Dialogue: What's in a name? Mostly fibs, and loot for admen

By JOE BENNET

So Auckland has branded itself, and while we work ourselves into a froth of fury about Auckland A, the advertising men will slink furtively to the little shed out the back and lock the door and extract the heavy canvas pouches from the safe and weigh them in their hands and then on a whim slit them open and tip a pile of ratepayer gold on to the floor and roll in it, cascading it through their fingers, letting it lodge in the crannies of their flesh, laughing, laughing, laughing.

And good on them. The admen have merely done business. They have deceived no one. And neither will their slogan.

Dunedin took the prize for naffness with "It's all right here." The phrase is ambiguous in the way beloved of sloganeers. But speak the phrase with a resigned shrug implying that you would like to leave Dunedin but your house is worth so little that you can't and the slogan gains a tasty tang of unintended irony.

Christchurch went for "The City That Shines" and everyone continued to call it, well, Christchurch. A few of the almost dead insist that it's "The Garden City" because the phrase conjures an image of domestic docility and flowering neighbourliness which is just as true of Christchurch as it is of everywhere else in New Zealand.

And just as untrue. But perhaps I should not raise the issue of truth.

Wellington hit a winner with "Absolutely Positively Wellington," a rhythmical affirmation that bubbles with zest like the trill of the skylark and means every bit as little.

As the skylark soars to invisibility and pours its unpremeditated oral benison upon the land below, it's simply seeking a mate.

Wellington is simply seeking dollars. Neither the skylark's tune nor the city's slogan mean a thing. That's fine for the skylark, which as far as we know has not been blessed with the power of thought but is a little less fine for Wellington where all our money runs to.

I believe Hamilton came up with something catchy last year but my memory's dropped the catch. And now Auckland, that sprawling agglomeration of townships, has given itself a tag to be known by.

Auckland A. It catches the rising intonation of hesitance, that tendency of the young and the insecure to turn even the simplest statement into a question by raising the tone of the voice as if begging the listener to bolster the timid speaker with a reassuring nod.

And that is apt. Because Auckland, for all its individual brashness, for all its thrust and traffic, has always been less than the sum of its parts.

Individually Auckland's fine. Collectively it's always had the blues. It doubts itself. It's never felt entire. It's a bustling transit camp that just happens to go on happening.

Why do people brand their cities? Do they yearn for proud citizens? Do they want to draw the tourists? Unconsciously do they acknowledge that the place is undistinguished, so a brand must be applied to it like a child's transfer?

The answer to all of these is yes, I think. But I can't see Auckland A making anyone proud, nor can I see it hauling in the coachloads of Koreans with their cargo of cameras, nor can I see a single soul feeling the city to be one whit improved by its slogan.

It's simply advertising, and fundamentally dishonest.

I am confident that Auckland A will die. But since the city fathers of all our major townships have now plumped for such advertising they ought to take their folly to its rational conclusion.

If they really want to suck the crowds in, gain a reputation and make money, and if they don't care whether what they say is true or not, they might as well invent a slogan that doesn't merely teeter on the brink of something vaguely false. They should be take the plunge.

"Come to Auckland - Get Free Sex." It would be no more dishonest, no further from the truth.

The habit, of course, is a North American one. Every licence plate in North America carries a slogan for its state and every single one of them is glossy nonsense.

And, of course, the Coca-Cola story tells us that where North America leads, the whole world follows when it's rich enough.

Within a century every little no-account province, every stolid gathering of jungle huts, will have its promotional tag. By then of course space travel will be humdrum and our stratosphere will teem with extra-terrestrial tourists.

And then no doubt the Mayor of the World will knock on the door of the admen's shed and hand over another fat parcel of gold in exchange for something memorable.

But I could save him the money. Come to Earth - Nice Planet But Fond of Fibs.