There’s been much talk this season (and pre-season) about Alex Rodriguez’s downward spiral given his “remorseful” spring training confession. But no one’s described this so clearly and with such chutzpah ans Jeff Pearlman today on SportsIllustrated.com:
Less than a year ago, people were not merely speculating how many career home runs he would hit (800? 850? 900? 950?), but also how his name atop the all-time list would return Aaron-esque decency to a record book poisoned by Bonds' regrettable presence. Rodriguez was the Brad Pitt of baseball -- the pretty boy with chops who could carry a big-budget adventure through the summer.
Now, with the latest revelations, the comparison to Pitt seems ludicrous. Instead, Rodriguez brings to mind a slightly different fabled theatrical figure -- one who, 20 years ago, took America by storm. At the time, we fell in love with Spuds MacKenzie because the bull terrier brought spark and pizzazz to the otherwise mundane world of beer advertising. He was cute and funny and talented and engrossing.
Then, we learned the truth. Spuds, a lady-killer in ads, was actually a girl. Her real name was Honey Tree Evil Eye, and she didn't even like beer.
Turns out, ol' Spuds MacKenzie was nothing special after all.
Just another dog.
So why does this bothers us so much? In a culture that is itself only a little over 200 years old, we are obsessed with infusing authenticity and soul in everything we (collectively) do. When things come along that challenge the meaning - and hence legitimacy - of our institutions, we respond with vigor and unity, working hard to maintain their integrity.
So when a practice such as steroid use threatens to make the record books obsolete - in the process reminding us of the ultimate arbitrariness of the game - we respond by championing the anti-steroid position. Not because we care personally, but because we believe in the institution of baseball.
Ditto for the whole aluminum bat issue. After all, the decision of whether to play baseball with a wooden bat or an aluminum bat - or a racket, pool cue or putter for that matter - is wholly arbitrary. College players routinely rely on aluminum bats. But by championing the continued use of wood bats in the major league - and defending that belief with carefully crafted narratives explaining how the game will "never be the same" if we abandon wood bats - we channel the soulfulness and integrity of our cherished game. We remind ourselves how "pure" and "authentic" our tradition of baseball really is.
This is what we term "soul work," and it's actually much more common than many of us realize.
Think about something as basic as our descriptions of our work histories. Rarely do you listen as someone hops into Letterman's guest chair and explains, "I guess I am just blessed. My father was an actor so one day he just sent me to down to the studio and 'presto,' I've been a successful actor ever since." Instead we listen as each actor/actress recounts their early tribulations of "washing dishes in a diner," "living in squalor" or "maxing out their credit cards.” These carefully placed narratives suggest there is significantly more authenticity, meaning and soul behind the facade of our contemporary life. Somehow, these stories have a way of making our lives seem a little more real.
While consumers and commercial enterprises alike are constantly engaged in soul work – we see this often with new niche brands, think of the brand narrative of Amy’s, we are struck by how few marketers and branders still do not include soul work as legitimate practice in their strategic brand platforms.
In fact, most companies are already practicing soul work without being aware. For years, older tech companies such as Microsoft and Apple perpetuated the now infamous, "garage" narratives that highlighted their respective organizations' "scrappy start" when they allegedly persevered with little more than a "musty garage" to call home.
Regarding soul work's applicability to marketing arenas, we note two critical implications:
Managing the Brand Image for Soul: While all of us have experience with soul work, we find few brand managers who appear to be consciously managing their brand's image with an eye for soul. Often it is as if those in charge of the brand have forgotten where their brand came from.
To this end, for all its critics and detractors, Wal-Mart has done a great job "managing soul." From the earliest days forward, nearly every narrative references some combination of (a) the pioneering work of Sam Walton (What would Sam do?) and (b) the original locale (Bentonville), not to mention the proverbial "tattered rags to riches" story. More importantly, though they've somehow managed to drag the rest of the business community into this game, every shout out to the "Bentonville Behemoth," serves simply to solidify Wal-Mart's association with its humble beginnings.
Thinking About Collective Sentiment: The emphasis on soul work also raises important methodological issues for marketers and researchers alike. Specifically, if it is the case that much of what casts a given institution in a "soulful light" has more to do with collective sentiment than individual preference, then we may need to rethink the levels of analysis we use for our consumer research. Consumer research focusing on the opinions and practices of individual consumers may prove irrelevant, at least for soul work.
Lest you go the way of Spuds MacKenzie.
Last weekend we pointed our browsers towards 
Interactive, experience-based advertising takes consumers beyond a free sample or in-store demonstration to a memorable and helpful encounter facilitated by a brand.
IKEA’s colorful train is simply one example of an effective way of building brand presence without inundating consumers with advertising. 
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