Clockwise from left: Studded tyres forbidden. Handicraft. Farm shop. Commercial area.

So, I was flicking through a magazine from the Swedish Transport Administration, as you do, and this little notice struck me. New traffic signs, and an image of 2010 all in one. Out of four signs: one brought on by environmental concerns, one telling you where you can shop stuff generally – and not less than two drawing on the craze for craft authenticity.

Interesting for future anthropologists as this collection of signs might prove to be for its subject matter, it’s also a piece of information design. And – a sign saying Farm shop showing a sign saying Farm shop? My first thought was obviously Is this the very best you can do, Swedish Transport Administration? But then I got a little more philosophical about it, and now I’m quite sure it’s not lazy, but a covert critique of modern society. At the Swedish Transport Administration, they’ve read their Bourdieu and their Baudrillard (frankly, with a degree in Cultural Studies, where do you expect to end up?), and they’ve been talking among themselves about how they think buying your food at farm shops is as much about cultural capital as better tasting, more sustainably produced cucumbers. “Really”, they said to each other, “it all evolves around the farm shop as a sign, a symbol, for the educated middle class – the actual act of shopping is subordinated. Let’s make a statement, or actually more like a piece of conceptual art, about this.” And that’s how the Sign of Signs was born.

Similarly, that’s why the craftsman doesn’t actually do any actual hands-on crafting, but is just meekly pointing to something which he has presumably done (or is it an anvil?). “With this gesture”, the STA people agreed, “the constructed nature of authenticity is exposed. This man’s saying to the spectator: ‘Here, look, I’m re-enacting your idea of how craft should be produced, I’m just your dream image of craft made into physical form, I’m the Schloss Neuschwanstein of Handicraft!’”

Poignant stuff.

A quick detour from my little deconstructing-the-idea-of-brand-authenticity series, to a somewhat related subject. I read something rather fascinating the other day. It’s got nothing to do with how brand authenticity is constructed, but rather how intimately people associate the idea of something that’s fake with immoral behaviour. And how much our thoughts, feelings and actions are determined by our environment. (Which is in itself is supporting the case against the concept of simple, straightforward authentic identity, but anyway.)

In “The Counterfeit Self: The Deceptive Costs of Faking It”, (Psychological Science 21(5) 712–720), Gino et al. tell us this: if you give someone a pair of sunglasses and tell them they’re fake Chloe, they will both cheat more in tests, and start judging other people’s behaviour as more deceptive, than if you tell them they’re wearing authentic brand ones. (Of course, they’re all the same, real Chloe glasses.) This is true even if you just randomly assign glasses to people, so it’s got nothing to do with the possibly shady personality of the counterfeit enthusiast.

The determining factor in this, they say, is that people’s own sense of authenticity in the sense of opposed-to-self-alienation is diminished by the (supposed) wearing of fake items. The “Fake Chloe” crowd agree more with statements such as “Right now, I don’t know how I really feel inside”, “Right now, I feel out of touch with the ‘real me’” and “Right now, I feel alienated from myself” than the “Real Chloe”-wearers. (Thankfully, I have no idea how it feels like to be “alienated from myself”. Is this because I’m so wonderfully authentic – well I don’t wear any counterfeit accessories, so I’m making it rather easy for myself – , or because I’ve always lived so completely detached from the Real Me that I wouldn’t know when it was missing? Like a dog with docked tail, happily wagging and wiggling away.)

This idea not something totally new, it rhymes very well with for example this: even the non-religious become more helpful after reading a story from the Bible. But it would be interesting to see if the same phenomenon occurred with brands people think are morally authentic vs inauthentic – would you cheat less after drinking Innocent juice? Or even just craft authentic – surrounded by the furniture made by small Danish ateliers now run by a third generation member of a family of skilled craftsmen etc etc you so desire from the pages of Monocle magazine, would you be a better person than in your current Ikea Hell (for it is Hell, let’s be honest)? Should you splash out, for the sake of Humanity in general?

And in that case, would this truthfulness/anti-self alienation effect actually be a reason for making brands that people deem to be authentic? Utopian in a quite roundabout way, but still. Anyway: don’t you just love people. Such weird creatures.

