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Journal of Marketing Management


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How to create an influential


anthropomorphic mascot: Literary
musings on marketing, make-believe,
and meerkats
a a a
Anthony Patterson , Yusra Khogeer & Julia Hodgson
a
University of Liverpool , UK
Published online: 28 Feb 2013.

To cite this article: Anthony Patterson , Yusra Khogeer & Julia Hodgson (2013) How to create an
influential anthropomorphic mascot: Literary musings on marketing, make-believe, and meerkats,
Journal of Marketing Management, 29:1-2, 69-85, DOI: 10.1080/0267257X.2012.759992

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Journal of Marketing Management, 2013
Vol. 29, Nos. 1–2, 69–85, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0267257X.2012.759992

How to create an influential anthropomorphic


mascot: Literary musings on marketing,
make-believe, and meerkats
Anthony Patterson, University of Liverpool, UK
Yusra Khogeer, University of Liverpool, UK
Julia Hodgson, University of Liverpool, UK
Downloaded by [Australian National University] at 11:55 03 January 2015

Abstract Not long ago, Compare the Market, a UK-based online aggregator of
car insurance quotes, had little distinctive presence in the marketplace. Yet the
company’s fortunes have been radically transformed since the launch in early
2009 of its award-winning marketing campaign, ‘Compare the Meerkat’, fronted
by the much-loved anthropomorphic mascot, Aleksandr Orlov. This paper utilises
literary insights to explain the peculiar piquancy of this popular anthropomorphic
marketing campaign. To establish its consumer appeal, we conduct a literary
exploration of the rich, textured experience of Aleksandr Orlov’s imaginary world.
In doing so, we postulate that the triumph of the campaign lies in its, albeit
inadvertent, amalgamation of three literary genres: Russian literature, comedy
literature, and adventure literature.

Keywords anthropomorphism; mascots; literary theory; advertising; branding

The most influential people who never lived

According to Lazar, Karlan, and Salter’s (2006) ranking of The 101 Most Influential
People Who Never Lived, characters created by the marketing industry are equal,
if not superior, to the very best that popular fiction has to offer. Literature can
lay claim to such memorable creations as The Great Gatsby, Robinson Crusoe,
and Hamlet, but even the finest literary characters – Sherlock Holmes (Grayson &
Martinec, 2004), Dracula (Iordanova, 2007), and Harry Potter (Brown, 2005a) to
name but a few – owe much of their contemporary success to the branding efforts and
commercial considerations of the modern ‘blockbuster economy’ (Grainge, 2008).
For their part, marketers have created many unforgettable characters that function
as brand advocates. These include employees, celebrities, pseudo Joe and Jane
Averages, brand spokes-characters, brand avatars, and anthropomorphic mascots,
many of whom have connected with the masses, and left an indelible imprint on
the world (Eaton, 2003; Garretson & Niedrich, 2004). However, in the main, we
speak of anthropomorphic mascots like the Michelin Man, the Energizer Bunny,
and the outrageous Peperami sausage whose predilection for cannibalism and brutal
sadomasochism is both brilliant and bizarre.

© 2013 Westburn Publishers Ltd.


70 Journal of Marketing Management, Volume 29

Despite the marketing industry’s obvious accomplishments in crafting these


imaginary characters, despite the Marlboro Man laying claim to the illustrious title
of number one – yes, number one – ‘most influential person who never lived’
(Lazar et al., 2006),1 outside the trade’s own lavish award ceremonies, few are
rushing forward to commend them for introducing these make-believe characters into
popular culture. This stands, of course, in complete contrast to the reverential awe
in which almost all noteworthy literary protagonists are universally adored. While
a full expose of how the totality of marketing activity is often derided is obviously
beyond the scope of this paper and, in any case, has already been done to death (see
Klein, 2001; Schor, 2004; Schudson, 1984), a brief consideration of the chequered
history of some of marketing’s most famous characters might partly illuminate why a
disparity between the reception of literary and marketing anthropomorphic artefacts
exists.
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From as early as the 1930s, the simple truth is that anthropomorphic characters
were contrived by marketers to tap specifically the buying power of children and
adults alike (Jacobson, 2008). Specific examples of this abound, but two of the most
notable and morally reprehensible agents from the historical marketing menagerie are
the phallic-faced, child-friendly form of Joe Camel and his heavyweight accomplice,
the hyper-masculine Marlboro Man. Their representations conferred coolness onto
an addictive and potentially lethal product (Kilbourne, 1999). While people smoke
for many reasons, there is little doubt that these campaigns were instrumental in
persuading people, the young especially, to take up the habit. Another marketing
legend, Mattel’s enduring Barbie doll, unquestionably the cherished plaything of
many a schoolgirl from the 1950s through to the present day, has nonetheless also had
her fair share of feminist detractors. Her impossible to emulate perfection – long legs,
pointy breasts, and slim waist – so the critique goes, has inflicted untold psychological
trauma on little girls who aspire to be just like her (Oppenheimer, 2009). Then there
are the slew of contemporary anthropomorphic dolls – the Fashion Kitties, My Little
Ponies, and Hello Kitties of this world – who on the surface seem like harmless toys,
and perhaps are. However, to some, they represent ‘disturbing images of women
as atavistic and animalistic, signalling a return to old concepts of social and racial
hierarchy that positioned women, children, imbeciles, and the non-white at the lower
levels of civilization’ (Peers, 2008, p. 37). Finally, we should mention the cartoon
hawkers of sugared cereal such as Count Chocula and Frankenberry, the latter of
whom represented a breakfast food that was infamous for turning children’s faeces
bright pink, a condition dubbed ‘Frankenberry Stool’ (Payne, 1972).
Now, in relation to the above critique of marketing’s imaginary characters,
you could chastise us for carefully selecting only the worst abominations of
anthropomorphic marketing. You could point out that some of the characters
mentioned have already been consigned to history, and that marketing no longer
uses anthropomorphism to sell harmful products like cigarettes. You could also quite
rightly argue that the marketers who create anthropomorphic characters do not force
consumers to buy their products, that that decision is entirely the consumers own.
You could say all of these things, but you cannot deny that the creation of cuddly,
colourful, sometimes cartoonish, anthropomorphic characters might be financially
lucrative but, to date, has done little to enhance marketing’s reputation. Even Ronald

