is plenty in the report to give me hope. The seven groups are described as the fragments in a kaleidoscope - they are drawn together to form patterns around issues where there is common ground. 79%, for example, are proud of the advancements the UK has made in equality between men and women.

Both "hate speech" and "political correctness" are seen to be problems by the majority.

And most want to see a Britain that is hard-working, environmentally friendly, compassionate and honest.

Hooray for that.

Meanwhile, the two tribes can go on bashing each other's filter bubbles over on Twitter to their hearts's content. 

In Flanders fields ...

When most people think about campaigns, they are usually short-term. Branded advertising campaigns, election campaigns, even military campaigns - they are all relatively short-lived compared to the granddaddy of all charity campaigns - the Royal British Legion's Poppy Appeal.

The Poppy Appeal had its roots not in the UK, but in France, and the author of the 1915 poem who inspired it all was a Canadian Medical Officer, Lieutenant John McCrae.

After the war, a French woman involved in fund-raising, Anna Guerin, had the idea of selling poppies made by widows and orphans of the conflict in remembrance of the fallen. The idea was adopted by the British Legion and the first "Poppy Day" held on November 11th in the UK.

The poppies have changed over the years a little in form, and the material from which they are made, and the meaning has shifted from the 1st WW to encompass military personnel in subsequent conflicts too. But the overall idea - and the symbol - has remained constant - unique, meaningful and relevant - for nearly 100 years.

There are questions, of course. Recently, many feel that the profusion of poppies at this time of year is over-the-top (sorry) - undignified, garish. The ceramic poppies at The Tower of London were spectacular, but maybe that should have be kept as a one-off, without later attempts for increasingly dramatic shows and installations. And it has all become politically charged. How predictable. Surely many of the brave men and women who died in conflict would turn in their graves if they could see some of the petty social media spats on the subject.

But all of that aside, kudos must be given for one of the longest-running campaigns ever.

Back in Germany, a different kind of campaign starts on November 11th: the beginning of Fasching or Karneval.

I am sure the Daily Mail could write a suitably barbed article on the subject.

Gordon(s) Bennett!

You can't beat a good G&T, and it has long been a tradition in our family to knock back one or two on Christmas Eve. It's always been Gordon's and Schweppes, mainly because, until a few years ago, that's all you could lay your hands on in rural Germany.

When the gin craze started, both here and back in Blighty, I felt a little smug, but also pleased that gin was becoming more available as an alternative to the ubiquitous Aperol Spritz. But as time went on, I wondered about Gordon's and how it would fare. The brand did seem to feel a bit staid and dusty in comparison to all the new pretenders to the throne down at the Gin Palace.

But while all those new pretenders are trying to outdo each other on authenticity and pedigree and  credentials, Gordon's have gone unashamedly for the mass market. It's a move that I am sure will rake in the sales short-term, but what will it do for the brand?

I tried Gordon's Premium Pink Distilled Gin  the other day and rather wished I hadn't. It tastes of sickly strawberries, a bit like what they call Gummibärchen here. It has absolutely nothing to do with what I know as Pink Gin, beloved of retired navy officers, Royal Air Force heroes and people from Somerset Maugham stories. That was made mixed with Angostura bitters.

But back to the sweet new abomination. It is promoted with a rather questionable nod to authenticity: Inspired by Gordon's original 1880 pink gin recipe.  That's on the bottle. On the website, however, it's slightly different: Inspired by an original Gordon's recipe from the 1880s. This makes it clear enough that this concoction has precious little to do with any original recipe for Pink Gin. Most of the "usual suspect" 21st century descriptors are used: "crafted" "balance" "blushing" "berries" "vibrant."

This stuff is undoubtably enjoyed by overgrown girls at Ladies' Day and the Gin Bar down at the Brexit Arms, and I am sure it will rake in some good short-term profits. I can't help thinking, though, that they might as well have put a unicorn on the packaging instead of the traditional wild boar and been done with it.

Call me an old fuddy-duddy, but I think Gordon's have sold out.

Cheers to Purpose!

Like Brexit, the debate on the subject of Purpose seems to be on an ever-loudening crescendo. Sticking the word "Purpose" into the headline of an article that's about something completely different is guaranteed clickbait for the marketing community, in the way that "digital" was a decade ago.

And, like Brexit, both sides - as this is what it has become - are capable of persuasive argument and rhetoric.

My own view is that, in many of these articles, the language is wrong. The use of the words "higher" and "beyond" and "above" suggests a judgement that purpose is noble and profit is dirty.
Whereas surely they should work symbiotically?

