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Class over: The result

The class for which this blog was created has come to an end, but the blog will live on. It has now been integrated into my website as a research area, and I will continue to post periodically.

The final exam for this class is now also available for reading:

Culture, Consumption and Marketing: Final Exam

The objective was to summarize and integrate the themes developed in the class, while incorporating class concepts and insights from the assigned readings (which are listed in the sidebar). As an interesting side note, the paper was very well received by Prof. Sherry, and even led to discussions on possible avenues for doctoral work. Before I knew it, I was put in touch with Dr Linda Price, from the University of Arizona, and was already being offered an open slot for the fall of 2006. Though I did decide to pass on the offer, it did however make it apparent that a great deal of research is possible in this field, research that will prove to be especially useful as we move into the much-touted "Web 2.0" era.

And that, more than anything else, is the reason this blog will live on. Hopefully, I'll be able to observe the evolution of marketplace behaviour even as I'm a willing participant.

The question of culture

An interesting thought came to me during yesterday's class, and I'd like to explore it in more depth. The concept of "transubstantiation of goods" introduced by Brooks in Paradise Drive presents us with the disquieting notion that our spiritual yearnings are consummated through our various acts of consumption. I find this disquieting because it paints the picture that we essentially define ourselves by our material strivings (which is probably more or less accurate, albeit a little cynical).

In any case, there is an undeniable element of truth in this vision, and to the extent that our social class is a strong indicator of the material goods we are likely to seek out, we have to look at what our material possessions say about us.

An interesting notion that was introduced in class that I had not yet heard is "masstige", a notion that product designers would refer to as the "democratization of design". A great example of this is the line of housewares designed for Target by architect Michael Graves. The top left image is a kettle Graves designed for the mass retailer, while the image on the bottom right is a kettle he designed as part of a series of now iconic products for famed Italian firm Alessi. I never really thought of this trend as something that could be called "masstige". By and large, any industry predicated on luxury will, inevitably it seems, find its way down to the masses, albeit in a bastardized form.

Another rant on genuine vs. contrived!

It's funny, but sometimes I catch myself examining my own self from what seems, for a fraction of a second, an objective position. It always astounds me, in those circumstances, the number of things we take for granted that are patently absurd.

I was watching television (Seinfeld, I confess) and during the commercial break, when a woman openly thanked Turbo Tax for helping her do her taxes so easily, I caught myself remembering Twitchell's words about humans needing to personalize their relationships with products and services. "Turbo Tax", in this commercial, was no longer just a piece of software, it was "an accountant in a box", someone with whom a user could have a "relationship" and, evidently, openly thank on television.

When I wrote of the contrived nature of trying to create a storyline to which consumers will identify, I think what I'm getting at in essence is that, while certain items in our world evolved and grew to be culturally significant (think of the VW Beetle or Slinky), they weren't devised with an elaborate narrative meant to create a bond with consumers. Rather, it's my impression that the narrative grew "organically," successively layered by generations of consumers. As such, the narrative is genuine, born of a longstanding relationship with users.

The question I am now left to ask myself is, Are there any examples of instances where a product narrative was created piecemeal, and the product in question went on to become a cultural success? The reason this is interesting to me is that I deem myself impervious to those contrived attempts to bond with me through the use of a plastic narrative, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way. If I can find one such example of a product with which I personally bonded, I'll have proven that I'm maybe not as immune as I think I am.

I'm sure there are examples, but I'll have to think about it. More later.

Genuine or contrived?

I had an interesting conversation last night, the other side of which may yet make it onto one of the class members' board. In broad terms, it was about the seminal moments that affect entire generations. What made it interesting was that it was more specifically about events in the world of music that affected entire generations. Without going into the specifics of that particular conversation, the interesting element that came out of it was that it quickly turned into a questioning into what actually makes a watershed event. Why is it that certain events manage to surpass the ephemeral and have repercussions that resonate beyond the boundaries of the event's purview?

To a large extent, my contention is that there is a not-too-subtle difference between the genuine and the contrived, especially in music. We are awash in commercial jingles where sugary lyrics rhapsodize on the virtues of floor wax. We have come to expect the expectable, trained as we are in the absurd plasticity of commercial messaging. But when an artist surfaces with a message that is born of something true, resonant and, well, genuine, we have retained the ability to detect it. The best example of this came in September 1991, with the release of Nirvana's "Nevermind". Amid a placid scene of increasingly polished rock albums came this bolt from the blue, and music in the 90s was irrevocably changed.

Whether one is a fan of this music or not is beside the point. In point of fact, I was not a fan from the onset. But it is undeniable that this album formed the basis for a cathartic sea change in music, one whose effects are still felt today.

I suppose the point of this story is that the end point of this reflection comes in the realization that, as with much human understanding, a bottom up approach is far more compelling and natural than a top down. "Nevermind" hit a nerve that took root in a sort of public non-consciousness; it played to a latent need that had not yet been articulated. In contrast, many manufactured artists are handed down to the masses from on high: polished, concocted and pre-packaged, ready for consumption. And while some work just by virtue of good market research, they nevertheless have a plastic, contrived feel. And their legacy is short-lived, if there is any at all.

There is more to this, but I'll get to it at a later time.