1 The recognition, though, rather like TIME’s recognition of both Hitler and Stalin as one-time winners of
their longstanding ‘Person of the Year’ award, is of the militating variety, and definitely does not constitute
an endorsement.
Patterson et al. How to create an influential anthropomorphic mascot 71

McDonald, aka sinister clown, or somebody purporting to be him, has said, ‘I’m a
burger mascot and everybody hates me’ (Taylor, 2011, p. 13).
Bettany and Belk’s (2011) paper on Disney discourses tentatively links the faintly
objectionable nature of marketing mascots with anthropomorphism. They stress
that there just seems to be ‘something vaguely wrong with the primitive natives
and cartoonish anthropomorphized animatronic elephants and hippos on the Jungle
Cruise of Adventureland’ (p. 166). A polarised version of this same mind-set,
led the Chinese in 1931, or at least those in the province of Hunan, to ban
Alice in Wonderland. Its offence being, that like all beast fables, from Aesop-style
stories to contemporary cartoons, it indulged in the seemingly unspeakable act of
making animals speak (Levin, 1965). Anthropomorphism may also be an unwelcome
reminder of our bestial roots and yearnings, which Broch (1945) in Death of a
Virgil beautifully describes as the human tendency to become ‘wolfish, foxish, cattish,
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parrottish, horsish, sharkish, but always dedicated to a horrible, somehow self-


imprisoning lust, insatiably desirous of having, desirous of bargaining for goods,
money . . . ’ (p. 15).
Does it follow then that the use of all anthropomorphic characters in marketing
should cease? Not at all. If rendered right (or possibly written ‘write’), they can
be entertaining, engaging, and even earn a stamp of ethical approval from the
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA).2 More to the point, they can
also move product. Ultimately, they can, we would argue, despite their inherently
commercial intent, become as lodged and revered in the popular imagination as the
greatest literary offspring. Opportunely, just such an anthropomorphic marketing
mascot already exists: the much-loved meerkat, Aleksandr Orlov, the frontman
for Compare the Market, a car insurance comparison website. As we will show,
since the campaign’s debut in 2009, it has made an unprecedented splash in the
realm of advertising, where admiring glances have been cast in its direction, and
industry awards, such as the APG 2009 Creative Strategy Award and the 2010 British
Television Advertising Awards, have been won (Sweney, 2010).
Alongside Brown’s (2010) perceptive anatomy of marketing anthropomorphism,
and indeed his novel The Penguin’s Progress in which the Orlov character features, our
paper is likely to be one of many articles that probe the depths of this campaign.3 It is
our contention that somehow the cognoscente creators of Aleksandr have uncannily
absorbed the repeated exhortations made by an editor of this special issue.4 He
frequently asserts that literary criticism offers tools both for those interested in
advancing the study of consumption and for everyday marketers seeking to outdo
their competitors (Brown, 1997, 2005b). And while the former is not in doubt, given
the corpus of literary approaches already apparent in consumer research (Brown &
Patterson, 2010; Brownlie, 2001; Holbrook, 1990; Stern, 1989, 1990), evidence of
the latter – of marketing practitioners using literary theory – is still extremely thin
on the ground. This case study will hopefully help redress this imbalance by showing

2 PETA have consistently fulminated against the use of real animals in advertisements, which explains why
they warmly welcomed Compare the Market’s decision to conceive their anthropomorphic creation using
electronically generated imagery. In recognition, they awarded the campaign their coveted, ‘Goody Award
for Best Television Advert’.
3 Inevitably, the campaign will surely feature as a quirky case study in many forthcoming editions of
introductory marketing and advertising texts. Just wait and see.
4 Intriguingly, one of the creatives behind Aleksandr, Richard Connell, graduated with an English Literature
degree from the University of Oxford. What is more, Val Hudson, the ghostwriter of ‘A Simples Life’ has
an impressive literary history.
72 Journal of Marketing Management, Volume 29

how implicit literary insights have proved crucial in nourishing and sustaining the
campaign.
Though the weight of evidence gleaned from our analysis of its textual artefacts –
the ads, books, and social media posts – is almost overwhelming, the intellectual
discussion surrounding the campaign, if we can call it that, in trade magazines and
the like, does not directly corroborate our contention. While life narratives, whether
they be modelled on the conventions of a romantic plot or a soap opera, have long
been a mainstay of television advertising (Richter, 2007), literary perspectives, as a
rule, have been curiously absent from previous discussions of anthropomorphism
in both the monthly outpourings of academia’s finest marketing and consumer
behaviour journals, and the weekly musings of its industry-oriented magazines.
Yet we will attempt to show how literary insights can both explain the peculiar
piquancy of Compare the Market’s popular anthropomorphic marketing campaign,
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and guide those who seek to create an anthropomorphic brand mascot of their
own design. We begin by presenting the background to the advertising campaign,
outlining how it transformed the fortunes of the company. To establish the consumer
appeal of its anthropomorphism, we conduct a literary exploration of the rich,
textured experience of Aleksandr Orlov’s imaginary world. In doing so, we postulate
that the triumph of this deeply integrated marketing campaign – spanning social
media, television and magazine advertising, and even the publication of an amusing
autobiography – lies in its, albeit inadvertent, amalgamation of three established
literary genres: Russian literature, comedy literature, and adventure literature.
We conclude by suggesting that other brands urgently seeking to shrug off their
inanimateness can create equally compelling and quirky anthropomorphic characters
by purposefully constructing a multifaceted life narrative from the wide gamut of
available literary genres. We therefore urge marketers explicitly to contemplate,
cultivate, and assemble the diverse literary roots of their brand’s anthropomorphic
essence.

