Stand and deliver
Tony Philpott explains his anti-credo for the boasts put forward by famous drinks brands

I don't believe Guinness is alive inside. I don't believe there is a Coke side of life. I don't believe Jameson is seriously playful. What I do believe is that it took months of work, planning and eviscerating brand-analysis to arrive at these propositions.

And I have no doubt that weeks of focus-grouping resulted in their validation and guaranteed their primacy within radio, print and TV ads. But let's perform a little deconstruction here, let's test the veracity of the promise that Guinness is alive inside and – more importantly – why Diageo has decided that Guinness needs to be alive inside.

Firstly, it must be conceded that a pint of the black stuff is an acquired taste and, once acquired, it completely fulfills the drinker's expectations. It's tart, smooth, it's creamy and it satisfies the pallet with a flavour that is rich and rewardingly complex.

The problem is that similar attributes could be assigned to most beers and lagers. And because of this, Guinness brand folks mine their lexicon, scour their marketing publications in search of some alternative positioning-options and light upon the magic word “differentiation”.

Differentiation is highly desirable, a much sought-after grail which enables a brand to scream some singular, ownable attribute; it lures consumers with a valid hook. But the differentiation must be real, it must be beneficial and it must be a desirable point of difference.

But when no real point of difference, when the lines that separate one brand from another are blurred, when differentiation demands the creation of a point of difference, the fabrication of a defining attribute that separates this brew from that brew. But because such attributes are created, their assignment to the product is purely arbitrary.

In the strain and struggle to wedge brands into positions from which they can then gain traction the consumer is often forgotten; he or she is forsaken in favour of those dense, inpenetrable brand-profiling documents. They become subsumed in trying to say whether the benefit is emotional or rational.

But to accept the proposition that Guinness is alive inside requires a suspension of disbelief. This is easy to accomplish, we do it all the time when we go to the cinema and become scared by an alien we know isn't real, or some mad knife wielder attacking young girls.

Equally, we well know Guinness does not for a moment ask us to accept that a pint of the black stuff is a living entity. But if I am not expected to accept it, what is the value of presenting it? In what way will a such a null proposition advance my existing appreciation of the brand? More importantly, would this arbitrary proposition make someone switch to Guinness from their preferred beer brand or even take up drinking stout?

I have no idea how many people converted to Guinness or began drinking it because of this campaign – I'm sure sufficient did do so – the campaign is still running after all. But I would proffer this theory; they did so simply because there was advertising. Not because of the anthropomorphic declaration that Guinness is alive inside, but because of the Guinness ads.

They didn't need to be told that Guinness is alive inside, but rather they all simply needed to be reminded that Guinness exists. Yes, this does appear to dismiss the complexity of strategic brand-differentiation, but it is because of this complexity that it deserves to be dismissed. Why? Because no Guinness drinker believes the beer is alive inside, yet every Guinness drinker believes it tastes great. Why try to force a non-credible proposition into consumer consciousness when an unequivocally believable proposition (Guinness tastes good) could lubricate its way into that same consumer-consciousness with the same ease as a silky pint navigates its way down a drinker's gullet?

Before Diageo reminds us that the purpose of the campaign is one of conversion and ultimately retention, consider this: why would I convert to Guinness? Because of the taste. Why would I continue drinking it? Because of the taste.

Why do I drink Coke? Not because the slogan asks me to live on the Coke side of life, but because nothing else tastes like it. Do I drink Jameson because it's seriously playful? No, I sip a large Jemmy because it's seriously good whiskey.

Why do I believe that these over-promising attributions are arbitrary and ineffective? Because soon they will create new ones. One final question… If I were to have a pint of Guinness followed by a Jameson and Coke chaser, would I be alive inside a seriously playful side of life? I don't believe so.

Tony Philpott was creative director in agencies in North America and has worked freelance in Dublin. He has written episodes of the ITV crime series Taggart and created and wrote Proof for RTE. His film, On The Nose, starred Dan Ackroyd and Robbie Coltrane.

RISKY PITCH The stunning brunette may have the look to entice whiskey drinkers to Jameson helped by the ‘Seriously playful' tagline. But clued-in consumers know that being seduced by a slogan today may see the brand's pitch transform into something entirely different tomorrow.

Tony Philpott (philpott.tony@gmail.com) is a copywriter at DMA