… I’m trying to induce French riots in order to get my favourite Monoprix snack back on the shelves. Unfortunately, as of yet, no luck.

Join the cause »

Brand consultancies come in all shapes and sizes, not to mention actual work output – from the very conceptual, intangible work of agencies that are basically management consultants with a brand focus, there’s a long way to the hands-on graphic design-based approach of others. But the basic approach of many of these agencies is that a brand is an intangible asset, that can be shaped and controlled with the help of the tangible means of communication: visual identity, advertising, and lately, social media. More extensive brand models place ”the product” as an integral part of the brand, as opposed to the brand being something that adds to it. Still, traditional brand building focus has been on communicating and persuading. I would argue, that as branding practice has evolved to include an ever larger perspective – much brand theory today is more concerned with organisational culture and abstract value propositions than with the humble design work once associated with it – it would be wise to include the repertoire of service design in its tool box.

Why service design? Basically, service design is all about creating great user experiences. This is quite different than the creation of a product, which is something that still needs the magic of human interaction to be meaningful (a great user experience can very well include the interaction with a product, but that’s another matter). The experience is what moves people, what they seek and what they remember. And the experience is a powerful thing: a strong, positive experience can create a lasting bond to the entity that provided it. Contrary to much market communication, it has value in itself to the user, it does not need to be associated with a marketable product/service in an artificial way. Instead, the service experience is the embodiment of the brand. Additionally, with its insistence on building value for the user, service design seems like the more modern way of building brands in a world where the mass marketing concepts of target groups of consumers being served story telling and randomly attached values seem increasingly out of touch with reality.

But is it that simple, really? No. Focusing on the design of services can mean a too narrow conceptualisation of how people see value and how they make sense of the world. In its most basic form, service design can seem almost obsessed by just simplifying daily life with a nifty service. But if too single-mindedly concerned with the sheer practicalities of a good service, there is a danger of forgetting the emotional aspect of human life. There’s a danger of falling into a service variety of the frankly quite naïve “cut the marketing bullshit, make a good product” rhetoric I ranted about a while ago (here).

This is the power of traditional branding: with its symbolism and metaphors, it talks to the powerful emotional, expressive part of the human brain. The part that dreams, imagines, plays. The part that makes the experience of getting a coffee in a small coffee shop in a tiny Italian village a memorable experience of excellence, even though the same coffee served in a high street chain would taste unremarkable. It seems to me that the real power of service design as a way to build brands lies where its user value focus is combined with a creative way of thinking about what a good user experience is. A way that accounts for both our longing for being told the myth of the Hero’s journey, and for being able to buy our train tickets with the help of an iPhone app.

A couple of my most interesting assignments during the last years have been developing brands within food and wine. As a result, I’ve spent quite some time observing brand strategies in this field. It does not take too long, though, to identify varying kinds of authenticity as the big, macro trend almost all food and drink brands have taken into account in some way.

Authenticity, of course, is considered a general holy grail for 21st century brands. No wonder, as we live in a culture that’s more or less obsessed with authenticity; almost anything under constant threat of being labelled fake. (Authenticity is a concept with a polemic sort of built into it; it’s never as visible as when it’s questioned).

It’s also, a term that is often either taken very literally as a “real” business (un)strategy in a genuine backlash against, well, inauthenticity, or discussed in an almost outraged fashion as a cunning way to trick people into paying a premium. Either making a fan portrait of Innocent Drinks, or “calling their bluff” by pointing to them being partly owned by The Coca Cola Company. For someone involved in branding, though, I’d say it’s important to have a more thorough understanding of authenticity. Seeing how this concept so heavily influences the way people make sense of their world, knowing how it’s created and how it’s maintained (hint: it’s rarely a one-person-holding-strings kind of job) is crucial.

In short, social scientists tell us these about authenticity as it pertains to brands:

Authenticity has many meanings. For example, authentic can be interpreted as being moral (“being true to your values”), or historically accurate, or true to a type (like a music genre).