Nothing compares to meerkat marketing

Like his vintage Rolls-Royce, Aleksandr Orlov is a class act among anthropomorphic
advertising campaigns. Not long ago, Compare the Market, a UK-based online
aggregator of car insurance quotes, had little distinctive presence in the marketplace.
Alongside a slew of similar competitors, it efficiently directed consumers to what
each company predictably described as the ‘cheapest’ car insurance deals, but it
languished in fourth place in its sector. While its operational algorithms have
barely changed, the company’s fortunes have been radically transformed since
the launch in early 2009 of its award-winning marketing campaign, ‘Compare
the Meerkat’, fronted by Aleksandr Orlov and his affable sidekick, Sergei. The
product of a brainstorming session around the name of CompareTheMarket.com,
the central idea of the campaign, is the charming conceit that Aleksandr is frustrated
by consumers who confuse his website, ComparetheMeerkat.com, with that of
CompareTheMarket.com. His perpetual goal is thus to enlighten the public about
their mistake. Since launch, it has become one of the most talked about advertisement
campaigns ever to feature on UK media. It has truly captured the public’s imagination.
Not many campaigns can lay claim to have coined a word – ‘Simples’ – that in
less than a year not only has become a light-hearted conversational affectation, but
has also gained entry to the Oxford English Dictionary. The campaign has been
Patterson et al. How to create an influential anthropomorphic mascot 73

so popular that it has been responsible for an upsurge in people wanting to keep
meerkats as pets or visit them in zoos, and of parents christening their newborns
Aleksandr (Bradshaw, 2010; Gold, 2010).
A range of merchandise also accompanies the ads. The latest wheeze has been
to give away a cuddly toy representing one of the stars of the campaign to each of
its customers. By far, though, the biggest single defining feature of the campaign has
been the publication of an ambitious pseudo-autobiography that documents, in comic
style, the history of Aleksandr’s family, and his own subsequent rise to prominence
that has seen him become “like the young Sugar Alan only nicer to look at” (Orlov,
2010, p. 78). Not since Me Cheeta: The Autobiography has such a convincingly
rendered text been assembled in the name of an anthropomorphic character (Cheeta
and Lever, 2009). It managed to secure more pre-orders than any other title released
at the same time – no small feat considering that it was up against books by Russell
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Brand, Cheryl Cole, and Tony Blair. In fact, the week after launch, it shot to number
two on the Amazon.co.uk autobiography chart (Davies, 2011).
The campaign’s decision to adopt a novel approach in the traditionally reserved
marketplace for car insurance was courageous and inspired. To convince their client
to buy in to the notion of a meerkat mascot, creative directors, Darren Bailes and
Steve Vranakis, actually had to act out the opening ad by climbing onto chairs
and pretending they were meerkats (Murden, 2010). Prior to the campaign, the
challenge set for the brief-winning advertising agency, VCCP, was essentially twofold:
improve the market positioning of the CompareTheMarket.com website relative to
the competition, and find a way of reducing the exorbitant cost of maintaining a
leading position within search engine results. Paying for generic search terms like
‘cheap car insurance’ had resulted in an unwinnable bidding war with competing
companies, which meant only those that could afford to lose the most could remain
financially viable over the long term. A competitive advantage needed to be found –
and fast.
The arrival of Aleksandr Orlov provided just such a competitive advantage. In one
fell swoop, the campaign delivered on both of its key objectives, doing so in a
spectacularly quick, five-week period, rather than the original 12-month target (Hall,
2009). It reduced the cost of paying for search terms, by switching focus from generic
search terms to much less coveted and thereby inexpensive terms like ‘meerkat’,
‘Simples’, ‘Orlov’, and ‘Aleksandr’. The switch to the new campaign is also a fine
illustration of a differentiation strategy, a classic marketing move designed to avoid
an unwinnable cost war and overcome low-cost leadership competitors. Remarkably,
it also made CompareTheMarket.com the number one car insurance comparison
website. It is, in a national sense, now the Google of its industry. As a result of its
anthropomorphic advertising campaign, people think much more favourably of the
brand, and consequently, even though the competitors offer comparable services,
they have been unable – despite their best efforts to fight back with their own quirky
campaigns, one featuring an Italian opera singer (GoCompare.com) and another the
comedian Omid Djalili (MoneySupermarket.com) – to regain the market share lost
to CompareTheMarket.com.

