JKR

When The White Stripes called time on their band last Thursday, they also closed the book on arguably the best design programme a band has ever driven. Typically we describe bands as having an ‘image’, which suggests they are a bit more instinctive and uncontrived than corporations which have an ‘identity system’. But the coherent and effective use of iconography that The White Stripes pulled off would be the envy of any major identity design consultancy.

Taschen is one of those brands that pulls off the hardest thing of all – to have a legion of devotees who become animated just talking about it. Partly this must be down to their idiosyncratic and seemingly schizophrenic nature. On the one hand they are famous for producing definitive art books, both affordable and super luxurious. On the other, they are well known for their range of risqué titles of fetish photography and other adult material. It’s the odd contrast that is engaging – arty porn and high art as equal specialities.

Somehow it doesn’t come across as odd that they (beautifully) print the complete works of Caravaggio and also The Big Penis Book. Rather the contrast suggests a brand persona akin to some kind of louche, euro aristocrat who has the sophistication to be  high brow on the one hand, but who is also urbane enough to be unblushing about erotica. I imagine founder Benedikt Taschen to be a jaded aesthete who roams the world seeking new (unhealthy) pleasures that I wouldn’t properly understand. The reality is probably a world away, but that’s how I like to picture him.

Anyway, what I really wanted to tell you about was a brilliant flyer that accompanied their book Hiroshige: One Hundred Famous Views of Edo. It said simply “beautiful books for hard times”. Now the book itself is 272 large and wonderfully printed pages, in a traditional Japanese binding and a solid outer bookcase. Everypage is a treat and the cost… £27.99.

My point is that for all the ‘big value economy pack’ design that is circling the recession, here is a company that has managed to create something which feels sumptuous at a bargain price. It delivers on a fantastic and fantastically simple promise about quality at value. Perhaps this is how they inspire so many loyal fans. It certainly proves that design for the downturn can be about delivering more, not less. It’s just a question of going the extra distance. And just in case you think their naughty stuff does not get the same level of effort, here is their (rather more pricey) packaging for an Ellen von Unwerth book.

The return of Campbell’s Soup to UK shelves has been universally reported with reference to the design made iconic by Andy Warhol.

No wonder. The simple, bold livery of the classic design belonged in a select group of American superbrands (Marlboro, Coke, Levi’s, Budweiser) who all understood that iconography is most charismatic when it explains less. So most news stories ran along the lines of “Campbell’s is back, but not in the iconic Warhol design”. Not great to have one’s return caveated with a ‘but…’

The actual packs we will see are the ones above. In common with the design which was withdrawn a few years ago, they feature generic food photography, the better to reassure us of the quality of the ingredients. Does it seem crazy to you that a brand everyone references as ‘iconic’ has squandered its heritage so much, and consistently chooses not to give us the design we like enough to put on our walls?

The brand’s new UK owners could argue a few good reasons for their choice: the aforementioned appetite appeal through photography is a gambit played by 90% of the brand’s competition, so this puts them on parity with the category, rather than transcending it. Consider also that those other 90% lack what Campbell’s has (or had): a truly iconic design.

One could also argue the photography provides the ability to differentiate packs, aiding quick navigation in store. I wonder if Warhol himself offered a solution to this conundrum in the later packs he painted, which retained the architecture, but mixed up the colours:

Perhaps the designs are just following the received wisdom from the parent US design, which also carries the food shots. As memory serves, when Campbell’s first switched to the food images in the nineties, sales dropped dramatically and someone quite senior lost his job. Still, the more generic design has endured.

Given that the new UK range is going into dry sachets and suchlike, it is easy to see why ‘food values’ are being bolstered with photography. But there is a counter argument: the iconography itself, so famous and established can act as a badge of trust, because it triggers the brand we all carry in our heads.

Finally, one could also argue that the pop art associations are passé or a bit elitist. The long queues outside any gallery running any UK pop art show would suggest evidence to the contrary.

But all these arguments and counter arguments turn on points of logic. What the old Campbell’s design achieved (in common with those other American classics) was not logical – it was the use of a set of colours and shapes to build trust, trigger associations, define itself distinctively in a category, and most importantly of all, build a sense of brand charisma by not explaining too much. It pulled, rather than pushed.

Campbell’s might be back, but the big question for the brand is will we care? And would we care more if it looked like the packs which caught so many folks’ imaginations?

Those of you in London might be interested to know about an exhibition of paintings by Norman Rockwell at the Dulwich Picture Gallery. One of the things that is likely to come up in all the reviews is how Rockwell’s paintings for The Saturday Evening Post helped create the iconography of an idealised America which feels as familiar as mom’s apple pie to us today. He had the amazing ability to tell rich and poignant stories in a single image, while keeping the compositions simple and graphic. There was some guff written about the show that he was just an illustrator, not an artist. Well, some illustrator!

For those of us in the business of telling stories visually, and striving to create iconography for brands, there is much to study in his work. At the heart of his approach was a gentle wit, one which repaid close inspection – the point or gag was not always signalled at loud volume. Check out the little boy at the back of the image above. In packaging, we tend to assume our work must telegraph our point in the blink of an eye. But I think Rockwell shows that visual storytelling can work on two levels – as a composition that can be enjoyed at a glance (as magazines covers have to) and as a richer text that can be studied in closer detail. Wouldn’t it be great to see the depth he bought to simple subjects applied to, say, the characters which feature on cereal boxes or the corner of a whisky label?

Introduction – why bother?

“Iconic design” – it’s an expression that’s frequently and somewhat optimistically flung around in client briefings and creative presentations. Genuinely iconic work (and it’s relatively rare) can make brands rich and famous. Iconic brands are not necessarily the best products, they just feel like they are; their design creates a saliency and distinctiveness that helps them stand apart from the competition.

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