Remember the scene in Pulp Fiction when Sam Jackson and John Travolta are discussing Big Macs? Travolta (as hitman Vincent) is amazed to learn the burger is called a Royale in Parisian outlets, assuming McDonalds restaurants to be identical the world over.
In reality, of course, nobody dropping in for a Big Mac in any territory, from Red Square to Rangoon, would be too surprised. Allowing for slights tweaks in the recipe (halal in Muslim countries, kosher in Israel) and, as in France, some creativity with the menu, Vincent would always find his dining experience reassuringly familiar. Indeed, this is the food chain’s whole market position: wherever you are, whatever you’re doing you only need to look for the golden arches to be sure of a reliable burger experience.
In reality, of course, nobody dropping in for a Big Mac in any territory, from Red Square to Rangoon, would be too surprised. Allowing for slights tweaks in the recipe (halal in Muslim countries, kosher in Israel) and, as in France, some creativity with the menu, Vincent would always find his dining experience reassuringly familiar. Indeed, this is the food chain’s whole market position: wherever you are, whatever you’re doing you only need to look for the golden arches to be sure of a reliable burger experience.
McDonalds is far from unique in this, of course. Hilton Hotels used to boast you would find the same room, with the same bed and same decor regardless of the nation outside your window. And we’ve all seen images of Coca-Cola machines by the side of dusty tracks in the most far-flung corners of the planet. Pre-globalisation, consumers responded very positively to this idea, enjoying a touch of ‘normality’ however isolated and strange their location.
But times have changed. In the last twenty years, in the West, there has been a groundswell of anxiety about the domination of international brands and their impact on the world. To the extent we have actually seen anti-globalisation riots protesting the phenomenon.
Ironically, the populations of many emerging nations have actively welcomed the presence of Western fast-food, hotel, soft drink and software brands – seeing them as totems of economic success and even freedom. In the Egyptian desert a fortnight ago, I noticed a distinct lack of large-scale advertising but a plethora of sports brand logos on almost every shirt and shoe. Clearly, the Egyptians didn’t feel in any way invaded by Adidas or Nike but rather pleased to share in the ubiquity of those brands.
So the discomfort inspired by these familiar consumer symbols stems principally from the Western consciousness. Perhaps we now feel a bit guilty having spent decades waving our free-market, commercial brand banners as examples of our wonderfully liberated lifestyles, seeing less privileged peoples adopting them with such gusto.
Of course international travel is a luxury and only widely accessible in the more developed countries. So it is an overly idealised view of the rest of the world that is so upset when, arriving at an exotic location, we begin to spot Microsoft logos and 7-Up cans. Somehow we crave an ‘authenticity’ that exists only in our imaginations – hoping those little cafes on Indian beaches will have never heard of Fanta or Heineken, serving only lime sodas and lassi. We worry our adventures in foreign fields are compromised when we are confronted with the brands we’re happy to see on Huddersfield High Street but not on Kuala Lumpur’s main drag.
Quite obviously, this is a nonsense. Although there is a superficial desire for ‘abroad’ to be culturally different and excitingly alien, once there, we casually order a Diet Coke, buy a pack of Marlboro or invest in a cheap iPod.
It’s said that every Brit has a portfolio of up to 300 personal brands. That is to say, consumer choices we’ve made, are happy with and to which we adhere. If these products were to vanish the moment we touched down in another land, we’d rapidly become disgruntled and a little panicked. Familiar brands actually help us feel settled when we travel, becoming little anchors of reassurance, touchstones which tell us we are still on Earth, no matter how unusual our new surroundings. They enhance the experience of exploring, rather than spoiling it.
So let’s agree to drop the ludicrous snobbery that says it’s cultural vandalism to eat a Whopper in West Africa or drink Tango in Tangiers. Whether globalisation is a force for good or ill, the fact is, in the 21stcentury, these goods are every bit as local in the Congo as they are in Coventry.
But times have changed. In the last twenty years, in the West, there has been a groundswell of anxiety about the domination of international brands and their impact on the world. To the extent we have actually seen anti-globalisation riots protesting the phenomenon.
Ironically, the populations of many emerging nations have actively welcomed the presence of Western fast-food, hotel, soft drink and software brands – seeing them as totems of economic success and even freedom. In the Egyptian desert a fortnight ago, I noticed a distinct lack of large-scale advertising but a plethora of sports brand logos on almost every shirt and shoe. Clearly, the Egyptians didn’t feel in any way invaded by Adidas or Nike but rather pleased to share in the ubiquity of those brands.
So the discomfort inspired by these familiar consumer symbols stems principally from the Western consciousness. Perhaps we now feel a bit guilty having spent decades waving our free-market, commercial brand banners as examples of our wonderfully liberated lifestyles, seeing less privileged peoples adopting them with such gusto.
Of course international travel is a luxury and only widely accessible in the more developed countries. So it is an overly idealised view of the rest of the world that is so upset when, arriving at an exotic location, we begin to spot Microsoft logos and 7-Up cans. Somehow we crave an ‘authenticity’ that exists only in our imaginations – hoping those little cafes on Indian beaches will have never heard of Fanta or Heineken, serving only lime sodas and lassi. We worry our adventures in foreign fields are compromised when we are confronted with the brands we’re happy to see on Huddersfield High Street but not on Kuala Lumpur’s main drag.
Quite obviously, this is a nonsense. Although there is a superficial desire for ‘abroad’ to be culturally different and excitingly alien, once there, we casually order a Diet Coke, buy a pack of Marlboro or invest in a cheap iPod.
It’s said that every Brit has a portfolio of up to 300 personal brands. That is to say, consumer choices we’ve made, are happy with and to which we adhere. If these products were to vanish the moment we touched down in another land, we’d rapidly become disgruntled and a little panicked. Familiar brands actually help us feel settled when we travel, becoming little anchors of reassurance, touchstones which tell us we are still on Earth, no matter how unusual our new surroundings. They enhance the experience of exploring, rather than spoiling it.
So let’s agree to drop the ludicrous snobbery that says it’s cultural vandalism to eat a Whopper in West Africa or drink Tango in Tangiers. Whether globalisation is a force for good or ill, the fact is, in the 21stcentury, these goods are every bit as local in the Congo as they are in Coventry.
