Suddenly, advertising is all agog for storytelling.
Every product wants to play a leading role in the story of every consumer’s life -- a role so important it must be snapped, shot, shared,
pinned, tweeted, and stored forever. What we buy and how we show it off defines who we are.
47 years ago, Leonard Cohen wrote “Suzanne,” a song about an engaging young
woman who “feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from China.”
In those few words he painted a picture of an exotic, mysterious, romantic and desirable creature, just by
having her serve him a light snack.
Every woman I knew went out and bought a can of those sweet little Geisha oranges. And you had to really look for them, too.
I bought
several. Along with a flowery blue kimono. I was, after all, an Italian girl from New Jersey.
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I began to arrange, (OK, “style”) my pantry to prominently feature those
oranges. Just in case a gentleman caller happened to open the cabinet, he’d see them and assume I was just as exotic and mysterious as the famous Suzanne.
Every few months I bought a
fresh can. After my 11th can in two years, I assumed Leonard was in on the deal. He had singlehandedly created awareness and desire for those little oranges in our culture. He
was responsible for putting Mandarin oranges on the map and in the Mayfair Market. He had to be getting a cut.
Eventually, I met a man who loved me for my true self. One day he opened
the cabinet and suggested we toss the oranges into a salad with avocado and shrimp. It tasted delicious.
Decades later, I heard LC interviewed about “Suzanne.” He said
she was a rare beauty who served him Constant Comment Tea.
My heart sank. My mother drank Constant Comment. It wasn’t from China. It wasn’t exotic. It wasn’t the tea
AND oranges I pictured, it was a tea bag WITH slivers of dried up orange rinds.
What happened to those sweet, juicy crescents glistening in the morning sun? Poof!
Cohen was no fool.
You only have to read “And she serves me orange-flavored tea” to hear how unsexy that sounds.
I had been tricked. I had fallen for the oldest con in the book:
storytelling.
But I thank you, Leonard, for giving me 40 years of believing I could be somewhat magical and mysterious and exotic. And I sincerely hope the world appreciates what you did for
the marketing of Mandarin oranges.