Research perspective
This paper’s philosophical and methodological underpinnings are motivated by the
same derring-do attitude that inspired the creators of the Compare the Meerkat
74 Journal of Marketing Management, Volume 29

campaign to introduce a new style of mascot-led advertising into their industry. Just
as the insurance campaigns prior to the existence of Aleksandr Orlov were virtually
indistinguishable, the same could be said for academic studies in the field of marketing
anthropomorphism. For the most part, while the subjects under investigation display
some variety – although car anthropomorphism is very popular – the methodology
employed is invariably of a quantitative design that involves hypothesis testing
(see Aggarwal & McGill, 2007; Keaveney, Herrmann, Befurt, & Landwehr, 2012;
Landwehr, McGill, and Herrmann, 2011). Moreover, the goal of these papers rarely
says much about practical issues, such as how an anthropomorphic mascot can be
created.
While there is considerable merit in this type of approach, this paper differs
somewhat from these studies, in that it adopts a literary approach to anthro-
pomorphism. The clever conceit of our paper, the rationale for our approach,
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was inspired by a chance encounter with Harold Bloom’s (1999) Shakespeare: The
Invention of the Human. In his book, the famous literary critic directly asserts no
less a claim than that Shakespeare – ridiculous though it may at first seem – invented
human beings as we know them today, with all their foibles, emotions, and peculiar
eccentricities. By thoroughly dissecting Shakespeare’s central characters – Hamlet,
Falstaff, and Rosalind – Bloom builds a provocative but ultimately convincing thesis
that Shakespeare did indeed invent the human template. If one accepts his bold
contention, one can quickly comprehend that if the secret of anthropomorphic design
is to make a character of make-believe appear as human as possible, then perhaps the
creators of anthropomorphic characters could feasibly draw upon literature to make
convincing characters that the public will celebrate and enjoy.
What will also become clear is that Aleksandr Orlov’s literary world is anything but
‘simples’, displaying as it does a finely wrought complexity rarely, if ever, encountered
in the presentation of a mere marketing mascot. True to say that most consumers
will be blatantly unaware of its full breadth and depth, but that does not make its
edifice any the less remarkable, nor the effect of its totality any the less profound.
We should mention, too, that the three fictional genres we discern to best encapsulate
Aleksandr’s imaginary world are far from mutually exclusive. Aspects of content
discussed in one genre, say, comedy literature, might fit equally well under Russian
literature, while aspects of adventure literature might also have a home under comedy
literature. Nonetheless, by separately elucidating each, the literary constitution of this
anthropomorphic mascot will hopefully be revealed.

Russian literature

First there was Shakespeare, then Dostoyevsky, and now Orlov . . .


(Amazon Promo Video, 2011)

The fictional anthropomorph, Aleksandr Orlov, has been styled as a Russian-born


aristocrat, writer, entrepreneur, movie director, producer, actor, pop star, chat-
show host, and multi-talented meerkat who also happens to be an avid reader of
Russian belles-lettres. He is frequently pictured relaxing in his Meerkovo mansion,
immaculately dressed in smoking jacket and cravat, posing against a backdrop of
books, while holding his favourite prop, a ‘bookamabob’ (see Figure 1). In his
bestselling autobiography, It’s a Simples Life: My Life and Times of Aleksandr Orlov,
Patterson et al. How to create an influential anthropomorphic mascot 75

Figure 1 Aleksandr Orlov, the bibliophile (image reproduced with permission from the
BGL Group).
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he even claims by the age of seven to have read War and Peace (or, as he calls it, War
and Peaces), by the age of nine to have written an epic novel entitled, The Enormous
Adventures of Aleksandr the Adventurer, while by the still tender age of 15, he had put
on a production of the play, Uncle Vanya, by Anton Chekhov, which was enhanced,
according to Aleksandr, by the addition of a car chase at the end. Nonetheless, all of
this is probably to be expected, since literature is his blood. His father was a student of
English and Russian literature, so there would likely have been many books scattered
around Aleksandr’s childhood home. What is more, his Great Uncle Vassily, so the
backstory goes, was a prolific author who wrote an impressive 41 volume, History
of the Mongoose Wars, which Aleksandr matter-of-factly claims to provide him with
hundreds of hours of riveting reading. His boasts about the length of books he has
read, and the time spent reading them might be to celebrate what Smiley (2005) calls
‘a bland and reassuring quality’ (p. 15), but it does hint that, in the estimation of
his creators, the success of his career in the consumer spotlight will be judged by his
longevity.
Given that Aleksandr Orlov was purportedly born and raised in Moscow, it is
hardly surprising that his creators have drawn heavily on Russian literature to give
substance to his character. They explicitly state on the dust jacket of his pseudo-
autobiography that ‘If Dostoyevsky was small and furry, this is the book he would
have written’. Moreover, his namesake, we speculate, is Alexandr Pushkin, the most
revered Russian poet of all time, who according to Senechal (2004) was conferred
‘quasi-mythological status in the twentieth century, becoming a hero figure for the
Soviet establishment and dissidents alike’ (p. 1251). The semantic intent of the name,
76 Journal of Marketing Management, Volume 29

Aleksandr, is thus perfect for a meerkat that holds himself in similar high regard.5
Interestingly, an acknowledged hallmark of Pushkin’s literary sensibility was his witty
parody of his contemporaries and predecessors (Kahn, 2008). Aleksandr’s parody of a
Russian national’s command of English works in the same fashion. Some humourless
critics argue that this device verges dangerously into non-politically correct territory,
since it mocks foreigners (Murden, 2010). The charge, though, carries little weight.
The mascot, after all, is a meerkat, not a person. And just as Budweiser’s famous
anthropomorphic frog campaign allowed them to sidestep any charges that it was,
despite the amorousness of the frogs, indulging in sexist advertising, so too is the
reputation of the CompareTheMarket.com campaign immaculate (Stanfel, 2007).
In any case, such parody, we would suggest, is also suffused with a kind of knowing
irony, and is meant to be taken affectionately. Of course, as with all humour, what
is hilarious to one viewer might be deeply offensive to another. Certainly, though,
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the generally accepted consensus of the online fans and followers is positive. When
someone does take exception to Orlov, perhaps by posting their own more malicious
parody of his adverts, it is interesting to note how many more of the fans who view
this work give it a thumbs down rather than a thumbs up. In a little-watched example
of such a mash-up which results in poor Orlov being shot and killed, 47 viewers
clicked on the dislike, while only 16, probably the creators own supporters, approved
of its contents (Temple-Phantom, 2009).

