#OrchidsandOnions: VW's romantic approach to marketing the latest Polo Vivo
VW’s history of clever marketing
It was originally going to be called the “Econogolf” – a stripped-out version which would come in at a much lower price point and not compete with the newer member of the Golf family.
It was a stroke of genius from VW’s then ad agency, Rightford, Searle-Trip and Makin – which later became swallowed by the local Ogilvy group, which continues to hold the VW account to this day – that saw the car called “Citigolf”.
Even 40 years later, the car remains a legend and one of the best returns on investment any car maker has got, anywhere.
Still pulling it off
With the VW Polo, a similar trick has been applied.
Although not quite as head-scratching as it must have been for the original ad agency creatives all those years ago, it surely is not easy to come up with punchy ways to sell a car which, despite its entry-level nature, still starts off at R260,000 and which, everybody knows, is a nothing more than some bibs and bobs on an older design.
Yet, I think Ogilvy has managed to pull it off with their campaign for the new Polo Vivo.
The car is aimed at the young and, as we all know, romance is the one thing which drives (ha ha) the younger generations.
In this case, Polo Vivo is set to appeal to both male and female consumers and the pitch is simply: Get yourself a Polo Vivo and your love life will take off.
Done in a quirky way, we see the loser guy thinking up all sorts of tricks to win over the love of his life.
His mate says: “Get a Polo Vivo”. And they imagine the scene of said babe sidling up to the gent who has the car.
Even while that message is being pushed, there is still time in the ad for a clever bit of spec. Promoting, like the fact that the car has a four-star safety rating.
There’s a similar reference to Polo Vivo's strong point – fuel economy – in the execution with a female protagonist.
She says she loves the 5.7 litres per 100km fuel burn because she can go to see her long-distance boyfriend.
She’s almost oblivious to her friend’s apt observation that she doesn’t have a long-distance boyfriend.
Her reply is that with the vehicle’s range, she can cast her net wider.
The ads are a clever combination of humour and product highlights, which is a difficult trick to pull off.
Well done to VW and Ogilvy.
Another in a long line of Orchids for you.
The Sunday Times’ advertorial blunder
As a working journalist, I have a bit of an ambivalent attitude to “advertorial”, which these days gets referred to more and more as “sponsored content”.
Done well – and that means a responsible advertiser and a good team of storytellers, either at an ad agency or PR company – it can make a valuable contribution to editorial content in a time of shrinking newsrooms.
If done badly, it can backfire.
One of the cardinal rules about advertorial is that it should always be marked as such and not sneaked in, in an attempt to fool gullible punters.
Ad departments sometimes try to sneak bits past editorial staff, hoping they won’t notice the lack of flagging.
I wonder then, what happened in last week’s edition of the Sunday Times, where there was a half-page advertorial on behalf of MTN extolling the virtues of its diversity and gender-sensitive hiring, as far as top execs are concerned.
Perhaps someone in editorial wanted an advertorial tag placed on the MTN content and was overruled and then decided to get their own back.
I don’t know – but what happened was that the paper led that day with a piece describing turmoil in the ranks of said execs over MTN's CEO allegedly playing favourites.
The piece turned to page two and happened to end up directly opposite the advertorial.
This presented an altogether different picture to the average reader, who would have wondered which of the featured women on page three was the “favourite.”
Whatever happened here, it gets the Sunday Times an Onion.
Even if it was accidental – and I have my doubts – you have to watch your advertorial like a hawk.
And always tag it, much as you might want to sneak it through. You never know what might happen.
