The Striding Man
All Dressed Up and Somewhere to Go
Johnnie Walker Scotch Whisky
Though the company was launched way back in 1820, the exercise-obsessed dandy who would lead Johnnie Walker to the pinnacle of Scotch supremacy, didn’t hit the ground walking until 1908. Modeled after the company’s founder, John “Johnnie Walker,” the character was drawn by famed illustrator Tom Brown under the direction of George Walker, John’s grandson.
Initially called the Regency Book, the icon’s moniker was later toned down to the more descriptive, if less dashing, the Striding Man. The family name had more than a little to do with the logo’s ambulatory nature.
Why It Worked: His top hat, walking stick, breeches and riding boots promise a refined product for an upscale market. Combine that with his elusiveness –yes, he can see you fine through his fancy monocle, he simply doesn’t have time to dally with the likes of you — and it makes for a very attractive symbol for the rung climbing careerist set with money to burn. This formula also dovetails nicely with Johnnie Walker’s ladder of incrementally expensive color-coded whiskeys.
Evolution: In the early adverts, the Striding Man took a break from pounding the pavement for a bit of sport, appearing in adverts engaged in the gentlemanly pursuits of golf and billiards. He hit the bricks shortly thereafter and got back to walking.
And why not? It kept him healthy, unchanged and ageless right up until 1996. All that pacing must have helped him think, because during that fateful year, he appeared to solve the riddle of invisibility. Overnight, the striding man devolved from a dashing Regency buck to a dashed off, half finished doodle.
Why the change? Brand designers are ever striving to make marketing symbols simpler and thus easier to recognize. And in this case, you’d have to recognize Johnny by his threads because his face was gone.
Then in 2015, perhaps realizing they’d gone much, much too far. A new design rolled out, returning some of his anatomy. His face is but a crude shadow. But at least he has a face.
Dark Secret: Was once a bootlegger. During America’s ugly bout with prohibition, the distillery engaged in what they called their “special trade,” that being the delivery of boatloads of their whiskey into the hands of rum runners working from small Canadian isles near the U.S. coast.
Claim to Fame: Aside from dominating the worldwide Scotch market, Johnnie Walker is Superman’s choice of liquor.
The Hamm’s Bear
Loveable Beast or Voodoo Priest?
Hamm’s Beer
The joyous bear haunting Baby Boomers dreams was reputedly sketched to life on a bar napkin by ad exec Cleo Hovel, then fine tuned by Ojibwa Indian artist Patrick DesJarlait. After appearing in a few print ads. The bear launched his television career in 1953.
He was paired with an earworm jingle so catchy that once you hear it, it will haunt you forever. Do you want to know a secret? The drums in the background of the jingle weren’t modeled after Native American rhythms. Ad executive Ray Mithun, who was in charge of the Hamm’s account, based those drums on recordings of a Haitian voodoo ritual. That’s right. Devil magic. Does this explain the bears smashing success? Maybe.
The wildly popular commercials employed plot devices ranging from good old fashioned fun, like pie fights and log rolling to more risque activities such as train robbery, gunplay, arson, and gleeful wolf abuse.
The spots would saturate the airwaves for well over 30 years, which is especially impressive when you consider Spuds Mackenzie lasted less than three. The commercials helped Hamm’s grow from a 15th-place regional brew to the fifth most popular beer in the country.
Though his name was never revealed on air around the brewery, the cartoon bear was called Sasha. Why? Because Sasha was the name of the real bear hams borrowed from the Los Angeles Zoo to do some TV spots in 1973.
Hamm’s went through a number of ownership changes starting in 1966 and every new owner tried ditching Sasha for some new ad concept. And every time Ham’s sales started tanking, so they always went back to the bear. Right up until the early 1990s. Sasha was eventually and inevitably slain by an ever-growing army of shrill nanny-staters who claimed the cartoon bear was hustling beer to children.
Presently, Molson Coors brews Hamm’s beer for select markets, but you won’t see much of Sasha. You’ll find him on their website, but only as a nod to the breweries heritage.
The monstrous amount of Sasha related ephemera cranked out during his long reign has become quite collectible, and the lovable mammal is still celebrated by the Hamm’s Club, which throws a yearly get together.
