// Blogs
As part of an ongoing outbound-marketing initiative, I serialized oblique blog content to highlight understanding of what it takes to have staying power as a brand.
My Personal Relationships (with Brands): Part I
I gave up on cable years ago, so advertisers have lost more than a few beachheads in the battle for my attention and dollars. God love ‘um; they still try. At the local movie theater is where they make their stand with me these days.
Frankly, I welcome the challenge. I hunker down and assume the proper disposition. All cross-armed and scowling, I wait for the barrage.
“Beh,” I mutter as the ads roll, and I scan the crowd. “What soft-headed groupie is this crap meant for?”
All the classic fizz, the softer cookies, the cooler ride.
“Not gonna get me,” I scoff. “I’m brand-proof.”
But am I? With the holidays coming, it seemed like a good opportunity to take stock of my cupboards, my closet, my refrigerator, and my buying habits to answer the question that was really gnawing me: Am I one of those soft-headed schmucks? (Spoiler Alert: Yes, I’m a card-carrying member of Team Schmuck. Congrats, Brands, Advertisers, and Marketing folks: You win.)
So this blog - and a few follow-up entries - are dedicated to all the folks on either side of the schmuck equation. Here are the brands that have snared me, how they did it, and why I keep coming back for more. Take notes. Turns out I’m quite an easy mark…
Nerf: The humble Nerf ball was born the same year I was, so it was well on its way by the time my 12th birthday rolled around. As a bookish, cartoon-addicted, D&D-playing kid, I saw the instant appeal of Nerf: manageable physical risk and exertion, low-skill threshold. Sold. I could feel like a champ slam-dunking the max height of my closet door and likely outplay the roster of my nerdy friends. Nerf let me and my buddies come as close to athletes as we’d ever get. And the geek affinity grew with us, expanding that loyalty to footballs, Super Soakers, foam dart guns, foam disc guns, right down the line.
Today, my son has a Nerf arsenal that really should be registered as an annex of the local National Guard armory. Every ounce of plastic and foam was purchased with my shiny pennies. The pegboard on his wall that displays the weapons was built by my hands. It’s become a centerpiece of our relationship – a shared experience that we look forward to, plan for, and remember. My son knows I love and adore him; Nerf is one tangible way he’s certain I do.
Lesson: Address the needs of bookish kids (or whatever your niche is) and build on it, staying true to your core competencies and offerings. Nerds beget nerds who share their nerd ways and spend their nerd dollars.
My Personal Relationships (with Brands): Part II
This is the second installment of my brand-loyalty review, digging deep into the products that have nabbed me, how they pulled it off, and why I’m still a faithful consumer. Part I kicked off with Nerf (link), and today we look at a sneaker company you might know.
Nike: To me, the 80s are it - MTV, hacky sack, hair gel, Max Headroom, Miami Vice, Cheers, The A-Team, Magnum PI, M*A*S*H, and clothes – oh, the glorious clothes. Short of my drawers and socks (which mom and dad likely bought from Bradlees or Montgomery Ward), I sported Chess King. They don’t rate my brand list because…
a) I only wore their gear four short years in high school.
b) Mom and dad subsidized at least 68% of my purchases.
c) They went belly up.
But my Chess King outfits, despite all their skinny-tie, pocket/parachute-pants, padded-shoulder, Cosby-sweater glory, were simply the supporting cast to what was my 80’s starring attire: my Nikes. That was THE shoe for me. Still is. And where did the swoop hook me? Remember: I’m a Nerf athlete, so it wasn’t Michael Jordan or Spike Lee. I didn’t give a tinker’s dam for sports heroes, and the heavy artillery Madison Avenue lobbed my way with commercials and product endorsements bounced off my nerd armor like daffodils.
For me, the fixation with Nike started in August of 1985. It was likely a Saturday night. I can’t remember who my date was or if a post-flick parking session was in the cards, but I do remember the music, the manufactured nostalgia, and the very first time I met my new hero - Marty McFly.
Here was someone worth talking about. He rocked the axe, hung with an oddball scientist, roamed as he pleased, had a big-haired hottie, weathered high school, wrestled with self-doubt, and had big dreams. He was part what I was and part what I aspired to be, and Zemeckis put me in Marty’s shoes from the opening sequence on.
And just the shoes… I loved the character, and I saw all the films that followed. But I didn’t start wearing a down vest, purple Calvin Klein underwear, or even spaghetti suspenders. The Sunday after the show, I went out and bought my first pair of Nikes – leather low tops with a red swoop.
It was the sole missing piece from my self-styled wardrobe. Reeboks were the thing, but they weren’t my thing. They were too moonboot and Jazzercise for my taste. But Nikes? Oh yeah… It was a revelation that came as clear as a logic statement. Marty McFly wears Nike… I am Marty McFly… Therefore, I wear Nike.
I’ve flirted with other sneaker brands, but Nike is still my mainstay, the kicks I lace up when it matters… and when I feel like time traveling back to the 80s.
Lesson: Being a part of something bigger is sometimes better than being a thing unto itself. Nike shared the stage with Toyota, DeLorean, Gibson, Pepsi, and a boatload of other brands. But the closer you get to the hero, the closer you get to the audience…and the consumer.
My Personal Relationships (with Brands): Part III
It’s that time again – another installment in the ongoing serial of the brands that have found a place in my cupboards if not my heart. Part I focused on Nerf (link), and installment II looked at Nike (link). Today, we’re staying clear of “N” brands for variety sake and hitting the Ds – The Big D to be precise.