Authenticity is socially constructed. It does not tell you anything about metaphysical realness, but about how it’s perceived. A brand, a product, a place is interpreted as authentic and treated as such: that’s when the value is created. (That does not mean that it’s arbitrary, though!)

Authenticity is not stable, but always changing – what was perceived as terribly inauthentic can become authentic with time. And what was once authentic can suddenly have to meet other demands on authenticity, the bar has been raised, by other brands or by other factors.

Authenticity is not universal, but individual – what is authentic for someone is not to another. Judging authenticity is very connected with being a member of some kind of social context; being working class, or being a goth for that matter. More specifically, the concept of authenticity changes with the amount of cultural capital a person has.

There is some great literature on authenticity, of course. For example, Michael Beverland has written about authenticity in premium wines, and Glenn Carroll and Dennis Wheaton about restaurants – I’ll get around to both of them in later posts, which will explore different kinds of authenticity, and how it’s is crafted and cared for.

At the opening of Stockholm art venue Bonniers Konsthall’s Projections show, I sat in and listened to an artist talk with Dutch video artist Guido van der Werve. He’s quite brilliant by the way, even though it’s impossible to find decent evidence of it on-line. Both solemn Romanticism and sly humour at the same time, and with a healthy Chopin obsession, too.

Anyway, as he was talking about his latest film, in which he and chess Grandmaster Leonid Yudasin play a chessboard reworked into a piano, he mentioned this: the game of chess is too complicated for a Grandmaster to learn all strategies and possible outcomes with his logical, rational mind. Instead, what they do is that they train their aesthetic sensibility, they look for what feels and looks “right” to them. This part of the brain copes with those complex and quite mathematical chess problems much better than the rational part, in the Grandmasters’ experience. Rather interesting, wouldn’t you say?

I’m a fan of maybe ten brands on Facebook. There’s one or two signs of support for friends’ businesses, some Stockholm clubs and art institutions whose events I want to be in the know about, and a couple of fashion/design magazines. It’s this last category that interests me here, as there is no particular practical reason for becoming a fan, other than getting the basic info of a new issue coming out. Well you don’t exactly have to be Bourdieu to craft a very simple theory of why I associate with certain brands (as a friend once put it: “habitus galore!“), so I won’t bore you with it. (Even though I think the question of type of product is mysteriously absent when the most avid of Brand Conversation Evangelists are preaching. Frankly, if you’re a toilet paper brand, you ARE a little less fascinating to strike up a conversation with than if you’re Acne.)

What fascinates me a bit is this: the very act of Facebook fandom seems to lessen my appetite to actually go out and buy the magazine. Not that I read the magazine on-line instead, that wouldn’t be especially interesting. I just… lose interest a little. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I suspect not – there’s something quite logical about this paradox. You could call it the commercial brand equivalent of “slacktivism”, simply signing up digitally for a cause without any actual change of behaviour or donation. (Purely digital activism is not all bad, of course – here’s a piece for design mind that makes a case for it, but sort of avoids the question of bottom-line contributions.)

There are as you probably know hundreds of models of consumer motivation, but one that seems useful here is Dan Ariely and Michael I Norton’s concept of conceptual and physical consumption. Conceptual consumption, meaning the psychological consumption of ideas and concepts, can occur both together with and independent of physical consumption. Basically, they argue that conceptual consumption is implicated in, and plays a large role in even the most basic consumption acts, such as eating or drinking. Rather than just eat something to survive, human beings add a lot of conceptual layers to the act: “Is this dish fairtrade/eco/healthy?”, “Doesn’t this dish feel a bit 80s?”, “Will my colleagues thinks I’m unmanly if I choose the salad?”. The satisfaction of successful conceptual consumption (feeling good about yourself in a number of ways for choosing the small, expensive, stylish, fairtrade chocolate) often drives behaviour even when it’s in conflict with physical consumption (assuming that you enjoy the taste of the cheap private label stuff more). My thinking is that if the conceptual part of the consumption of a brand’s products is large, it can be replaced by other interactions with the brand, that allow you to get the good bits without effort or having to pay.

