I am and will likely always be a die-hard sentimentalist. I still own many of the books of my childhood, the first sports medal I won in 4th grade (for the three-legged race), an old, empty Band-Aid tin and the business card a dear man hand-scribbled his home phone number on when we first met.
This same man often bemusingly accuses me of hero-worship. Somehow I attribute this trait to my sentimentalism, as I believe that I collect and admire images, artifacts and memorabilia from the defining moments in my life; ideas and experiences that provoke and move me and, well, things I just want near me as amulets of inspiration. He is mildly perplexed at my curious intrigue of popular culture and its inherent and inaccurate hierarchies.
I have been analyzing this seamy worship of mine, seeking to understand its origin in my psyche. I remember anxiously awaiting my favorite Friday night television shows as my infatuation flitted from David Cassidy in The Partridge Family to Lee Majors in The Six Million Dollar Man. Digging deeper, I remember (only once) kissing the television when Mr. Rogers came on (I was seven). I remember being obsessed with Marcia Brady and Olivia Newton-John and NY Ranger Hall of Famer Eddie Giacomen and the NHL mascot Peter Puck. But I didn’t know and couldn’t seem to uncover why my mind constructed this worship as it did. What did I admire most? What was I trying to appropriate? While I appreciated what these performers or artists or entertainers might stand for—or might bring to me via my experience of them, I realized that it was what I was bringing to the idea of them that was important to understand. I realized that I bestow all sorts of magical and unrealistic fantasies and expectations on these personalities. I am still not sure why—it seems that as a culture we are held captive by our comparisons to others, and many of the people we admire or despise and the brands we collect or cringe from not only signify our beliefs but have come to define them.
Still not satisfied with the results of my inner search, I put the whole exercise on pause, content with the knowledge that this silly sentimental worship—this objectification of fantasy and bestowal of “happiness always” and perfection—was neither realistic nor honorable; the origin of which continued to seem slightly out of reach.
Until last Tuesday. Miserably saddled with a cold that knocked me out, I decided, as I planned my exit strategy from the world, to go to the market and purchase the ingredients for my grandmother’s chicken soup. I would cook up a big pot, and I could live on it for days, if need be. I stumbled into my local Gristede’s and unconsciously tossed all the necessary soup accoutrement—crisp, leafy parsley, bumpy turnips, pearl barley—into my cart. Then I had what seemed to be an epiphany (please note: I was running a fever)—I would treat myself to a bubble bath! Sniffling and out of breath, I bounded over to the personal products aisle. And then in one powerful, provocative and nearly painful Proustian moment, it all came back to me. My first love. My first experience with sentimental objectification. My first experience with hero-worship. My first freefall into the phenomenal world of imagination and fantasy. I saw him again as I saw him for the first time—the one that started it all: Mr. Bubble.
As far back as I can remember, Mr. Bubble was “happiness always.” Before my daily encounter with him I felt unseemly, afterwards I was bright and shiny. Bathtime before bedtime allowed me to slide into rosy, joyful dreamland. The experience of Mr. Bubble was always exactly what I anticipated. Mr. Bubble was funny and cute. He made me laugh. Way before Mr. Rogers, way before Barbie, way before Levi’s and Lacoste, Mr. Bubble was my first love, my first celebrity and my first brand.
***
Decades before we were entertained and titillated by Madonna and Cher, characters like Elmer and Elsie delighted us. Long before we were graced with Tiger Woods and Michael Jordan, folk named Dunkie and Rastus thrilled us.
We all know Madonna and Tiger Woods; they are celebrities, entertainers, athletes and brands of the second half of the 20th century. But Rastus and Dunkie and Elsie were first class celebrities of the first half. Let me re-introduce you to Dunkie the Donut and Elsie the Cow—characters created by graphic designers to entertain us, distract us, and sell products, but also were developed to try and make us feel better about who we were and the world that we lived in.
Historically, building a brand was rather simple. A logo was a straightforward guarantee of quality and consistency, or it was a signal that a product was something new. For that, consumers were, quite rationally, prepared to pay a premium. It was actually the makers of patent medicine that pioneered the use of packaged, labeled goods in the 1800’s. After the civil war, wounded men returned to their homes in droves and bottled patent medicine was the only type of aid available. As advertising was then unregulated, many of the patented medications carried fraudulent or trumped up claims. This resulted in the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906, the first federal law to protect the health of the public and the first to control (and try and maintain) truth in advertising. If you think about it, this law gave brands the first piece of consumer protection.
As manufacturers needed something to entice a newly educated public with more than truthful claims (it will make you thin! it will make you rich! no longer worked), manufacturers magically transformed into marketers. According to the book, Meet Mr. Product written by Warren Dotz and Masud Husain (Chronicle Books), “As manufacturers became aware that their containers and products needed to be both distinctive and readily identifiable, names and designs evolved out of a commonly recognized symbols and everyday figures. Before advertising and consumer psychology developed into fields of their own, almost 75 years later, these early trademarks were usually created by someone at the manufacturing company (!) trying to encapsulate their product in what seemed to be an appropriate symbol. Most of the earliest advertising characters—like the Arm and Hammer symbol of the flexing bicep, the John Deere Company’s leaping deer and the Durham Tobacco bull—were less characters in the modern sense than very simple trademarks designed to indicate the maker of a product. As they were initially competing against unlabeled and non-trademarked bulk merchandise, these symbols needed to simply distinguish themselves by being decorative, recognizable, and culturally popular.”