Disney: For most of us, brand recognition of and affinity for Disney is likely planted in utero. It’s one of those truly ubiquitous things. Whether great, mediocre, or just god awful, the dishes that Disney chefs keep whipping up in quantity provide a steady diet… and lots of in-between-meal-snack opportunities. For me, my first taste was with storybooks.
Long before I ever watched what would become Disney Classics (no VCRs, DVDs, etc. way back when), I was seeing and hearing them read from beautifully illustrated boxed sets. These were fables from the distant past – stories told for hundreds of years. But my Cinderella, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, and Bambi were very different from what people had known prior to October 16 of 1923 when Walt and Roy set up shop in Burbank.
The characters in my books were cast in Disney’s image. They didn’t belong to Hans Christian Anderson, Mary Travers, Felix Salten, or even Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm. I had no idea who these people were and wouldn’t until I was in my teens… some 15 years and dozens of films, toys, and books later. To me, it all came from one place and was ascribed to two words in gold leaf and unmistakable script: Walt Disney.
How did they win me? By being everything and everywhere… and by being truly great at least three quarters of the time. The Disney universe has grown with my family, engulfing, creating, or rebranding just about everything we love entertainment-wise. It might seem a bit spooky or homogenous at times, but there’s comfort in knowing what you’re going to get – a steady diet: sometimes sugary fluff, others a nourishing meal, but always a full belly.
Lesson: You don’t have to be the best every single time. Just be there all the time.
My Personal Relationships (with Brands): Part IV
So, this is it – Part IV of IV. If you haven’t been following the series, this is the final installment of my brand-loyalty review as I dig deep into the products that have hooked me, how they pulled it off, and why I’m still a faithful consumer.
Nerf, Nike, and Disney had the spotlight in past entries, but today is reserved for a mild-mannered brand… certainly not a player by the same standards as the Goliaths in Parts I-III. However, my loyalty runs just as deep for this product.
Teddie: I eat a lot of food; therefore, I need to buy a lot of food - infinitely more than Nerf guns, Nikes, or Disney merch or trips. Not to brag, but I’ve been eating professionally for many years now, so it would stand to reason that I have a laundry list of tasty brand favorites. Nope. Just one. I have to say that again because it honestly shocks me. One.
Twice I scanned the cupboards, freezer, and fridge before writing this entry, and there wasn’t even a spot for honorable mention. When it comes to food, I guess I’m easy…a real cheap date. White label? Sure. Premium brand? Why not. Hop in the carriage. It’ll all make its way down my gullet with equal ease and appreciation. Food is fuel, and this engine can run on regular or high octane. Which is not to say I’m a junk-food junkie. I actually eat well, but I’m not, by most standards, a fussy eater. However, my finicky meter spikes into the red when peanut butter is involved. At least it does these days.
I was weaned on Skippy, Jiff, and Peter Pan in equal measure. I’d consumed a battalion’s rationing of PB&J and PB&F sammies by the time I cleared high school. Two slice, double decker, triple decker, and even the towering quad - peanut butter has been my go-to food for as long as I can remember. “Poor man’s protein,” someone once told me, and that was and is just fine by me. I can find an excuse to put PB on just about anything.
The first time I learned about natural peanut butter was when Star Wars: A New Hope was at the drive-in. The local A&P in Littleton had a card table set out on an end-cap. It was draped with a red-and-white checkered vinyl tablecloth, and the aproned clerk offered up free samples of a grainy looking blob of peanut butter (So, she claimed.) on Saltines.
It was food – free food – and my stomach and brain wrestled.
Stomach: “Food. Eat.”
Brain: “Dog crap. Keep moving.”
I was seven; stomach beats brain just as sure as rock beats scissors.
I filched a freebie when the clerk stooped to snag another sleeve of crackers. Ducking around the corner of the aisle, I stuffed the sample in my mouth. One half chew was all I managed before my taste buds sounded the alarm: EJECT! EJECT! It was god-awful. No silky smoothness. No sugary goodness. Just vaguely peanut-butter flavored chunks and lumps suspended in goo. It had to go, and go it did. (The clerk who faced the canned-veggie section later that day would find a half-chewed treat in a napkin behind the creamed corn.)
When I caught up with my grandmother at the checkout counter, she plucked a jar from the grocery cart.
“My mum used to buy this,” she said, turning it so I could see the green label and cartoon bear. “Pop loved it. Never could stand it myself. But I liked the picture.”
She handed the jar to the cashier, and JOAN: HERE TO HELP! keyed in the purchase and passed it down the chute… to where two other jars of Teddie already waited.
“On sale, too,” Gram added. “Should keep you through the summer.”
And so began my loyalty to Teddie brand peanut butter.
Of course, my tastes evolved, and I grew to love Teddie. To me, everything else tastes like chemicals with a hint of cancer.
But I’d likely still be eating Peter Pan if Teddie hadn’t grafted itself into my family tree in the 30s – as something my great-grandfather liked… that created a fond association for my grandmother… that sparked a memory from a sampling table… that filled my stomach every damn day in the summer of ‘77… that became my new-norm for peanut-butter taste… that drove my mom’s buying habits… and that finds itself the only consistent brand that sits in my cupboard today.
Lesson: Inertia isn’t just a law of Newtonian physics; brands in motion stay in motion unless acted upon by another brand. Sometimes you choose the brand; sometimes it’s foisted on you. Brand loyalty, like many things, can skip a generation, but that just makes the push to connect with primary purchasers that much more important.