A long time ago, in a media classroom far, far away...
BRAND WARS
[Dramatic music is playing right now]
Okay, the setting is less epic than I would’ve liked, but it’s
still a place of interest – for me, at least: a media class, in the college I
attended (not naming names, here). It also wasn’t the most well informed
classroom I’ve ever been a part of (hence why I’m not naming names) – the teacher,
who was trying to lecture to us about Alfred Hitchcock, had never heard of a
MacGuffin; now you might’ve never heard of one either, but you’re not being paid
to educate me about Hitchcock, are you?
But it was in this media room that the idea of a person as a
brand was first mentioned, and it intrigued me. The idea is simple: when you
see movie posters that feature the names of the actors of the film prominently,
then you’re not simply reading a person’s name, but a brand. Unknown actors are attempting to establish a
new brand, and the known actors are attempting to utilise their own as a stamp
of quality.
Since then, I’ve heard people vocalise this concept: “protecting
my brand”, “building my brand”, etc. – usually in direct relation to themselves and
their perceived career. And once you’ve heard it expressed like that, you
realise that people who use this terminology should, at best, be left in a
corner to themselves, or, at worst, be beaten around the head and chest with
broom handles.
But the divide between the person and the persona is an
interesting and existing phenomenon. Who you see on the screen, on the stage,
and – as relates to this blog – in the ring, are not potentially who those
people are. I don't mean the simple line between fiction and reality, but that place that people like Muhammad Ali occupy: where you're uncertain how much is a reflection of the man and how much is a role being played.
Les Kellett, British wrestling’s best funny man, is a good
example of the potential dichotomy between person and persona: had you only
ever known Les for his work in the ring, feinting drunkenness, rasping at the
referee, and his skill of making any man look like a fool, then you would’ve
assumed him to be a good humoured, comic fellow; but had you only ever heard
the backstage stories, which included an inhuman ability to absorb punishment
and ignore pain, coupled with a moody temperament, and a willingness and talent
at psychological intimidation, then you might’ve conceived the Yorkshireman as
quite a fearful figure. (I’ve never met the man, but I’ll wager he was neither
of these things – at least to the extreme that either side of the perspectives
might suggest.)
The point is that people sometimes get carried away with
themselves and make character judgements about someone, when they have nothing
but second hand stories or performances to go on. People are not brands; and the
personas that get built up – either intentionally, or accidentally – may not
hold any truth: “One man in his time will play many parts.”
