When I first came across it, I (wrongly) assumed it was the work of Doyle Dane Bernbach, using a very minimalist layout to catch attention and evoke emotion, sort of like they did with the Polaroid ads in the ‘60s.
No logo, just a simple headline, and an intriguing illustration that tells you nothing about the product, only the elation it will inspire in the woman in the your life. What an incredible way to portray a woman leaping into the arms of her man, I thought, showing only what’s necessary to imply the situation, spurring the reader to imagine the embrace, the eyes, the kiss.
Brilliant, I thought. Then I read the headline.
“Wear an Arrow Shirt and
you'll simply sweep her off her feet!”
No.
No, I don’t believe this ad, even for a minute.
The only way to sell this scenario is if the emotion implied feels true. Even in 1949, it’s hard to imagine anyone got this excited about a dress shirt. Unless he just got home from the service and this is the first time in years she hadn’t seen him in green khakis … maybe.
Admittedly, these were not the glory days of Arrow Shirts.
Though dating back to the late 1800s, the shirts and their detachable collars peaked in popularity between 1905 and 1931, the heyday of The Arrow Collar Man. This urbane, sophisticated fellow was depicted in advertising by well-known Saturday Evening Post illustrator, J.C. Leyendecker.
“The Arrow Collar Man became the symbol of the ideal American male,” the New York Times recalled in 1964. “Adoring women showered the Arrow Collar Man with marriage proposals, with thousands of Valentine's Day cards, with gifts, poetry and songs. … Men rushed to haberdashery stores to buy the new collar styles he introduced.”
Eventually, not even the Arrow Collar Man’s sex appeal could withstand the changing tastes of consumers, particularly men who, returning from World War I, now preferred a softer, attached collar like they had on their uniforms.
As sales dropped, Arrow’s owner, Cluett Peabody and Company, switched to attached-collar shirts, and developed the “Sanforized” process to prevent shrinking. But it cast about for years seeking a new way into consumers’ favor. Again, from the New York Times: “Arrow engaged new artists. They tried humor, success stories, sophistication.”
Which brings us back to this ad, which I assume was meant to embody all of those qualities – and failed. As I said, I wanted to like this ad, I really did. So let’s take another look at it. But now imagine the ad with a headline like these (incorporating other brand names of the era):
“Is it really a diamond from De Beers?”
“We’re flying to Paris on TWA?!”
“I love the smooth shave you get with Gillette.”
You feel the difference, can’t you? You can feel the emotion. You can see the whole image in your head. And what’s more, you can believe it.
When the right product gets the right advertising … that’s what sweeps people off their feet.
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