The power of stories

Another class I'm taking deals with the creation of social capital, and though this is a difficult concept to define, it mostly comes down to the quality and nature of certain relationships which allow groups of individuals to surpass their combined abilities. One of the most potent ways to form the requisite bonds should come as no surprise to any student of social psychology. Indeed, stories, it is my contention, have the power to bond humans in a very pervasive way.

This observation is useful here as it sheds light on a memory that came to me during class. I found information on this site online about a series of commercials that were aired in the 1990s for Taster's Choice instant coffee. The commercials revolved around the continuing and evolving storyline between a man and a woman with a shared taste for the instant coffee. If memory serves, the woman was originally introduced to the man as he visited her to borrow some coffee, and an initial spark of attraction was fanned over the course of this evolving mini-saga.

The point of this observation is that, in 30-second installments, this particular storyline consumed (mostly) women everywhere, and became the source of a tremendous amount of water cooler talk. Much like the puzzling ad we were shown in class of the young man embracing the older woman in the middle of a dinner party, this series of commercials drew its massive popularity from nothing more than a compelling storyline. A product as prosaic as instant coffee grounds was infused with associations drawn from a mysterious and sophisticated relationship between the two attractive protagonists, and the result was a cultural hit.

What's even more impressive is that I remember it (though, I must confess, I originally thought it was Maxwell House!).

Knowledge of self? In this world?

This discussion on fences has broader ramifications. In a world where fences keep us apart from one another, and from other ideas, how much do we turn inwards and develop our sense of self? The reason I bring it up is simple: I want to ask a question of anyone who may stumble across this post. These "fences" exist everywhere, in all our interactions and relationships, and it isn't limited to the material world. Most tellingly, it is appallingly clear that much more mental energy is spent on our material world than on knowledge of self. A great example is religion.

How much of religion do we actually understand? By and large, most people understand and abide by the "brand" of whatever religion they claim to follow (the Message, Jesus, Mohammed, the Bible, Koran, Talmud, etc.). Think about this seriously: can most people really lay claim to having really thought through the implications of what it means to accept that there is a god? Further, that the scriptures are being read and interpreted in as many ways as there are fractious groups doing the reading should be telling of something. But what?

I'm going to try to explore this topic further: the distinction between the inner and outer worlds of our existence, and the extent to which the noise from one tends to drown out the other. Consumption, after all, could be described as a balm for an ill that isn't fully understood. What would a world look like in which people felt supremely confident and self-assured? Would it be so easy in such a world to lay fences?

Fences

Recently read on Naomi Klein's website (nologo.org):

"Fences have always been a part of capitalism, the only way to protect property from would-be bandits, but the double standards propping up these fences have, of late, become increasingly blatant."

The "fences" wo which she is referring are metaphorical of course. Klein rose to prominence as the author of No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies, a scathing critique of a corporate world intent on reducing consumers to mindless, uncritical automatons. The "fences" concept forms the basis of her description of the forces that increasingly seek to separate consumers from the world in which they inhabit. What started as a tract against the unspoken evils of a globalized marketplace formed the basis for a broader discussion on what it means to live in such a world.

Here's an interesting, albeit not-so-novel idea to discuss: the issue of the disappearance of public spaces. How does the modern north american define a public space? We all know how Starbucks would have us conceive of this utopia, but where do we, as citizens, meet to discuss ideas? Ancient Athenians had the agora, and the role this public meeting space had in the birth of democracy has been amply written about. Fast forward to modern times, and the closest thing we have to the Athenian agora is Speakers' Corner in London's Hyde Park. This area is well-known as a place where ideas of every kind were given a public tribune (the "soapbox"), though the correct way to interpret this is to see it as the exception to the rule: it was one of the few places where free speech was not expressly forbidden. All other public spaces has provisions against free speech.

I wonder, where are our modern-day public spaces? Naomi Klein makes the argument that the closest modern approximation is the mall. Let's pause and think about what that means. What is the definition of free speech in an edifice that was built by private hands, and which is rented out to corporations with independent agendas? Who will decide if certain ideas should or shouldn't be discussed freely in a mall? And if the mall is not where we will meet as citizens, where will we go? Where is that elusive area outside the fence where we can be free from influence?

Wal-Mart is the nation's largest music retailer. It wields enormous power over publishers of music, movies and print media. Such is their power that they, in effect, have the clout to dictate what will and will not get published. If a music producer must decide where to allocate limited funds between two aspiring bands, the smart money is that the band which most caters to Wal-Mart's corporate standards will end up on the store shelves, regardless of talent. Wal-Mart has, in effect, decided for us what we will and will not like. Corporate censorship. Again, how do we get rid of those fences?

A lot of hope has been laid on the internet as being the place where these fences will be eliminated. I hope that's true. Certainly, the first generation of web development (the tech bubble) has seen its share of corporations rushing in to secure real estate and to draw up fences around their turf. What will characterize the second wave of development?

This blog is my own personal soapbox, and for that I'm grateful. But I'm not in a park where others can hear me. In fact, the bar at the top of this page will serve to remind every visitor that this space is not really mine, nor is it "public" in the truest sense of the word. It only exists at the pleasure of my benefactor, Blogger.

I often wonder what the online world will look like when/if it undergoes the democratization we have all been waiting for. Is this as good as it gets?