Comedy literature

When those who control Orlov’s apocryphal actions make him speak (e.g. in TV
ads) or write (e.g. on Facebook or Twitter), they employ a range of recurring literary
comedic devices, including the use of memorable catchphrases, a universal linguistic
playfulness, malapropism, juxtaposition, and lampooning. To begin, all of his words,
including the infamous ‘simples’ utterance, always resonate with intimations of
broken English. To achieve this, a relentless comedic style of linguistic playfulness
has been adopted which lops and distorts each of his sentences. The specifics of the
device involve: inappropriately dropping or adding plurals, making ‘ing’ and ‘ness’
abut the end of ill-fitting words, a blatant failure to write verbs in the correct tense,
and a policy of omitting the definitive article in almost all instances where it should
plainly appear – all of which skilfully imitates an idiomatic Russian speaker whose
use of English leaves much to be desired. Aleksandr, though, has no awareness of his
poor grammar, and this combined with his generally uppity manner serves to create
at least some of the inherent comedy. His autobiography is riddled with examples of
this unique literary style. By way of example, consider this quotation:
They had track two sets of paw prints across the desert and, in end, they came
across the muskrat from the ‘The Queasy Mongoose’. As he had done before, the
devious muskrat pretended friendship and sold them nonsense maps and rotty
boats. (Orlov, 2010, p. 34)
Inveterate wordplay continues through the use of puns and deliberate malapropisms.
A fine illustration of this comic effect is evident in the extract, ‘It was a long way

5 The surname, Orlov, is equally well chosen. In Russia, it is commonly associated with the aristocracy.
Patterson et al. How to create an influential anthropomorphic mascot 77

from his dream of professionally comparing, but it kept the door from the wolf’
(Orlov, 2010, p. 65). Juxtaposition is also used to amuse the reader, as in this bon
mot: ‘When I have finally compare my last meerkat, maybe I will have career in Holly
Woods. Not as glamorous as compare meerkats . . . ’ (Orlov, 2010, p. 103). Consider
too this selection from our chrestomathy of funny juxtapositions: ‘My home is a bit
like English palace of Bucking Hams, only bigger’ (Orlov, 2010, p. 108).
A final linguistic comedic device is the constant lampooning of both mongooses
and Aleksandr’s long-suffering sidekick, Sergei. Mongooses are frequently depicted as
stinky, wicked thieves fit only for turning into furry slippers. Meanwhile, Sergei plays
very much the role of loyal servant to Aleksandr, tending to his every need, endlessly
cooking, chauffeuring, maintaining the ‘ComparetheMeerkat.com’ website, and so
on. An everyday task for Sergei is described by Aleksandr: ‘Sergei does the clean. It is
no park walk. He gets through 5 mops, 12 brooms, 16 dusters, 4 vacuum cleaners
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and 6 box of dust allergy medicine’ (Orlov, 2010, p. 107).

Adventure literature

In his epic autobiography, master storyteller Aleksandr Orlov recounts the many
adventures that evidently made him – in the eyes of many, including himself – the
greatest meerkat in modern history (Orlov, 2010). The book begins a couple of
centuries ago in Africa when his ancestors from the Kalahari Desert, while struggling
to escape famine, sandstorms, and infernal ‘mongossery’, bravely embarked in search
of a better life. They set sail on a voyage initially destined for Bermuda, but alas, all
did not go to plan. A miscalculation saw them arrive in Russia after only narrowly
avoiding being killed by a crew of warmongering mongooses. The shock of the cold
Russian weather incidentally made the meerkats quickly fashion cravats to keep their
necks warm, a tradition which Aleksandr has not let die. Truly, this is story cut from
the cloth of adventure. It contains many of the formulaic ingredients that Cawelti
(1976) identifies as being common to adventure stories. It revolves around a hero
who has an important mission to complete. In the Compare the Market narrative,
the hero is clearly a meerkat on a mission to rid the world of semantically challenged
consumers. Another key ingredient is that adventure stories must have an enemy,
and sure enough, the arch-enemy of our meerkat is the mongoose. It is true too, as
D’Ammassa (2009) stresses, that ‘almost all fiction involves some sort of adventure,
exposure to new experiences or knowledge, changes in the shapes of the characters’
lives’ (p. vii). What especially couches Aleksandr’s life narrative in the adventure
genre is that he explicitly calls himself ‘Aleksandr the Adventurer’, and he even
chronicles these adventures into three distinct historical themes: ‘The Journey of
Courageousness’, ‘The Battle of Fearlessness’, and ‘The Streets of Ambitiousness’.
A further convention of adventure literature, albeit one that is also welded to
comedy literature, that gets considerable mileage in Aleksandr’s autobiography, is the
attempt to produce a ‘mock epic’. Indeed, the entire purpose of the book seems to be
to provide a comprehensive, encyclopaedic history of Aleksandr’s family adventures.
In this respect, the book excels. The ‘nonsense’ map of the known world. The
sepia-coloured, dog-eared photographs of long-dead meerkats. The floor plan of the
Orlov mansion, compete with hidden room and Olympic-sized swimming pool. The
charming crayon drawing Aleksandr made as a child. His old school photographs
with his carefully combed hair. The spot-on publicity shot from his aborted attempt
78 Journal of Marketing Management, Volume 29