The mythology quickly grew as marketers realized that increased “backstory”—and the subsequent merchandising that followed, would sell more product and create more loyalty, allegiance and “relationships” between customer and product. This was simply emotional branding in its infancy. Everyday folk began to wonder what the Morton Salt girl was “really” like. Men called General Mills to propose to Betty Crocker. McCall’s magazine created a Betsy McCall paper doll in the pages of the magazine and brought a three-dimensional doll into toy stores. And lest you think that only brand sellouts were involved in creating these mythologies, please note that Paul Rand created the character for Coronet Brandy, Vernon Grant created many of the characters for Kellogg’s, A.M. Cassandre created the character for Dubonnet, William Steig for Delco and Raymond Savignac birthed the buoyant little BIC boy.
Last week, in a joint effort, Yahoo! and USA Today published the results of a survey asking America to vote for their favorite brand character. Those results are here. In addition, E. Tage Larsen wrote a wonderful piece on the evolution of the Brawny man and brand iconography here. Finally, I leave you with my personal (and sentimentally chosen) A-Z homage to my favorite brand icons. My one criteria for these choices was that the characters had to have real names. No Pillsbury Dough Boy or Morton Salt Girl. Links (where are I could find them) are provided. Sadly, this type of graphic art seems to be disappearing in favor of fluorescent celebrities and mega-branded lifestyles. No longer do we imagine what Betsy McCall might be like “in real life,” or what Elsie and Elmer are doing behind closed doors (they were married, for goodness sake!). We now have in-your-face play-by-play of the wedding night of our latest kewpie dolls provided in the pages of our cultural tomes and the repetitive loop of reality television shows.
But I hold out hope for what I believe is timeless—a desire to be surrounded by the people and the pets and the artifacts that we love, and the endearing characters that give us the canvas to play and imagine. And I can rest assured, knowing that no matter how complicated life can get, there is always a box of Mr. Bubble that will make me smile.
My Sentimental Journey, from A-Z
A
Aunt Jemima
c. 1946
now owned by Quaker Oats
Al Luminum
c. 1960
Kaiser Aluminum
B
Betty Crocker
Betty Crocker
1921
General Mills
Bibendum, “Bib” for short
1898
More widely known as the Michelin Man
Michelin
C
Charlie, The Tuna
1974
Star-Kist Tuna
now owned by Del Monte
D
Dinty Moore
1973
Hormel beef stew
Hormel Foods
Dunkie
1956
Dunkin’ Donuts shops
now owned by Allied DOmecq
E
Elsie the Cow
c. 1936
Borden
(married to Elmer, see more below)
Elmer
c. 1941
Elmer’s Glue
Borden
(married to Elsie the Cow)
F
Fetch
c. 1964
Milk-Bone dog biscuits
Nabisco (now owned by Kraft)
G
Green Giant, also known as Jolly
1947
Pillsbury (now owned by General Mills)
H
Hi-Cecil
1968
Hi-C juice
Minute Maid (now owed by Coca-Cola)
Mr. Happy Foot
1954
McGregor Healthsocks hosiery
I
Insta
1955
Burger King (to signify “instant” with their drive-through)
J
Joe-Blo
1981
Joe-Blo bubble gum
K
King Ding Dong
Hostess (now owned by Interstate Baking—currently in Chapter 11)
L
Long John Silver
c. 1970
Long John Silver seafood restaurants
M
Mr. Bubble
1966
Bubble Bath
N
N-R-G Kid 1936
(energy kid, get it?)
Baby Ruth Candy
O
Oscar
1962
Oscar Meyer (now owned by Kraft)
P
Psyche the White Rock Girl
1894
White Rock
Peppy
c. 1965
Wise Potato Chips
Q
Quaker Man (Larry)
1920
Quaker Oats Company (now owned by Pepsi)
Quake and Quisp
1965
Quake and Quisp cereal
Quaker Oats Company (now owned by Pepsi)
R
Rastus
1954
Cream of Wheat Cereal
Nabisco (now owned by Kraft)
Ronald McDonald
c. 1966
McDonald’s restaurants
S
Snap! Crackle! And Pop!
1933
Rice Crispies
Kellogg’s
T
Tony the Tiger
1953
Frosted Flakes cereal
Kellogg’s
Toucan Sam
1963
Fruit Loops cereal
Kellogg’s
Tropic-Ana
c. 1970
Tropicana (now owned by Pepsi)
V
Vicky Victory
c. 1944
Victory Hairpins
W
Mr. Wiggle
1966
Jell-O brand gelatin
Kraft Foods
Wendy
c. 1980
Wendy’s Fast Food restaurant
Y
Yipes-Stripes Family
1965
Beech-Nut gum
Z
Mr. Zip
1968
USPS
Post Script: For those that might have noticed, there is no “U” character, and no “X” character. I could not find any brand characters with names that started with those letters. If any readers know of any, please send them my way.
What a great post, Debbie. There is something very nostalgic about that style of character advertising. It seems both innocent and naive. I'm not all that versed with products of today, but I'm trying to think if there are new products with these kinds of characters attached to them. (Probably for kids?)
I'm also trying to think of something which might be distinctly Canadian to serve up. I'll let you know if I do.
I never thought of the (unfortunate) connection between Elmer and glue before (ahem ...). I was also fascinated with Psyche the White Rock Girl: especially how she grew 4 inches and lost 22 pounds. I suppose it did take her 76 years, so there's hope for me yet.
Somewhere I have seen a similar transformation of Aunt Jemima. Seeing how some of these characters have evolved over time is always an interesting indicator of fashion and cultural politics.
On Sep.29.2004 at 05:59 PM