Why It Worked: Most beer commercials of the day involved some shills swearing their American style pale lager was somehow superior to all the other American style pale lagers, while the Hamm spots came equipped with humor, plot and punchline, with Sasha, usually the one getting punched. The occasional interaction between cartoons and real actors was groundbreaking: Sasha beat Roger rabbit to the punch by 40 years.
Sasha eventually reached such heights of popularity inspired hubris that he felt compelled to step into the ring with undefeated boxing legend Rocky Marciano. Rocky remained undefeated at the end of the commercial.
Evolution: Sasha’s appearance changed a bit over the decades, including the transition from black and white to color. He sired a cub at one point and eventually learn to speak. The only major mutation was his occasional Pinocchioesque transformation into a real bear.
Dark Secret: Sasha was probably a stoner. All the signs are there: perpetually goofy grin, impromptu hippie style dancing at the sound of drums, and militant veganism. His single attempt to break his diet with a little fish concluded with him shooting a hole through the bottom of the boat.
Claim to Fame: In 1965, the Audit Research Bureau reported the Hamm’s bear mascot was the best-liked advertisement in the country. Also, according to noted beer historian Bill Yenne, the Hamm’s bear was “probably the greatest animated animal icon in the history of American brewing.”
Captain Morgan
Preening Pirate or Bloodthirsty Buccaneer?
Captain Morgan Original Spiced Rum
He may appear a bit of a fop on the bottle, but the real Captain Morgan was cut from a rougher swath of cloth. Captain Henry Morgan (1635-1688) was a Welsh privateer who won English knighthood and historical renown for his daring and quite bloodthirsty attacks on Spanish colonies and shipping.
He was also a notorious drunkard. While pirating and during his stint as the deputy governor of Jamaica, he drank rum by the gallon and was a dedicated, habitué way of the rough-and-tumble taverns of whatever port he might find himself in.
Though their labels have insinuated otherwise, the rum has no historical connection to its namesake. The Captain Morgan Rum Company was created by liquor giant Seagram’s in 1944.
Why It Worked: Pirates enjoy the same privileged status in the popular consciousness as ninjas, mafioso and gunslingers. At once flamboyant, murderous, and disdainful of authority, the pirate was the ultimate rebel. And what red blooded drunkard hasn’t yearned to sail the high seas in search of rum wenches and adventure?
Evolution: According to legend, CEO Sam Bronfman drew inspiration from a John Steinbeck biography of the real Captain Morgan called Cup of Gold. In the initial 1940s adverts, the captain appeared plump, unarmed and with his hat respectfully doffed to the high society types he seemed to be hanging around with. But the homicidal gleam in his eye was unmistakable, no doubt fantasizing about running the gang of snobs through with his cutlass and making off with their wives and wallets.
On the bottles he was barely visible just a tiny head inside a crest. He stayed there until the 1970s, when his full, albeit small, body topped the labels. They started spicing the rum in the early 80s, and the icon became rather spicy himself. He shed his social graces, put his hat back on, and began brandishing his sword in a menacing fashion. The new, more cartoonish incarnation of the Captain was drawn by fantasy and sci-fi artist Don Maitz in 1982. And while there was still fire in the Captain’s eyes, it seems more the leer of a sexual predator than the bloodthirsty gleam of a proper pirate
In the early 2000s, after getting some heat about allegedly using a cartoon to lure children into the clutches of Demon Rum, the Captain was redesigned once again as a more traditional and realistic illustration. That apparently wasn’t far enough, however, because recently the good captain has been further car tuned into a much simpler symbol, plainly taking the same path as Johnnie Walker.
Side Note: In 2014, Diageo, the current owners of Captain Morgan, sued Heaven Hill Distilleries for their depiction of Admiral Horatio Nelson on their bottles of Admiral Nelson Rum. Diageo thought the images a bit too similar. Diageo won the case, but the judgment only applied to the nation of Canada, which is why you’ll still find the historically-inaccurate, one-eyed, two-armed Admiral Nelson riding the waves at your local liquor store. Unless you live in Canada.
