Made with love

How can we develop a hypervalued brand?

I first came across the concept of nation branding when I was around the age of 7. My father had been working for the outgoing President Leone of Italy for a while and explained to me one of the mandates of the Ministry of Culture created in 1974.

In his own words: “First, people will fall in love with Verdi and Michelangelo. Then, they will fall in love with Italy. Then, they will fall in love with everything Italy has to offer: wine, cars, clothes, vespas, even mozzarella”.

Michelangelo selling mozzarella. It made little sense to me at the time, but I did feel like I had been let into a secret that would make me feel like a cynical outsider, no matter what country I was in: beautiful as many nations’ cultures are, they are often diverted and re-structured by governments. They do this to cultivate desire and attachment, just like the best brands we all know and live with in our lives.

As I grew up, I heard many people criticise this commercialisation of culture. Especially at universities like Bologna and Urbino that focused on semiotics—which in many ways is the very study that provides the foundations of brand practice.

But the necessity for a “brand Italy” was clearly there, and its positive impact on the wellbeing of millions of Italians is undeniable.

Before the 70s, there was very little love for Italy abroad. There were a lot of stereotypes about Italy being a chaotic country of mafia, mummy’s boys, lazy people, bicycle thieves, etc. And this negative view generated very little demand for anything made in Italy. So, before the concept of “Made in Italy” could be created, the brand concept that underpinned it—“brand Italy”—had to be created.

Brand Italy’s proposition was very simple: love. For every product, there was an Italian brand that made it with love.

Now, you can talk about love in dozens of different ways. The love of family as expressed in a family business. The love that the craftsman puts into his work. The love of the land as expressed in the produce and in the foods we cook with it. And so on. But it’s all just different facets, different forms of expressing the concept of love, which is very simple.

It’s very simple, and it worked. I’ve often spoken about the way Top Gear’s episodes on Alfa Romeo are different to all the others. For every car on the show, we get to hear numbers: speed, horsepower, torque, acceleration, etc. But when they get into an Alfa Romeo, all they can talk about is opera, art, beauty and, well, love.

But it’s not just cars. It’s everything.

Just look at the phenomenal quantities of Italian exports across the board. Wine; olive oil; balsamic vinegar; cheese; prosciutto; pasta by Rana and Barilla; sauces by Mutti and Saclà; coffee by Lavazza and Illy; coffee machines by Zanetti and Bialetti; cars by Ferrari, Alfa Romeo, Maserati, Lancia, Lamborghini and Fiat; motorbikes by Ducati, Piaggio, Aprilia, Benelli, Malaguti and Moto Guzzi; shoes by Berluti and Ferragamo; handbags by Gucci and Bottega Veneta; dresses by Pucci and Missoni; silk by Ratti and Mantero; fragrances by Acqua di Parma and Santa Maria Novella; jewellery by Buccellato and Pomellato; woolwear by Loro Piana and Brunello Cuccinelli; kitchenware by Alessi and Smeg, etc. Brand Italy plays a key role in all of them.

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Now, unlike my last essay on Made in Italy, I want to contrast this with France’s nation brand, because it highlights what happens when you keep things simple, emotionally resonant and uniquely yours.

France, too, has a Ministry of Culture. They’ve had it for much longer than Italy and, historically, it’s been much better funded. Where Italy had to make do with shoestring budgets, France spent more on culture than many countries’ GDP.

Just looking at film, Jack Lang—France’s Minister of Culture throughout most of the ‘80s—spent an annual 500 million francs on direct film funding, compared to Italy’s roughly 150m. He left government for a couple of years in 1986, but returned in 1988 to spend even more: of the 94 films funded directly by the French Ministry of Culture in 1988, only 14 had a budget under 5 million francs.

And yet, Italy’s exports exceed France’s exports, despite France’s GDP being more than a trillion Euros bigger. Even in terms of gastronomy—a pillar in France’s nation brand—Italy’s cuisine is by far the most popular around the world. In almost any city on Earth, Italian restaurants outnumber French restaurants more than 10-to-1. In almost any kitchen cupboard on the planet, Italian food brands outnumber French food brands more than 10-to-1.

Why is this? Why did Italy produce a commercial hit on a shoestring budget, while France had to spend so much to reap so little?

Because France had a lot of coats, but no coathanger to hang them from. France’s nation brand didn’t have a concept to hold it all together for you to get it. Let alone such a resonant concept like love. Let alone a concept that could underpin the quality of every product in just about every category from food to fashion, because everything that is made with love will be consumed with love in the consumer’s heart. People who drive Italian cars and vespas aren’t ambivalent about them. They love them. People who own Italian furniture love their furniture. People who wear Italian shoes and bags love their shoes and love their bags. People who eat Italian food love their food.

So, what do we learn from this for our own brand strategy?

First, keep it simple. Stick to just one thing. Italy’s entire nation brand strategy was built on a single word: love.

Second, make sure it’s something authentic: the brand director’s job is not always to invent, but to discover. This is particularly true for brands that have a long heritage, as most luxury brands do.

Third, make it emotionally resonant. Just like with Alfa Romeo cars: it’s never about the numbers.

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