Through the ‘90s and ‘00s, I attended many meetings of European Levi’s clients as a representative of their advertising agency, BBH. At these events the senior executives would generally demonstrate their commitment to the brand by sporting a selection of workwear – bleached jeans, checked or chambray shirts, trucker jackets - perhaps finishing off their outfits with an ornate brass belt-buckle. It was like a marketing meeting crossed with a rodeo.

Only the Italian delegation broke with this sartorial strategy. Whilst happy to sell denim to young consumers, they did not regard it as appropriate corporate attire. And so they turned up at the international conferences in elegant slacks, smart shirts and sports jackets. I rather admired their independent spirit.

I recall a particular exchange with the most senior Italian executive, Tullio, a dapper silver-haired gentleman, who always had a cashmere sweater casually slung over his shoulders.

The agency had been presenting an argument that Levi’s, as the creator of the original jean, the 501, should sustain its primacy in the category by continuing to originate. Only through ongoing innovation, we argued, could the brand maintain its sector dominance.

Tullio objected. He could not comprehend our reasoning.

‘I’m sorry. But Levi’s is a huge American corporation. It can be many things. It can be efficient, dynamic, in touch with trends. It can be successful. But it cannot be original. To be original you need an exceptional talent, a unique individual.’

He raised his hands in an expressive gesture.

‘You need a genius… like Georgio Armani.’

I have always thought that Tullio was posing a compelling question: can a modern business, with all its complex processes, disciplines and hierarchies; with all its sophisticated systems, checks and balances, genuinely innovate?

We all celebrate innovation as the magical ingredient of commerce – the factor that sets a business apart, that gives it a competitive edge, that builds the foundations for future growth. But innovation is hard to cultivate. It can be inconsistent and temperamental; unruly and unpredictable. It requires investment and patience, and the empowerment of free-thinking mavericks; of troublesome, independent creative talent.

Originality is more than just a set of clothes you put on in the morning.

'Girl, put your records on.
Tell me your favourite song,
You go ahead, let your hair down.
Sapphire and faded jeans,
I hope you get your dreams.
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.’

Corinne Bailey-Rae, 'Put Your Records On’ (J Beck / S Chrisanthou / C Bailey-Rae)

No. 536

Constance Devernay-Laurence in Coppelia. Photo: Andy Ross.

‘Coppélia’ is a late 19th century comic ballet, choreographed originally by Saint-Léon and then Petipa, and set to the music of Delibes. Its narrative derives from a Hoffmann short story in which a reclusive inventor crafts a dancing doll so lifelike that a village youth falls madly in love with it.

I have seen the work a few times and come to the conclusion that it is a somewhat silly museum piece.

I recently attended a performance by Scottish Ballet of its new version of ‘Coppélia’, choreographed by Morgann Runacre-Temple and Jessica Wright (Sadler’s Wells, London). The drama has been relocated to Silicon Valley and the inventor is now a black polo-neck wearing tech titan. In his NuLife lab he is creating Coppélia, an AI woman that he hopes to transform into a cyborg. A young man becomes besotted with the digital automaton.

With its futuristic candy-coloured costumes, suggestive of ‘Metropolis’; its athletic bobbed dancers; and its elegant integration of screen technology, this new ‘Coppélia’ is smart, slick and dazzling. In rebooting the ballet, the dance-makers have successfully embraced themes of tech megalomania; clones and the metaverse; the nature of 21st century relationships. ‘Coppélia’ has been reborn.

I can think of quite a few theatre productions I’ve seen over the years that have relocated or reimagined a traditional story or historic work, and in so doing have transformed it into something completely contemporary.

When Shakespeare’s ‘Henry V’ was transposed to the Iraq War, the ethical issues of the conflict seemed terribly real. When Macbeth was recast as a 20th century African warlord, the fierce brutality at the heart of the drama struck home. When Hamlet and Ophelia were presented as gaunt student goths, the audience was prompted properly to consider their fragile youth.

Bruno Micchiardi as Dr Coppelius. Photo: Andy Ross

In 2018 director Marianne Elliott swapped the gender of the main character in Stephen Sondheim’s 1970 musical ‘Company.’ Whereas the traditional male lead in this role can come across as careless and complacent, here we were presented with a successful woman in her mid-30s, unable to commit to a steady relationship and confronted with a ticking clock. It was much more interesting.

'Success is a journey, not a destination. It requires constant effort, vigilance and re-evaluation.’
Mark Twain

Of course advertising campaigns have often drawn on established cultural motifs to achieve immediate recognition and shared reference points.

Back in the day my own Agency, BBH, produced a Lynx/Axe ad that reimagined the fantasy film ‘One Million Years BC’; an Audi ad that channelled Jimi Hendrix; and a Boddington’s ad that mimicked Rene Magritte. And more besides.

The most interesting cultural appropriations not only borrowed from a source story. At the same time they introduced some new interpretation of that tale and integrated the brand in a compelling way.

In 1992 BBH shot a Levi’s ad based on the Cinderella myth. In this version the protagonist in search for love is not a male prince, but a female heroine. She must find the one man who can fit into a discarded pair of worn 501s. Because ‘no two pairs are the same.’

In 2012 The Guardian employed the fable of the Three Little Pigs as a platform to showcase the power of live, participative news reporting; of expert, campaigning journalism across multiple platforms.

At their best commercial reboots, relocations and reimaginings both borrow from, and invest in, the original myths and legends. They make both the story and the brand more relevant.

Inevitably not every new theatrical interpretation I’ve seen has been entirely successful.

One summer my wife and I treated ourselves to some country house opera, booking to see 'La Bohème' at Glyndebourne. As we drove down through rural Sussex, we put behind us the stress, grit and grime of urban life. It was a proper escape. However, this production of the Puccini classic transposed its impoverished artists from the Latin Quarter of 1840s Paris to the hipster scene of present day Hoxton in East London. This was indeed a sound directorial decision. Sadly we’d driven three hours to arrive at a familiar place just a mile from home.

'Back to life, back to the present time,
Back from a fantasy.
Tell me now, take the initiative.
I'll leave it in your hands, until you're ready.
How ever do you want me.
How ever do you need me.’

Soul II Soul, 'Back to Life (However Do You Want Me)’ ( Jazzie B, C Wheeler, N Hooper, S Law)

No. 412

The Double Denim Marketing Meeting: Can a Corporation Be Original?

Reboot, Relocate, Reimagine: Making Best Use of Traditional Myths and Historical Literature