Dark Secret: Captain Morgan slew legendary drunkard and actor Oliver Reed. Reed had a heart attack after downing three bottles of Captain Morgan’s Jamaica Rum, along with beer and other liquors, and whipping five Royal Navy sailors at arm wrestling in a pub on the island of Malta.
Claim to Fame: After holding the number two spot for decades, Captain Morgan is currently the eighth best-selling liquor brand in America. It’s the second best selling rum right behind our next icon.
The Bacardi Bat
Piss Off the Bat and He’ll Bomb You
Bacardi Rum
If company legend is to be believed, and it rarely should be, a bat found its way onto the Bacardi label in 1862 because the wife of the distillery’s founder noticed a colony of fruit bats hanging around the rafters of the converted warehouse that was their first distillery.
The bat was considered a noble and lucky creature by Cubans, so it seemed a smart move to attach the symbol to the fledgling rum. An alternative history, strenuously denied by Bacardi, is that the bat got the nod because every morning distillery workers had to fish the lucky noble and thoroughly intoxicated creatures out of the rum vats. The rum found quick favor in Cuba and spread rapidly throughout the Americas.
Prohibition gave it a boost thanks to Cuba’s close proximity to the U.S. coast, and by the 50s, the bat was flying high as the best selling rum in the United States. Then came the communists. Despite the fact that Bacardi helped bankroll the Cuban Revolution and the daughter of one of its top execs was married to Raul Castro, brother of Fidel, the Bacardi family was driven out of Cuba and their holdings nationalized when Fidel seized power.
The Bacardi clan never forgave this betrayal, and have used their considerable political and financial influence to make things difficult for Cuba ever since.
Why It Worked: The aforementioned locals not only considered the bat good mojo, they were also largely illiterate. They couldn’t read the verbose Spanish praising the product on the early labels, but they could recognize the bat just fine. When the rum spread to more literate countries, the exotic mammal matched up well with what Westerners thought of rum: nocturnal danger with a hint of vampirism.
Evolution: The Bacardi bat has changed over the decades, seeming to bounce between reality and symbol with each new generation of Bacardis. After a long run as a simplified and soulless symbol, its current form is a stunning throwback to an earlier time.
Dark Secret: Embittered Bacardi helmsman Jose Pepin Bosch bought a surplus B 26 bomber with the hopes of bombing his ex-pal Fidel’s oil refineries. Which I totally get. Revenge is a dish best served from about 15,000 feet with a full payload of incendiary bombs. And if I were Jose, I would have painted the bomber to look like the Bacardi bat. Just so Fidel knew the score.
This bold plan was foiled when a picture of the bomber appeared on the front page of the snitching New York Times. He was also allegedly involved in the CIA plot to assassinate Castro.
Claim to Fame: Bacardi was the first refined rum. The founder, Spanish emigrant Don Facundo Bacardi Masso, tamed the raw New World spirit by experimenting with charcoal filtering and oak-barrel aging. After starting with its single and singular brand of rum, Bacardi Limited now presides over 200 brands of booze. And unlike all the other alcohol conglomerates, it’s still family owned.
The Guinness Toucan
Who Knew What a Toucan Could Do?
Guinness Stout
After relying on word of mouth for over 150 years, Guinness rolled out its first national advertisement on February 6th, 1929, in the Daily Mail newspaper. We know this because it said so right at the top of the ad. More importantly, at the bottom of the ad was a new slogan: Guinness Is Good For You.
Guinness soon paired that slogan with whimsical paintings by gifted artist John Gilroy, then expanded their health claims campaign with the taglines Guinness for Strength and Have a Guinness when you’re tired.
A fortuitous 1934 visit to a local zoo (some say it was a circus) inspired Gilroy to populate his art with animals instead of just humans. The My Goodness, My Guinness campaign was launched, featuring all sorts of beasts making off with pints of Guinness, including a pelican, a lion, a kangaroo, a crocodile, a sea lion, an ostrich and a toucan.
The pelican was originally intended to be the star of the band. Gilroy had this idea about encouraging Brits to drink a Guinness a day, with the pelican loading its beak with seven pints, accompanied by a modified Dickson Lanier Merritt limerick.
