A heated debate took place over a notorious building in Manhattan several years back. The building stood prominently in Columbus Circle in New York and was nicknamed the “Lollipop” building for its filigree detail. This particular building was never considered great architecture. Residents complained about its awkward design, dark interiors and lack of function. In 2005, it was announced that the building would be demolished. Suddenly legions of academic architects leapt forward to write exhaustive essays expressing a personal fondness for the peculiar, “quirky” structure, putting forth the decree that it should be preserved as a landmark. Some stating that the Lollipop building was one of the best examples of “kitsch architecture” and that it should be protected as a landmark. The building was not demolished, instead it was “refurbished.” One architectural critic called the new design mind-numbingly dull.
I had lunch with a European art director recently. Having just returned from a trip to Paris, she wondered aloud what sort of pandemonium would ensue if the French electronics brand, Fnac, ever got rid of the hideous ochre-color square that housed their four-letter identity. She felt that as homely as the color was, the omni-present Fnac identity was part of the consumer landscape for many decades and part of the modern history of Paris. It would be better to live with something unattractive that had personal meaning rather than adopt a change.
Unchanged "timestamped" identities.
As Americans we tend to embrace a “move forward” attitude. But both of these examples enticed me as a designer and brand strategist to look at the world of design that surrounds us to try to determine if I appreciated a brand identity for its design merits, typographic style, aesthetic application and the ability to telegraph what it stood for or for the history of interaction and personal memories I brought to that design.
In thinking about the place of memory and typographic design, I recalled an amazing experience of going to visit the headquarters of the candy giant Mars. The reception area had a timeline display that showed the evolution of the iconic M&M’s package created in the 1940s. I could see, side-by-side, the subtle evolution of the legendary package with the blocky slab serif M&M’s type reversed out of the chocolate brown background. I found the design I first knew as a kid placed around the 1960s. I didn't just recognize it; I felt it was a part of me. That was “my” brand of candy. I felt an emotional connection. Ultimately, my beloved childhood version evolved on the timeline. Later M&M’s type became 3-D with drop shadows thanks to the advent of Photoshop.
Looking at the American consumer landscape of iconic pieces of typographic design, many brands stand out for the sheer reason that they have never (or hardly) changed at all. Identities for McDonald’s, Coca-Cola, Dunkin’ Donuts, U-Haul, 7-Eleven, American Airlines, Crate & Barrel, Mobil have been around for decades. Their design personalities are virtually “time-stamped,” between the ’60s and ’70s. You can get an instant picture in your head of these type identities and you probably could draw them with their exact colors on blank paper. Consumer researchers call this “unaided awareness”—meaning you know them by heart. These brands have embraced their graphic identities and not budged. Most have come up with support graphics over the years to remain relevant. And they certainly have braved time periods when they seemed hopelessly out of sync with a modern world. For example when American’s went “healthier,” McDonald’s didn’t try to make their identity appear healthier, instead they began to offer salads. When boutique coffee juggernaut Starbucks expanded worldwide, Dunkin’ Donuts hung tough with their candy-colored pink and orange hotdog font—they simply added a coffee cup to the side of their logo.
I started my career as a designer and evolved into a creative strategist. With both disciplines simultaneously employed, I began to consider different information when approaching an identity. Such as how does this brand speak to the desired audience? If it’s a redesign, how does it evolve the old identity? How does the identity relate to the competitive set it exists within? What are the desired consumer responses? Affiliations? Emotional connections?
A great deal of my work has centered on understanding the mindset and motivations of the three compelling generations of consumers that generate trillions of dollars of spending in the U.S. The Baby Boomers, born between 1946 and 1964 (about 31 percent of the population), Generation X born between 1965 and 1979 (about 17 percent of the population) and Generation Y (born between 1977 and 1994, about 33 percent of the population). Each generation is attitudinally different and each brings wholly different associations and values to how they perceive the world and certainly the place of design in their world.
Baby Boomers matured with the notion of a prescribed plan (college, job, marriage, children, buy a home, climb ladder, etc.) and by taking the proper, measured steps earned and enjoyed success. Noble-looking brand identities that used type to communicate status like Mercedes-Benz, Tiffany & Co., American Express or the iconic signature of Disney resonated for Boomers as they telegraphed personal or earned achievement.