A brand does something positive for the individual user. This can be practical, cognitive, sensory, emotional, or some combination. Some used to call this the benefit.

And that brand - or business - does something positive on the collective level - for the family, community, society or the world. For many brands and companies, this was always so, but maybe not vocalised. Changes in the world, in society, and in technology mean that this collective positive contribution - purpose, if you like - is becoming an imperative, rather than a nice to have.

It doesn't have to be about the UN sustainable goals. It doesn't have to be a "cause." It doesn't even have to be totally exclusive to your brand or company, as long as you do it in your own distinct way. But I believe it does have to relate back to the product or service your brand offers, and what it does for the individual.

A good example, for me, is what the brand Carling have done in the UK. 3 pubs a day there close their doors for good, and with the high level of Beer Duty in the UK, that will continue or worsen.  A movement has started via Britain's Beer Alliance to celebrate the positive role that Britain's pubs play in individual lives and communities: Long Live the Local

As part of the movement, Carling have produced a music video with the band Slaves, who started in pubs, which looks at the role pubs - and beer - play in music and creativity as well as community. It's not high and mighty, yet reflects brand belief and values, moving from the individual to the community.

Mine's a pint, thanks.

Only Marmite can do this

Probably the only good thing about the whole Brexit circus is the creativity it has unleashed from comedians around the globe. I have advised friends here in Germany that the best way to understand Brexit is to look at the jokes, not the news.

I'm not a fan of brands hi-jacking current affairs stories, mainly because the attempts are often done in haste, aren't funny and seem opportunistic.

But for Marmite, I'll make an exception. This ad couldn't be more on-brand if it tried.

Like Brexit, Marmite is peculiarly British, not understood by foreigners and extraordinarily divisive.

And it gets my vote, every time.

This septic isle?

Thirty years ago, at the beginning of my planning career, I was working in the most famous agency in London on "the world's favourite airline." I don't think I need to name either.

Three decades on, that airline is celebrating its centenary (or at least the centenary of one of its predecessors). And, for the first time in six years, has created a brand campaign. Described as "a love letter to Britain" the ad shows scenes of BA employees getting ready for the centenary flight, as well as a cast of celebrities and everyday passengers travelling on the flight.

Nice as it is, I find it rather underwhelming. It's meant to show the creativity and pioneering spirit of Britain but there's nothing creative or pioneering about this ad. It's derivative of the Nike "Londoner" ad as well as any number of films that were put together for the 2012 Olympics (I expect Britain will continue to milk that one for ever, rather like the Battle of Britain or the 1966 World Cup). And where is the famous British humour? A no-show, apart from a weak joke about tea. What exactly is the idea behind this ad? It comes over rather like a safety video without the safety bits.

It's not clear whether this is an ad for Britain in general, or for the carrier. Is it meant to make people feel good about British Airways, or Britain?

I know I'd feel better about Britain if I had a clearer sign that despite all the Brexit crap, the spirit of innovation and creativity is alive and not just well, but kicking.

Like a commercial that will still be remembered in thirty years' time.

The most wonderful ad of the year

Together Forever, the commercial for Ancestry is my Ad of 2019. I've been rattling on this year rather a lot about political or cause-related advertising that doesn't really connect with the product, but here's a great example of a commercial that does.

Where shall I start? The idea is insightful, clever, topical and makes me want to go off and try the product by getting my DNA checked out. The end-line is one of the best I've heard for a long time: We may be leaving Europe, but Europe will never leave us.

Then there's the execution - super casting, use of music, all of which adding up to a film you want to watch again and again - and talk about.

The ad was created by Dan Morris and Charlene Chandrasekaran at Droga5, London. I gather, in the interests of international alignment, the account will be leaving to go to a new agency, but with an ad like this, I wonder if it'll also be a case of the old agency never really leaving the client.

Anglo-Hessisch

It's been official for a few weeks, but I didn't feel properly bona fide Beutsch or Gritish until I picked up my passport today. I am now proudly Anglo-Hessisch, along with goodness knows what else in my DNA.

Will I need to rename my blog "Additional Sausage Thrown In"?

Doesn't sound too catchy.

However, I am working on a new logo.

Hybrid

I've always been proud of being something of a mongrel as far as my DNA goes, but now I can officially call myself a hybrid, with dual nationality - British (my Heimat) and German (my adopted home).