A wonderful bird is the pelican
Its bill can hold more than its belly can.
It can hold in its beak
Enough for a week
I simply don’t know how the hell he can.
Which didn’t go over so well, making one wonder if it was the word hell or the suspicion that the pelican might swallow all seven pints at once that stuck in the public’s craw.
Popular mystery writer and poet Dorothy L Sayers was tapped to pen a less offensive rhyme. No stranger to homonyms, Sayers came up with this winning ditty:
If he can say as you can
Guinness is good for you
How grand to be a toucan
Just think what two can do.
Right? Screw that one-pint-a-day nonsense. If their customers started drinking two a day, why, it would double their sales. And just imagine their sales if they could convince them to drink, say, five million pints a day! Just kidding.
I’m certain that poster to the right is referencing the 5 million pints they sold to the entire world per day.
Two pints and the toucan were plenty. Muscling aside the foul-mouthed seabird, the exotic understudy soon became the star of the show. It eventually went solo and in time became synonymous with the Irish stout.
Why It Worked: The toucan’s bright colors and the faraway locale it referenced were a welcome escape from the gray days of the economic depression of the 1930s and the wartime horrors of the 1940s. And its incongruity certainly hooked the imagination. What in high hell was a bizarre looking tropical bird doing in Britain with a pint balanced on its beak?
Evolution: Under Gilroy’s firm hand, the toucan’s physical appearance didn’t vary a great deal during its long reign, aside from its smile becoming more pronounced and mysterious.
Its pose, however, changed with the times. It flew in formation during the war, settled down with its mate when the war was over, and popped a bottle cap and announced it was opening time during the reconstruction of the 50s and 60s.
After nearly 50 years in the limelight. The two can was retired in 1982, though it occasionally pokes its beak into their advertising. And toucan merch is still a big seller on the Guinness website.
Dark Secret: In 1936, Guinness put Gilroy to work drawing up ads for a marketing blitz they were going to lay on Nazi Germany. The ads never made it into production because, you know, that whole World War II thing.
Claim to Fame: A 1962 advertising study vetted the Guinness Toucan as the most recognizable animal advertising icon in the world.
Mr. Boston
The Streetwise Dandy
Mr. Boston Distillery
The old Mr. Boston Distillery sprang to life in 1933, founded by Boston natives Irwin “Red” Benjamin and Hyman C. Berkowitz. There was no real old Mr. Boston. The icon is merely an artist’s conception of what a genteel 19th-century Bostonian who liked a bit of liquor might look like.
He was formally introduced to the drinking community in the inaugural 1935 edition of The Old Mr. Boston Deluxe, official Bartender’s Guide, with this glowing copy:
“He is a jolly fellow. One of those rare individuals, everlastingly young, a distinct personality and famous throughout the land for his sterling qualities and genuine good fellowship. His friends number in the millions, those who are great and those who are near great, even as you and I. He is jovial and ever ready to accept the difficult role of life of the party, who may be relied upon in any emergency.”
While it’s easy to think of the beaver hatted Mr. Boston as Johnnie Walker’s yank cousin. Mr. B is by no means snooty. Far from it. Would a snob attach his visage and reputation to a mint flavored gin, much less something called Wild Cherry Nectar? Assuredly not.
If anything, Mr. Boston is a fiery eyed rebel, a bold innovator, willing to disregard any rule you set in front of him. During his long history, he has not only smiled agreeably from bottles of vodka, whiskey, rum and gin, but also from, shall we say, less conventional petitions. Have a hankering for Orange gin, a whiskey named after the bottle it’s in, or a dry liqueur named after its proof or color? A quarter pint of — yes — Five Star Grape-Flavored Brandy? Mr. B has you covered.
Why It Worked: Though his rarefied appearance suggests a superior product, his portly stature, easygoing grin and the fact he was sometimes pictured casually slumped in a rocking chair suggested he was willing to hook you up with a deal.