to become a pop star in the 1980s. The entire book is brimful of delightful digressions
like these on almost every page, each of which helps to fashion Aleksandr Orlov’s
imaginary world. Moreover, these efforts to construct an epic adventure continue to
this day on Facebook and Twitter as additional pictures of funny scenes and comic
one-liners are ever added. It is a lovingly crafted adventure of what Harris (2000),
writing more generally of anthropomorphic mascots, calls ‘a ready-made race of
lovable inferiors’ (p. 4). What is even more adorable, though, is that Aleksandr and
his kin assume they are the superiors. Were it not for the declaration hidden away on
the copyright page which states, ‘This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are
the product of the author’s imagination . . . ’, and the undeniable fact that meerkats
cannot actually talk, travel very far, code websites, or own mansions, one could easily
be swept into the realistically rendered world in which Aleksandr lives.
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Discussion: Attention peoples

This paper has sought to show how marketers can use literary genres to assemble
a viable persona for a brand mascot. In the case of Aleksandr Orlov, its
anthropomorphic essence seems to be best encapsulated by three literary genres:
Russian literature, comic literature, and adventure literature. Of course, other brands
seeking to rummage in the brand menagerie for a compelling mascot might draw
on completely different genres, thereby creating completely different and unique
brands of their own. Rather than speculating in the abstract, imagine if you will a
brand owner selecting at random on the roulette wheel of literary genres the three
categories of French literature, glamour literature, and science fiction. Immediately
one can begin to conjure up a backstory of an alluring and glamorous female alien.
She dresses like a character from the Moulin Rouge in a collection of risqué attire
complete with stockings,6 and she speaks zee English language with a languorous
French accent. Though obviously a creature from outer space, she is reminiscent of
an exotic feline furry from planet earth.7 She drives, or rather flies, a retro-futuristic
Jetson-style convertible spacecraft . . .
And quickly one can see how with very little effort, a thumbnail portrait of a
character can be crafted that in all likelihood will call forth a simple, well-understood,
and uncritical response from the consumers who eventually see it in advertisements,
and interact with it online. Further research into the selected literary genres will of
course help make the character denser, more complex, and interesting. Nor is the
amalgamation of just three literary genres necessarily the top limit of any character.
More could be added to create a more complex rendering, but we suggest three as
a baseline, common as it is to many theories (Brown, 1996). Such a construction,
though, also poses an interesting question in respect of whether there needs to be a
close fit or correlation between the brand and its anthropomorphic representation.

6 Mild controversy generated by this manner of dressing the character will undoubtedly provoke some
discourse from commentators in the newspapers and trade press. The usual suspects will predictably argue
that the campaign is sexist and demeaning to women. Meanwhile, others will rush to defend it. A debate
will ensue. All of which will have the unintended effect of bestowing Amélie, as we have just christened
her, with a healthy boost in brand awareness.
7 Of course, a further roulette wheel enumerating the vast array of cute and furry animals might also be
mocked up to ease the process of selecting an appropriate animal to anthropomorphise. That is, of course,
if cute and furry is what you are after.
Patterson et al. How to create an influential anthropomorphic mascot 79

The Michelin man, after all, is made of tyres. Pillsbury Doughboy is made of dough.
And the squawk of the Aflac Duck sounds like its eponymous company namesake.
Yet, in the case of Aleksandr Orlov, there is little which immediately connects
the abstract world of online insurance quotations with the colourful and eccentric
Russian meerkat. It took the clever ruse of Aleksandr being annoyed with consumers
confusing his website with that of Compare the Market’s website to weld an inventive
bond between the two. Such narrative devices are thankfully easily contrived.
Returning to the rudimentary sketch of an anthropomorphic extraterrestrial outlined
above, one might invent a product–character linkage by imagining her on an
intergalactic quest for the perfect soap powder, motor oil, pasta sauce, or whatever
product you care to mention.
We would maintain, then, as occurred with the birth of Aleksandr Orlov, that
incongruity between brand and character should be positively encouraged in order
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to pique the curiosity of consumers so that they metaphorically sit up like meerkats
and take notice. Orlov’s catchphrase, ‘Attention peoples!’, in this light, is entirely
befitting, for attention is what he commands. In another sense, the adoption of
a sentry trope, as is the meerkat posture, is a common advertising ploy (e.g. the
old Head and Shoulders’ tough guy, adverts featuring doormen and clubs, and
the Colgate ring of confidence). It also equates well with the idea of a price
comparison website acting in the interest of consumers as a kind of protector.
Moreover, Aleksandr also fields another curiosity-raising virtue. He is not merely
anthropomorphic, human-like; he is also theriomorphic (i.e. he looks like an animal).
This animal–human hybridity, where animal and human qualities comingle to form
part of the brand meaning, is a particularly useful means of stimulating consumer
enchantment. Everyone, after all, loves a talking animal. What is more, if one literally
‘compared the market’ for such ads prior to the meerkat campaign, one finds a bleak
adscape with little to distinguish it. Then along comes Orlov, and wham, a ‘purple
cow’ moment crystallises (Godin, 2005).8
The rise of our mercurial meerkat reminds us of another famous anthropomorphic
character from the annals of marketing history, whose success was also down, in no
small part, to its peculiarity. The character in question was The Man in the Hathaway
Shirt invented by the advertising genius, David Ogilvy. His anthropomorphic creation
was an intriguing middle-aged, eyepatch-wearing aristocrat who featured in a number
of adverts with the immortal copy, ‘The melancholy disciples of Thorstein Veblen
would have despised this shirt’ (Rigby, 2011, p. 128). It was clever, strange, and
somehow struck a chord. Almost overnight, it turned Hathaway into a global brand.
One of the key issues it seems in creating a well-loved anthropomorphic mascot
is the commitment to breathe new life into it continually through the management
of seemingly real social media profiles for the character on Twitter and Facebook.
In respect of Aleksandr, at the last count, he had nearly 800,000 fans on Facebook
and almost 50,000 Twitter followers. When Aleksandr posts a comment on his
wall, it typically garners 250 responses from his followers and around 800 likes.
Moreover, in the texture of the comments to each Facebook or Twitter post that
Aleksandr makes, it is hard to miss the willingness of his tongue-in-cheek followers
to play along with the idea, and to invest it with further realities of their own

