Stunning Caribbean beach locations, aglow with turquoise water and white sand, were the consistent setting. In this perfect place, Corona’s cleverly wordless mini-dramas--featuring the perfect bodies of young women and men--played out in arresting fashion, ad after ad. (I say “bodies” because the actors’ faces were rarely visible.)
Life on this Corona beach was idyllic relaxation: the pace was languid, a bikini-clad girl was always nearby, the palm trees swayed gently in seaside breezes, the calming sound of waves playing on the shore provided most of the soundtrack. And always within arm’s reach, cold Corona Extra, a slice of lime perched becomingly in the clear bottle’s neck.
Everything really was… perfect.
Then, a few years ago, something happened to perfection. Take a
For what it’s worth, I blame business schools for fostering this sort of overly “critical thinking.” Everything—including perfection—is approached as a case study to be pulled apart with an eye toward finding things to change. This is more than a bias toward change, it’s a marketing tautology: We must change to grow, so opposing change is opposing growth. Against that group-think, any passionate voice defending the simplicity and perfection of Corona's beach would be branded an enemy of growing the business, and silenced.
And so it goes.
With all of this, will Corona's business go off a cliff?
Ah, that's the hell of it. The commanding strength of Corona's perfect beach is such that its fall will occur slowly. A champion prize-fighter can absorb lots of punishment before he goes to the mat. No doubt those who delivered the advertising punch to Corona will be long gone before the alarm bell rings. But make no mistake, when "special" is exchanged for "commonplace," it's not marketing.
It's the beginning of the end.