And he usually did. When they opened their distillery immediately after the repeal of Prohibition, Hyman and Irwin set their sights on the bottom shelf. And their aim was true. By not focusing so much on quality, they were able to undersell almost all of their competitors. But don’t think that was their only shtick. The distillery was a hotbed of innovation and experimentation and they were apparently willing to roll out whatever kooky flavor popped into their heads. If they are remembered for anything, besides their ubiquitous cocktail guide, it should be for the sheer number of bizarre liquors they laid on the public.
Evolution: Because the distillery changed hands on a regular basis, Old Mr. Boston was forced to endure a multitude of transformations. During the youth-worshiping 1970s “Old” was dropped, he slimmed down and corrected his posture. In the mid-80s he vanished altogether. There were rumors he had checked into rehab. In 1995, Barton Incorporated acquired the brand and brought back a simplified version of the original middle aged gent.
The latest owners, the Sazerac Company, have streamlined his countenance even further: he’s gotten younger, he foolishly shaved off his fantastic mutton-chops sideburns, and now refuses to make eye contact because he has no eyes. The once jolly Mr. Boston is now a cold caricature of his old self.
Dark Secret: During the 1980s, Mr. Boston’s line of budget-priced flavored brandies and brandy-like nectars were attacked as being deliberately marketed to the denizens of Skid Row.
Claim to Fame: Old Mr. Boston’s Official Bartender’s Guide was the best selling cocktail guide of all time. I say was because there may or may not be any further additions. Time will tell.
The Girl in the Moon
From Actress to Astronaut
Miller High Life Beer
Generations of High Lifers know her well, and they should. She’s been giving them the eye from the neck of the champagne of beers for over a century.
It’s been widely speculated that the first iteration of the Miller girl was as an animal tamer or circus performer, because she carried a whip and dressed in an outlandish fashion. But the earliest ads reveal she was actually an actress on a theater stage, whose role demanded she wear a Mexican witch hat, brandish a whip and sometimes stand atop the planet Earth. She was a world tamer, if you will.
She took a trip to the moon when A.C. Paul of Miller’s marketing division got lost in the woods during an outing and had a vision of a girl in the moon pointing the way back to civilization. Paul eventually found his way out of the woods, perhaps after sobering up a bit. And from then on, the Miller girl started dividing her time between standing on stage and sitting on the moon.
Why It Worked: Mysterious, otherworldly and radiating gentility, the Miller girl is the very personification of understated class, which is perfect for a lager comparing itself to champagne. And if you think that Champagne of Beers line is just some marketing guff, think again. When Miller High Life rolled out in 1903, it was meant to be a luxury item. Most drinkers at the time got their beer from barrels at the local bar. If they wanted to drink at home, they’d bring it home in a bucket. I’m not kidding.
Beer in a bottle was already a novelty, and Miller took it to the next level by selling High Life in champagne-style bottles with foil wrapped around the cap, just like champagne. They also upped the carbonation and lighten the color to enhance the resemblance to bubbly. They advertised it in theater magazines and other highbrow publications. If you were drinking Miller High Life in the early 20th century, you were most likely a fancy pants living the high life.
Evolution: The Girl in the Moon didn’t immediately replace the earthbound actress of the early ads. Deep into the 1950s. Both versions still appeared on their beer bottles and print ads. The major shift of the Girl in the Moon was from pointing the way with an outstretched arm to turning to give the consumer a frank and friendly stare.
She disappeared from the cans in the 1950s, but wasn’t kicked off the bottles and print ads until the late 1960s, when Miller’s new ownership decided to turn the champagne of beers into a working class brand.
“It’s Miller Time,” their advertising shouted, but it was time’s up for the Miller girl. Then, after two decades of exile and much grumbling by her devotees, she returned to the neck of the bottles in 1997. Her image was simplified somewhat, but such is the way of the cruel and cold advertising world.
Dark Secret: From 1997 through 2005, Miller ran the iconic and highly successful High Life Man ad series put together by famed director Errol Morris. (Here’s the archive of the commercials. They’re quite excellent.)
The campaign revived the brand, however, when sales stopped climbing, Miller dropped the series in favor of a high minded ad campaign featuring a talking, real life Girl in the Moon. It was met with an immediate and hostile backlash, to the degree that Miller sacked the responsible advertising agency and killed the commercials.