8 Thesimple idea in Godin’s (2005) book is that in order to be successful, every brand needs to have
something intrinsically interesting about it, such as an association with a Purple Cow, or indeed a talking
meerkat.
80 Journal of Marketing Management, Volume 29

making. For instance, in one recent Facebook post, Aleksandr announces, ‘We go
to Liverpools Cavern Club tomorrow because Vassily, Meerkovo’s resident rocker,
tell us is good place for beetles. Delicious!’ This comment provoked a substantial
but characteristic response from his followers. Aside from 916 of them liking it,
many were inspired to make comments of their own. Some imitated the trademark
Aleksandr-style wordplay: ‘Ahh so Vassily can finally get some relax’. Others wrote,
‘Rename its Meerseyside!’, and ‘Beetles scampi is signature dish . . . enjoy!’ Whatever
the response, almost everyone willingly suspended their disbelief just to be part of this
fictional tall tale. In fact, many add more texture, making the variables that constitute
the campaign multiple, which itself perpetuates the addition of further texture from
other actively engaged consumers. Thus these comic titbits offered by Aleksandr are a
source of social nourishment. On their own, they might be as tiny as his caramelised
larvae treats, but considered together, they undoubtedly help to make this mascot
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more real, more human – allowing him in the process to grow autopoetically as
he interacts with the external world. Such verdant examples of brand co-creation
and co-production would undoubtedly excite advocates of Service-Dominant Logic
eager to confirm, refute, and refine their long list of theoretical propositions,9 but
this aside, the staggering levels of consumer engagement mustered by the campaign,
made possible by the extraordinary efforts to keep the character engaged in comedic
adventures of a Russian flavour, is impressive. The campaign, as an astute reviewer
of this paper asserts, has met a challenge that all advertisers must now confront. It is
a challenge akin to the problem faced by Scheherazade in the Arabian Nights, who,
in order to postpone her own execution by King Shahryar, had to invent a new story
every single night. Similarly, if advertisers do not maintain the attention and interest
of the consumer, their heads are metaphorically chopped off every night by King
Consumer. From this perspective, the meerkats’ ongoing elaboration of a backstory
can be seen as a way of staying the axe and maintaining the kind of storytelling
intimacy with the viewer/reader that buys them continuous opportunities to sell.
Some might argue that a reliance on literary genres could actually choke the
creative process. Saha (2011), in a recent edition of Campaign, while arguing for the
need to be free of stifling frameworks, makes the following point: ‘The ability for a
client and agency to rely on gut instinct and intuition when deciding on how a brand
should express itself is the Holy Grail – the sign of a well developed personality’
(p. 13). We would strongly contest his somewhat trite viewpoint. In doing so, we do
acknowledge the role intuition would necessarily play in selecting appropriate literary
genres. Misadventures in this exercise are to be expected – dead ends, non-starters,
cul-de-sacs, there will be aplenty. Nonetheless, the design of an anthropomorphic
marketing campaign according to our loose literary design would still be free to
move off in new directions, to change with the times and try something new. The
borders and overlaps of the literary genres are porous enough to allow scope for
redirection and renewal. Latitude will always be given for the unexpected. At the
same time, however, establishing the parameters of the literary categories pertaining
to the anthropomorphic creation is still important. If it is to ring true, if it is to show
consistency, it should not stray too far from its original design. Inconsistency, in this

9 There are many online examples on YouTube of Aleksandr Orlov mash-ups that bear witness to the
co-creative efforts of consumers. Often these video uploaders extrapolate the characters from the campaign
into new situations. In one such instance, Aleksandr is seen killing the fat opera singer from the Go
Compare campaign.
Patterson et al. How to create an influential anthropomorphic mascot 81

respect, can be the death knell of many an unfolding drama or comedy series. The
ability of the classic comedy series Blackadder to survive beyond a first series was
only made possible by developing a consistent personality for its main protagonist,
rather than the chaotic, schizophrenic, frankly unconvincing character on display in
the first series (Lewis, 2007). Circumstances need to remain where the character will
indeed act in character, and situating him/her in a set of literary genres can assist in
this process. Consumers, in this way, will gain satisfaction from witnessing a mascot
exhibit a familiar reaction in an albeit new situation.
An interesting implication of our paper is the realisation that traditional
anthropomorphic brands like Tony the Tiger and the Jolly Green Giant are an
endangered species that should be put out to pasture, or better still, driven to the
slaughterhouse with great haste. While some would argue that it is impossible to
kill the Tiger or can the Giant, in our opinion, it would be the most humane thing
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to do because, quite frankly, they lack humanity. They lack story. Death, in any case,
would be a welcome relief for these already half-comatose characters. It is not enough
simply to be a colourful anthropomorphic character cheerfully hollering tiresome
slogans at the consumer. ‘They’re gr-r-reat!!!’ and ‘Ho, ho, ho’ might conjure up in
the advertising exec well-worded rationale, ‘the familiar heritage and authenticity of
a brand that has provided decades of tireless customer servitude’ , but many of today’s
customers are little moved by such sentiments. It smacks of laziness on the part of
advertisers who seem to care so little about their brands or customers that all they
can offer is the same old readymade slogan. As Finkelstein (2007) notes, ‘Advertising
slogans may work at one point in time, but not at another. We are told, for instance,
“Cars love Shell”, “Coke is It”, “Planet Reebok exists”, and we find these assertions
credible, amusing and acceptable; but only for a time. Then they date and lose their
cachet’ (p. 10). Like poor comedians with little to offer but repetitive punchlines or
catchphrases, such a format might fizzle at first, but its staying power will soon be
tested as insouciant consumers grow disinterested and quickly advance to the next
consumer enchantment. A mischievous contributor to Wikipedia, obviously annoyed
at the unchanging sterility of Frankenberry, recently edited the character’s profile,
noting that he ‘still wears the same clothes that he wore when he was first created.
It is quite common for people who meet him in person to recommend that he take a
shower’.

