As a largely rational man, I like to consider myself impervious to the marketing techniques employed by advertising agencies who look to create "false desire" in each of our hearts.
Does anyone, for example, truly need to upgrade their iPhone the exact day a new model arrives in stores? We know, of course, there's no utilitarian or practical purpose for replacing our existing, functioning mobiles with more expensive new designs but PR folk, using tactics cultivated by Edward Bernays, have convinced us to betray our own internal logic. Technology, clothes, cars and homes are no longer purchased for their intended pragmatic functions; instead, they represent to each of us a way of creating images for ourselves based on the items we own.
Apple have figured out ways to make us equate buying their products with personal freedom whilst branded clothes give us confidence and self-worth by offering to soothe our insecurities - if we wear the same jeans as David Beckham, for example, we'll be in the same club as this handsome, successful and seemingly fulfilled man. It is our subconscious fears which are targeted by many of the adverts we see.
Yet, despite this knowledge and my self-proclaimed status as a man immune to such mental manipulations, it is at this point I have to qualify the word "largely" in my opening sentence. I am, after all, only human - my very nature as a homo sapiens means I will never be as wholly rational as post-Enlightenment thought would suggest our species can be.
There are two things which, almost despite myself, I find to have something of an intellectual and emotional hold over me. The first of these is the modern notion of Christmas - the time of the year in which goodwill and kinship towards our fellow men permeate through our homes with gleeful sincerity. Rationally, I am aware that filling my house with novelty decorations, toy animals and effigies of good old Saint Nick shouldn't fill my heart with joy but, alas, it does. Each and every yuletide I convince myself that displaying copious baubles and tinsel will lift my soul - is this truly any different from upgrading phones or filling our wardrobes with Diesel denim products to vicariously enhance our self worth?
The second brand, one I unreservedly declare my admiration for, is that of Coca-Cola.
To view Coca-Cola from a rational and logical perspective would be to recognise an (admittedly delicious) carbonated soda water full of ingredients, including copious amounts of sugar, which lack nutritional value. It is no wonder that gelatinous slime-ball George Osbourne has sought populist acclaim from his latest budget's stated intention of levying taxes on soft drinks for British consumers.
Yet, there's always a yet. So masterfully has Coca-Cola been marketed over the years, I'm willing to let facts, figures and common sense fly by me so as to not tarnish my feelings towards the most flavoursome drink the world has ever created. Tied in, as it is with Christmas, I simply refuse to acknowledge the possibility there may be anything at all wrong with the soda - like a teenager in the first flushes of young love, when I gaze at a bottle of Coke I see nothing but perfection looking back at me.
As such, when I discovered the existence of an entire store dedicated to Coca- Cola (situated on the Las Vegas Strip), I had to go. What magic could I find within the shop? Would this change my life for better or worse?
What I discovered there was what I had already known deep in my heart. Perhaps, more so than the drink itself, Coca-Cola's incredibly worldwide success comes from its incredible branding. The store was testament to this - yes, it was possible to purchase beverages if one so desired (which, of course, I did), but the bulk of Everything Coca-Cola consisted of items which certainly could not be drunk. The brand, the store shows, has extended past the point of simple liquid refreshment - somehow this carbonated water has come to represent a lifestyle choice. One, I admit, I've entirely bought into.
Looking upon the rows and rows of merchandise, it could be forgiven for one to think that Everything Coca-Cola was not so much a simple store but, rather, a museum dedicated to typographers and graphic designers. Throughout its history, there's never been one company who has so consistently moved with the times and innovated whilst imbibing retro nostalgia within its designs - I was amazed at the clarity, concision and sheer brilliance in the craft which created row upon row of items as varied as Christmas decorations and baseball caps, glasses and aprons, cushions and notepads. T-shirts emblazoned with Coke's logo were everywhere too - its inexplicable that anyone acting rationally would pay a premium to act as a walking advertisement board for a brand but, as I mentioned, humans never act entirely logical. I added one to my basket as I perused the store.
The primary purpose of my visit, however, did indeed relate to the soda pop on offer. Not only did Everything Coca-Cola boast the famous Coca-Cola Freestyle drinks machine (featuring 127 different flavours) and sell the delicious Mexican variation of the drink freshly refrigerated, the store offered customers a chance to try a tray of 16 different samples of rare Cokes from around the world. A completist and a connoisseur, I was ecstatic to give each one a go before I shuffle off this mortal coil. However, as noted above, the lesson I learnt here was one I already knew, deep down in my soul, to be an immutable truth.
I sat down and began to drink some of the most peculiar tastes I had ever imagined. In a short period of time I had guzzled - Inca Kola from Peru, Guarana Kuat from Brazil, Stoney Tangawizi (Tanzania), Thums Up (India), Sparletta Sparberry (Zimbabwe), Fantan Melon Frosty (Thailand), Smart Watermelon (China), Fanta Pineapple (Greece), Lift Manzana (Mexico), Fanta Kolita (Costa Rica), Bibo Kiwi Mango (South Africa), Vegitabeta (Japan), Sunfill Mint (Dijbouti), Bon Bon Anglais (Madagascar), Beverly (Italy), and, finally Germany's Mezzo Mix. The result: I felt as ill as only a man who had drunk 16 varieties of Coca-Cola, and the corresponding sugar, could possibly feel. That some of these flavours were, to put it bluntly, rather ghastly certainly didn't stem my saccharine-induced nausea.
But with great suffering comes great discovery - the physical and spiritual assault on my body through an array of insane tastes confirmed to me that, plainly and simply, traditional Coca-Cola is by far the best drink on the market. Ever. Yes, as evidenced by the smoke and mirrors marketing and relentless branding, a lot of our positive feeling for the drink comes through the most professional and astounding advertising campaigns ever created but.... is there truly a greater sensation than popping open an ice cool Coke and consuming the libation (calories, sugar and all)?
Everything Coca-Cola is a store which shows the brand's commitment to style but a simple Coke, procured from just about any corner shop in the world, shows this is a brand with real substance too. Or, perhaps, I'm afraid to say, I'm more susceptible to the "false desires" created by Bernays and his ilk than I'd care to admit? If this is a case of the emperor's new clothes, I'm pretty much overwhelmed by the sartorial elegance of my imperial leader.