And they didn’t stop there. Miller then scrubbed the entire internet of the commercials, and they are presently impossible to find.
Claim to Fame: The Miller Girl is the longest lived brand icon in the history of American brewing. At its peak in 1979, Miller High Life was the number two beer in the land. It has since fallen out of the top 20, well behind its upstart sibling Miller Lite.
The Blue Bull
Pop the Top, I Dare You
Schlitz Malt Liquor
Believe it or not, when Schlitz added malt liquor to its stable in 1963, their plan was to market it to an upscale and hip clientele. This was before malt liquor had acquired its rough and tumble reputation, and the marketing boys thought the stronger, richer, less carbonated brew might appeal to the middle class and the sort of sport who imbibed imported ales in between cruising around in his British sports car.
A far cry from today’s 40 ounce bottles of instant street cred, it was initially sold in dainty eight ounce cans and print ads went so far as to suggest you should enjoy it on the rocks with a twist of lemon. Though they were also quick to point out it was smooth enough to sip straight up.
Another ad featured a daring socialite biting her pearls, giggling over a tray of long stemmed glasses bearing a bull logo paired with the copy: “Mildred never used to be famous for her parties. Then she introduced Schlitz Malt liquor.”
Yeah. Bet it gave Mildred a big old boost up the social ladder.
Unsurprisingly, this woefully misguided marketing strategy barely survived the decade. A much more masculine campaign kicked off in 1972, with a flurry of TV spots revolving around the idea that popping a can of Schlitz entailed the kind of macho excitement only a marauding 2,000 pound bull bursting through the nearest wall and ripping the crap out of everything in sight could generate.
Why It Worked: Though the angry bull logo was the product of happenstance rather than the brainchild of cynical Madison Avenue types, it could well have been. Higher alcohol content and bolder taste demands virile and macho imagery, and historically, all the way back to those bull-worshiping Minoans, nothing suggests virility and machismo more than a bull with a bad attitude.
Evolution: A bull was chosen to front Schlitz, his foray into malt liquor because Schlitz Brewery heir and President Henry Uihlein’s pride and Joy was a prize. Brahma named Prince.
The early logo on the cans was a stately and stylized bullhead that wouldn’t look out of place in a Minoan fresco. Eight years later, once they realized who their market really was, the raging blue version made its leap onto the product and TV screens alike.
Since then, the icon hasn’t changed much, aside from color changes for various spin-offs from the original formula.
Dark Secret: Zane the one ton Brahma bull featured in the TV spots, was a eunuch. He was neutered in his youth and reputedly was as gentle as a lamb — and one hell of an actor.
Claim to Fame: In the Schlitz Malt Liquor commercials of the 70s and 80, the bull menaced a slew of musical stars, including Kool and the gang, The Platters, The Spinners, the Average White Band, The Drifters, Teddy Pendergrass, The Four Tops, Wilson Pickett, The Commodores, Doctor Hook, The Marshall Tucker Band, and .38 Special.
The Wild Turkey
The Dirty Bird Comes Clean
Wild Turkey Bourbon
According to company legend. Wild Turkey got its name via this charming tale. In 1940, Austin Nicholls executive Thomas McCarthy brought a jug of undiluted, high-proof bourbon to share with his friends during their annual turkey shoot. His chums liked it so much they insisted he bring more of that Wild Turkey bourbon to future outings. McCarthy, a New York businessman with a background in marketing, figured there might be a demand beyond his hunt mates and launched the brand in 1952.
Nothing enthralls a bourbon drinker more than knowing the aged corn liquor he holds in his hand was conspired by a be whiskered 19th-century hillbilly, which explains why bourbon distilleries spend so much of their advertising budgets obsessing about their respective histories. Austin Nichols, originally a grocery company, likes to hint that they can trace their bourbon crafting lineage to 1855 but the fact of the matter is, they’re referencing the start of their grocery business, not their distillery operation.
Though it hardly matters. Wild Turkey, under the firm hand of master distiller Jimmy Russell and his son Eddie, continues to produce excellent high proof Bourbons in an era when other distillers see Jack Daniels a watering down their whiskeys at the behest of marketing surveys.