It’s a common observation that the artefact is losing importance, that the enjoyment of physical ownership (the record collection) can be replaced by the access to shared digital files (Spotify) without much grievance. But the Facebook page does not even offer a part of the product, like the streamed Spotify album vs its physical (deluxe edition with book and linen cover) counterpart. It’s just the brand as a sign, without the product. And it’s interesting that when it comes to some brands, for many consumers, that might be what counts. In a world where more and more social life happens digitally, what’s the value of owning a pair of New Hip Brand shoes vs showing that you’re in the loop by being a fan of said brand on a social network?

The more a brand is building its strategy on its magic as some sort of status signifier, the easier it would probably be for the consumption of its products to be replaced by some free, purely symbolic consumption – the conceptual part of consumption is satisfied in any case. It leads to an interesting challenge for luxury and subculture brands: how to balance brand, product and digital presence, to be both in the conversation and in business?

No, planned brand communication cannot be replaced by “delivering a great product or service that will get your customers talking (online)”, like I’ve heard said more than once in recent years. Not that you shouldn’t. You should deliver a spectacular product, if you can. But there’s something far too simple about this concept.

The fundamental flaw, as I see it, is a naive conceptualisation of what makes a “great product”. I’d say everybody would agree that the quality of the product is intrinsically linked to human experience. That is, at least when talking about products in this context (as objects on a market, as opposed to objects in a test setting or similar), it’s the user’s experience and opinion of the product that matters. A great product is one which the user thinks is a great product.

But there are literally hundreds of studies made on consumers over the course of the last, say, fifty years that tell you that people’s appraisal of a product is a highly subjective thing – a wonderfully complex concept filled with cultural bias, preconceptions, situational factors … All very typical for the complicated creature that is the human being. Consumers who drink beer with visible brands see those beers tasting very differently and prefer beers with their favorite brand label, whereas unbranded beers are judged as tasting similar to each other (Allison&Uhl:1964). Your enjoyment of a certain wine increases when you think it’s more expensive, even when you’re actually being served the same wine over and over. And so on.

When claiming that a “great product is the new marketing”, one seems to assume that suddenly, humans experience a product through a radically less complex process: a very non-human objective appraisal of product qualities, that will be shared equally objectively to information-hungry potential new consumers. But surely, it’s been a while since anyone could seriously have such a schematic concept of human behaviour. Even the Homo Economicus died some time ago, after years of illness.

This is not to say that people’s true conception of the quality of a product can be easily subverted by branding. It’s to say that there is no “true conception” based only on the physical product, and therefore, communication plays an integral part in the experience of the product. Together with other aspects (like, obviously, intrinsic product qualities), it helps create very real enjoyment. All very complicated business, and very human. That’s what makes it so interesting.

For the holidays, I’ve collected a couple of articles that designers (and design interested non-designers) should read, from recent weeks when like me you’ve been too busy with before-Christmas deadlines.

Slaves of the Feed – This is not the realtime we’ve been looking for
Thomas Petersen, founder and partner of Danish digital creative agency Hello discusses our digital life and ponders possible ways to solve the problem of information overload with design.

Re-thinking Interaction Design
Johnny Kolko claims interaction design should move away from talking both branding and user experience. I don’t agree with everything Kolko writes, specifically I find he’s muddling macro and micro perspectives on the role of interaction design (there’s both a critique of UX and branding as ways of maximizing profits, and a critique of using design for that purpose in the first place, and neither are fully explored), but there are some interesting points made about design’s role in culture.

Don Norman’s attack on design research, and ensuing debate
If you have missed this somehow, the debate goes on about what actually drives innovation, technology or design – and whether there’s actually any point in ethnographic and similar research into the consumer’s deep, subconscious wishes. Norman’s answer is basically no, as he finds that technology more often than not creates the needs it fills. Design research is only useful for small incremental changes, he claims (compare this to what Roberto Verganti says in Design Driven Innovation, a book I wrote about earlier this year!) Three responses to this claim: Bruce Nussbaum, who disagrees, Adam Richardson, who thinks Norman’s definition of design research is too narrow, and Steve Portigal, who raises some interesting questions around several points in Norman’s piece.