The seminal Gikuyu hymnal is a book named ‘Nyimbo cia Kuinira Ngai’ (literally translated as ‘Songs to Sing to God’). It is the mainstay of many (even moderately) religious Kikuyu homes, and has been for decades. Many a dog-eared copy is pulled out during church services, and – for me in particular – the green cover with a black-and-white photo of Mount Kenya reminds me of my grandparents.
And that may have been one of the considerations which the publishers of the hymnal had, because, in the last couple of years, the book has been updated and revised. Nothing wrong with that, you might say, but now there’s the curious case at church services where the service leader is compelled to call out two hymn numbers (the old one and the new one). This is often the cause of confused periods when worshippers are attempting to locate the right hymn.
I found this particularly fascinating when I observed it a few weeks ago, but I couldn’t quite figure out why it was so interesting, until it hit me. It’s not just that I think the revision could have kept the same hymn numbers (though some more knowledgeable than me say that this is because the hymnal is now arranged thematically); its also because it reminds me of many brands which were mainstays and favourites, and which felt the need to change themselves. Some have managed the transition successfully, while others have botched it so spectacularly that they have disappeared, taking their parent companies with them.
The question of how to manage the refresh of brands is one that bedevils marketing managers and chief executives endlessly. Even the most up-to-date, trendiest, ‘with-it’ brands eventually get tired. This is the case from both sides of the success continuum. When they’re successful, ubiquity can mean that consumers get weary of them, and their attributes become wallpaper. When they’re struggling, on the other hand, some managers believe that a jolt in the attributes, packaging and colour will help them catch up with the category leaders, and give them a fighting chance.
The most famous case of a failed update, of course, is that of New Coke. In 1985, the soft drinks giant decided that, based on a blind tasting, it should sweeten and reduce the ‘bite’ of its eponymous flagship. The idea seemed good at the time (and focus-tested to death), but as soon as the drink was on the shelves, consumers rejected it dramatically. It was such a flop that Coca-Cola was humiliatingly forced to pull it off the shelves, and re-introduce its old formula as ‘Coke Classic’. The incident stung, and is still studied in business schools three decades later.
Closer home, the dreary 1980s present the clearest case of brands that could not make the transition. Look at any 30-something’s Facebook page, and you’ll see them sharing nostalgic pictures of juice and hair products (Tree Top and Vaseline Hair Tonic, respectively). The products bring a wry smile and fond (if fading) memories to the soon-to-be-middle-aged person’s heart, and hark back to more innocent times. But the 1980s were dreary for a reason, and many of these products are no longer with us. During the worst of President Moi’s single party rule, there was a prevailing business environment which saw, for the most part, one major product per category. These products trotted contentedly on, sure of their place in the shopping baskets of Kenya’s beleaguered consumers. When the environment changed, however, these products fell by the wayside. South African fresh juices came onto the market (at first rejected for being too expensive, but gradually accepted more and more), and their Kenyan doppelgangers were not too far behind. Even in the fruit squashes market, seemingly better-tasting products meant that Tree Top was dead by the mid 1990s. As for hair tonic, Michael Jordan made it acceptable to ditch the afro, and thus the need for shiny hair collapsed.
Of course, there are some products that made it, even from that era. Roiko, the cooking mix, decided that a re-spelling to Royco was just the trick, and managed the transition to the new century pretty painlessly. Weetabix, the breakfast cereal, has also survived, despite a change of ownership, and now has very interesting brand extensions such as chocolate chip additions (full disclosure: one of my closest friends is a top executive at Weetabix).
So is brand extension the answer? Should the Tree Top brand be adorning a fresh juice packet? Should Goody Goody (the notoriously sticky toffee) now be the brand of an energy bar? I don’t know, to be honest. What seems to be a good idea can be a messy failure upon execution, and maybe some brands do need to die a natural death.
It will be a few years until the publishers of ‘Nyimbo cia Kuinira Ngai’ discover whether their move was the right one (their competition is not just other hymnals, but also churches which project their hymns onto television displays, or even dispense with hymns altogether and employ good choirs). In the meantime, however, find an old, surviving, well-loved brand, and give it a hug. For old time’s sake.
This was also published in the Business Daily on the 1st of April 2014, at http://www.businessdailyafrica.com/Opinion-and-Analysis/When-to-sing-songs-of-renewal-or-keep-your-brand-heritage-intact/-/539548/2264460/-/14ha01rz/-/index.html
Comments
Post a Comment