Why it worked: The wild turkey is a crafty and might I say tasty creature. Benjamin Franklin was so taken by its charms that he wanted it to be our fledgling nation’s national symbol, instead of the bald eagle. And since Wild Turkey doesn’t own a deep distilling history that would allow them to put a bee whiskered hillbilly founder on the label. The next best thing is an animal. Hillbillies might want to eat.
Evolution: Aside from the usual simplification and shifts in posture, the turkey has changed very little during its relatively short history. While it appears on the entire range of wild turkey products, its position and size varies somewhat. It appears largest and proudest on the label of their 101 proof bourbon, and hides shamefully in the shadows on the bottle of their 71 proof honey liquor.
Dark secret: It may say Real Kentucky on the label, but Wild Turkey is owned by Europeans. The French Pernod Ricard group bought the distillery in 1980, and at the time, master distiller Jimmy Russell noted, Wild Turkey is a little family distillery. It’s just that the family lives in Paris. They are presently owned by the Campari Group, which is based in Italy.
Claim to fame: Wild Turkey was doctor Hunter S Thompson’s choice of liquor. He rarely traveled without at least one bottle in his suitcase.
The Jäger Deer
Shoot Me, Shoot Jesus
Jägermeister
There is something unsettling about the level gaze of the Jäger Deer. While most animal icons demurely look askance, this beast stares you directly in the eye. It also appears to have Christ on its side, or at least on its mind. Jägermeister is German for expert hunter, and if you examine the edge of the label you’ll find a German poem by Otto von Riesenthal, which roughly translates into:
This is the Hunter’s badge of honor
That he protect and nourish his game
Hunt sportingly, as is proper
and honor the creator in creation.
So what’s with all the religious stuff, you might be wondering. The deer’s got a neon cross stuck in its antlers, and the label’s got some goofy rhyme kissing up to the Creator. What gives?
Well, back around the 7th Century, a pagan sportsman named Hubert was about to bag a magnificent stag when a glowing crucifix appeared between its antlers. And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, Christ himself gave a shout out, proclaiming in a very loud voice: “Hubert, unless you turn to the Lord and lead a holy life, you shall quickly fall into the abyss of hell!”
Huber didn’t need to be told twice. He was soon ordained and spent the rest of his life putting the arm on the local pagans and idolaters, when he wasn’t erecting monasteries. Then, long after he died, he became St. Hubert, patron saint of hunters and opticians.
So in 1935, Curt Mast, an avid hunter and inheritor of a venerable German distillery, adapted the legend and imagery of Saint Hubert to his spanking new concoction, a combination of 56 herbs, roots and spices. Jägermeister was meant to be something you’d more likely keep in your medicine, rather than liquor cabinet.
Early advertising swore it was a cure for incessant coughs, digestive problems, and other common ailments. It became somewhat popular in Germany, but that was about it until 1970, when the Jäger Blitz was launched. It targeted nearly every country on the planet and was met with immediate success. Eschewing traditional advertising methods, the liqueur was introduced with the clever grassroots strategy of throwing bar parties manned by squads of “Jägerettes,” and sponsoring hard drinking metal bands including Metallica, Pantera and Slayer.
Its rapid expansion was also facilitated by false rumors suggesting the liqueur contained deer blood and or heroin extract.
Why It Worked: The Jäger Deer is a very cleanly drawn and powerful symbol, even though it was created almost a century ago. It doesn’t seem the least bit dated. The fact that Jägermeister hasn’t changed the symbol one bit, not even during the godawful 1970s, when nearly every brand logo was groovified into total crap, speaks volumes.
When you have something that works and works well, don’t screw around with it.
Evolution: The Jäger Deer hasn’t changed a hair since it appeared 90 years ago, and isn’t likely to so long as it maintains its stranglehold on the liqueur shot niche.
Dark Secret: Jägermeister founder Curt Mast was a member of the Nazi Party and hunting buddy of Hermann Goering, commander of the Luftwaffe during World War II.
Claim to Fame: Jägermeister captured the much-prized middle ground between manly and girly shots and is presently the best-selling herbal liqueur in the world.