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It Pays to Advertise...
Maybe half a year ago, I
discussed "No Fear" in one column or
another. Ducatista also had quite an
enlightening bit to say on the subject as well.
If you will recall, we both questioned whether or
not simply wearing a tee shirt that professed
"No Fear" led the wearer to
believe that he either feared nothing or that he
thought he was drawing others to that conclusion,
that he was indeed fearless.
Of course, most humans
over the age of, say, fifteen, couldn't possibly
believe that the mere possession of a tee shirt
could make you anything, other than a consumer.
Any of my closer associates will tell you that,
while I am often quick to form an opinion, I am
also of the type that will ruminate the subject
for months thereafter until something else is
said or occurs that either further enhances or
eliminates all validity vis a vis my opinion.
Of course, the No Fear issue was never truly
buried that deep as I still see those silly
looking stickers plastered all over the back
windows of every turquoise S-10 pickup with
chrome wheels and heavily tinted windows that I
pass. Oh, and with fuscia pinstripes to
boot! One of my favorite motorcycle
journalists penned a piece recently on how he is
going to eliminate all brand names from every
piece of clothing, gear, and vehicle that he
owns. He feels that by slathering his body
and his possessions with logos and trademarks, he
is cheapening his own self-worth. You see,
he becomes secondary to the impact of the
brand-name impact he is making. Sort of
like the Michael J. Fox character in Back to the
Future was called Calvin by at least one of the
other characters in a few scenes because that's
just what it said all over the waistband of his
underwear -- Calvin Klein, this man feels that
something of himself is lost with every
alligator, HD wing or Tony Lama label in his
possession.
About a year ago I came
to a very similar conclusion. With every
jet kit, air filter, tire, etc. that I have
purchased for my bikes, I have always received a
little (or big in some cases) sticker that
colorfully proclaims that manufacturer's
product.Of course, I slathered my fairings with
these little baubles until I too had that Grand
Prix mystique -- a rolling billboard.Not a soul
ever confused me with Kevin Schwantz. Maybe
it was because his RGV never carried quite so
many stickers! My father once told me he'd
never wear a Harley shirt unless they gave him a
bike and paid him to advertise for them. Being
seventeen and without a bike of any sort, I
figured that the next best thing to arriving on a
Harley was to at least arrive in a Harley shirt.
I was young, forgive me. I later held firm
to the belief that one should have to prove
ownership of any brand of bike before they'd
allow you to purchase a logo-ed article of
clothing. Sort of like buying beer, they'd
card you -- make you produce a registration --
before you could make the purchase. I
figured this would eliminate all those dudes on
the sidewalk who sneer at your Sportster but when
questioned, inform you that they don't even own a
bike. One guy (resplendent in a 'Legends
Live Where Legends Roam...' tee shirt) once said
yeah, he had had one, but he sold it -- his pride
'n' joy -- a 1982 panhead! But that's
another story. I've finally come to the
conclusion that the only way to get a motorcycle
tee shirt should be that if you actually buy a
bike, the dealer should GIVE you a shirt. Then,
if you like the way he has treated you, and as a
courtesy to that dealer, you can wear the shirt
to boost his business. Stickers have
even less going for them than tee shirts. At
least a shirt is useful. All a sticker can
do is gum up your paint.
So about a year ago, I
crept out to the garage late one evening with my
wife's hair dryer in one hand as I now had
a free hand since I'd decided to stop yanking my
dork for a dozen different manufacturers. That's
not to say their products were bad or that I have
some problem with them, I was just not going to
pimp them anymore to my friends or anyone else
who would notice for gratis. It pays
to advertise, but why should it always be at my
expense? Besides that, why should the cops
know what modifications I've done to my machine?
Let 'em guess! With every sticker I peeled
(carefully) a bit more of the beautiful cranberry
and pearl paint on my bike became visible. Ah,
so that's what my bike looks like! It would
have amazed you to see the bike again the way I
did that night, it was like a new machine.
Why would a person wish
to wallpaper a perfectly good looking motorcycle
with a bunch of tacky stickers? That's a
pretty easy question to answer. The
wallpaperer has seen his favorite racer's bike in
numerous advertisements, on the toob, and maybe
even in the paddock at an actual race. In a
feeble act of emulation or hero worship, the
wallpaperer goes home and finds all the stickers
that came with the performance products and
accessories he's bought over the years and
creates his own rolling billboard. Or
worse, he finds his mail-order catalog and
actually BUYS stickers to destroy the appearance
of his bike. That to me is the most lame
bit of consumerism yet; paying for manufacturer's
product stickers so that you can advertise their
products for them for nothing. I don't feel
so bad about my sticker fetish because I got them
WITH the products. I guess I actually did
pay for them, I'm sure the manufacturers figure
the cost of the packaging, etc., into their list
price, but at least I didn't pay extra --
outright -- for them.
My next undertaking will
be to remove the neat little embroidered Corbin
tag from my gunfighter saddle. I won't be
able to tell the difference from where I'm
seated. It's not that I don't like Corbin's
product nor do I have any animosity towards the
company or it's product -- it's a damn fine
saddle. However, there are two great
reasons for keeping the saddle incognito. For one
thing, Mike didn't send me the thing for free,
and for another, my butt can't read anyway.
Harry
G. Pellegrin
READ THE PRESS
RELEASE!
is Published by Bedside Books, an imprint of
American Book Publishing.
ISBN
1-58982-074-6
LOW ENDCopyright
2003 Harry G. Pellegrin
In
God We Trust
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