At last, laid bare

Anthropomorphic mascots, at heart, are literary creations. Without words, they are
mute and inanimate, soulless, and nondescript – little more than a nodding Churchill
dog on a dashboard. This being true, they are in a battle for literary supremacy against
other anthropomorphic brands. In this paper, we thus attempted to explain how
adopting a literary approach can lay the groundwork for the creation of an influential
anthropomorphic mascot that has the potential to rival the likes of Aleksandr Orlov.
Our suggestion is that marketers begin by assigning their character a specific set
of literary genres to traverse. This will confer them an advantage in the race for
literary supremacy, and result in several further beneficial outcomes. Not only will
the personality parameters of the character be clear to its ongoing writerly creators,
but the literary genres themselves will potentially, as is the case with the bookish
Aleksandr, provide a welter of thematic plot-lines to plunder. These plot-lines will
82 Journal of Marketing Management, Volume 29

constitute the basis of a complicated and elaborate backstory of the type that is
today necessary to sustain the continued engagement of consumers whose lives
are mediated by digital technology and social media. Provided these life narratives,
derived from literary origins, are sufficiently convoluted, humorous, and interesting,
the resultant anthropomorphic figure is likely to appear much more human and more
realistic to the consumers who lay witness to the little fellow’s antics. In this manner,
well-crafted, literary-fuelled anthropomorphic characters, without too much editorial
intervention, will almost begin to speak for themselves, especially if they successfully
interact and engage with social media users.
In conclusion, literature has always begotten literature, and literary characters will
always beget more literary characters. Not only does literature reflect life, but it also,
following Bloom (1999), gives life to all that is human. So it is but a short leap
to the notion that literature can both breathe life into anthropomorphic marketing
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characters, and also compel consumers to believe in the make-believe worlds they
inhabit. Through the outstanding example of Aleksandr Orlov, this paper has detailed
how adopting a literary perspective can potentially animate them, put meat on their
bones, words in their mouths, clothes on their furry bodies, and ultimately help usher
them into the pantheon of celebrated anthropomorphic marketing mascots. Proust
(1992) says it well: ‘Real life, life at last laid bare and illuminated – the only life in
consequence which can be said to be really lived – is literature . . . ’ (p. 298).

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About the authors


Anthony Patterson is a professor of marketing at the University of Liverpool Management
School, UK. Before joining Liverpool, he taught on faculties at the University of Sheffield and
the University of Ulster. He holds a PhD in consumer behaviour from the latter institution.
Much of his research focuses on providing a snapshot of current cultural practices like social
networking and text messaging, and exploring how these phenomena impact on consumer
behaviour. His other research interests include city branding, nation branding, and book
marketing. He is the recipient of the University of Liverpool’s Sir Alistair Pilkington Award for
Teaching Excellence, and his publications have appeared in the Journal of Business Research,
Psychology and Marketing, and the Journal of Marketing Management, among others.
Corresponding author: University of Liverpool Management School, University of
Liverpool, Chatham Street, Liverpool, L69 7ZH, United Kingdom
T +44 51 795 3817
E a.patterson@liverpool.ac.uk

Yusra Khogeer is a PhD candidate at the University of Liverpool, UK, who hopes to achieve a
high level of expertise in the field of branding. In 2009, she graduated with an MSc(Distinction)
in Consumer Marketing. In 2011, she obtained a prize for Best Paper in the area of qualitative
inquiry and grounded theory (GT) for her paper, ‘The Effects of Anthropomorphism on
Consumer Perceptions of Brands and their Products’. Her paper for the Academy of Marketing
Doctoral Colloquium in July that year was also highly commended. Originally from an
engineering background, Yusra graduated in 2008 with a BSc(First) in Product Design with
Patterson et al. How to create an influential anthropomorphic mascot 85

Multimedia. She has won numerous awards for her academic achievements, including the
University of Liverpool’s Jack Blears Prize.

T +44 151 795 3000


E y.khogeer@liverpool.ac.uk

Julia Hodgson lectures in marketing management, consumer behaviour, women in


management, and managing diversity at the University of Liverpool Management School,
UK. Her research interests are in the areas of consumer experience, as well as escalation
of commitment and entrapment in decision making. She has publications in the Journal of
Marketing Management and the Journal of Information Technology, amongst others. She has
also recently published a book with Professor Helga Drummond on escalation and behavioural
economics in business (Gower).
T +44 151 795 3812
Downloaded by [Australian National University] at 11:55 03 January 2015

E j.hodgson@liverpool.ac.uk

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