I do notice that this mongrel business is getting more and more on-trend with people proudly presenting their pick 'n mix DNA credentials on social media. And products and brands are going for it too - there's a huge push in the world of whisky to re-elevate the blend as something special in its richness, for example in this ad from Chivas:



I'm not entirely sure what that says about single malts (or the people who drink them) but never mind.

The lady at the Standesamt told me I could be German in Germany and British in Britain. I don't know - I think the other way round is more fun. Or perhaps I can be best of both, wherever I am. Or a humourless fat slag who can't cook if I'm merely feeling spiteful and perverse.

Getting back to brands, it occurs to me that all-too-often, simplicity is confused with clarity. Simplicity in the sense of straightforwardness, obviousness, a sort of inoffensive homogeneity, without Ecken und Kanten, as we say in German.

A brand to me can have clarity or coherence, yet still be rich, have paradoxes and contradictions, many facets, yet you can perceive and appreciate its wholeness. It may well have a one-word equity, if you're into that, but that word itself may have many facets and nuances, and be brought to life in many contrasting moods and styles.

This quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald seems apt here: "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function."

Let's try out my ability to function with that Chivas.

Chost!

Or is that Preers!

Meanwhile, down at the Brexit Arms ...

A taste of things to come?

I noticed this piece of communication in a local town pub, here in the Home Counties. Note that this is one of those cheap-and-cheerful chain pubs, not some fancy-pants Gastro place (by the way, I can never think of Gastropubs without thinking of either Gastropods - not so bad if you're into Escargots - or Gastroenteritis. Not so good at all.)

In addition, there was a huge display of gins with as many flavours on offer as the Vape shop across the road. I'm guessing one reason that gin has become popularised is that it is so unashamedly British (if you forget the Dutch connection, but then again, didn't we have some Royalty from over there at some point?).

While the Gastropubs are carefully framing their British offering in "locally-produced, hand-farmed, pan-fried by hipster artisans, sustainability heaven" kind of terms, the cheapo pubs are blunt about it - see above. It doesn't actually say "don't waste yer hard-earned cash on that over-priced filthy foreign muck" but it might as well.

What next? Will Irn-Bru launch an Aperol alternative?

Will it be a return to "British Sherry" this Christmas?

Five build an awfully tough-as-old-boots brand

Nothing says childhood summer to me stronger than the works of Enid Blyton, and specifically, The Famous Five. Even if they didn't start off being famous, over 75 years ago, they certainly are now. I'm not a huge fan of calling fictional characters (or authors for that matter) a "brand" - I don't know why, but the reduction of a human being (albeit a fictional one) to the level of a packet of washing powder seems demeaning. But bear with me - this is more about what brands can learn from this frightfully long-lived five-some.

The original book, Five on a Treasure Island, was published in 1942, and others in the series soon followed, accompanied by games, birthday cards, stationary and, of course, jigsaws.

(c/o www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk)

The books remain in print, and are still extremely popular, although the cover designs and illustrations have changed over the years. From the print medium, it was inevitable that the Famous 5's exploits would soon transfer onto film, and so it was, with the first feature film appearing in the 1950s, and TV series running in the 1970s and 1990s, complete with the associated annuals:

In marketing, we often talk about a brand becoming part of the culture, and a sure sign of this happening is when the jokes, parodies and T-shirts become part of the social fabric. Who, that was young in the 80s, will ever forget the Comic Strip's Five Go Mad in Dorset?

As brands get long-in-the-tooth, their managers begin to fret: are we keeping up to date? Are we still appealing to today's young generation? Is it enough to change the shorts and long socks of the original illustrations to hoodies and sweat-pants? The text of the books has been subject to a little bit of correction, some of it practical (decimal coinage) and some of it political (tweaking attitudes that are not acceptable today). 

As the Famous Five moved into the digital age, a new spin-off cartoon series was created, featuring the 5's offspring, right up-to-date with all the latest technology:

The parodies continue, and anyone that has been in a UK bookshop in the last year or so can't have failed to notice this and the others in the series:

Some brands get terribly huffy about parody and spoof. I don't know if there were any legal battles surrounding Brexit Island and Co. but as an outsider, it's easy to see how this bit of affectionate fun hardly damages the "brand" - rather, it reinforces it. I wouldn't be at all surprised if sales of the original books have taken off again since these take-offs hit the shelves.

Which all brings us nearly up to date. Where are the Famous 5 off for their next adventure? Well, in marketing terms they're doing a bit of a co-operation. Or is it a celebrity endorsement?

Mine's a meat paste sandwich with lashings of ginger beer.