The Art of Seduction (89 page)

Some Soft Seductions

1.
Andrew Jackson was a true American hero. In 1814, in the Battle of New Orleans, he led a ragtag band of American soldiers against a superior English army and won. He also conquered Indians in Florida. Jackson's army loved him for his rough-hewn ways: he fed on acorns when there was nothing else to eat, he slept on a hard bed, he drank hard cider, just like his men. Then, after he lost or was cheated out of the presidential election of 1824 (in fact he won the popular vote, but so narrowly that the election was thrown into the House of Representatives, which chose John Quincy Adams, after much deal making), he retired to his farm in Tennessee, where he lived the simple life, tilling the soil, reading the Bible, staying far from the corruptions of Washington. Where Adams had gone to Harvard, played billiards, drunk soda water, and relished European finery, Jackson, like many Americans of the time, had been raised in a log cabin. He was an uneducated man, a man of the earth. This, at any rate, was what Americans read in their newspapers in the months after the controversial 1824 election. Spurred on by these articles, people in taverns and halls across the country began talking of how the war hero Andrew Jackson had been wronged, how an insidious aristocratic elite was conspiring to take over the country. So when Jackson declared that he would run again against Adams in the presidential election of 1828—but this time as the leader of a new organization, the Democratic Party—the public was thrilled. Jackson was the first major political figure to have a nickname, Old Hickory, and soon Hickory clubs were sprouting up in

America's towns and cities. Their meetings resembled spiritual revivals. The hot-button issues of the day were discussed (tariffs, the abolition of slavery), and club members felt certain that Jackson was on their side. It was hard to know for sure—he was a little vague on the issues—but this election was about something larger than issues: it was about restoring democracy and restoring basic American values to the White House. Soon the Hickory clubs were sponsoring events like town barbecues,

the planting of hickory trees, dances around a hickory pole. They organized lavish public feasts, always including large quantities of liquor. In the cities there were parades, and these were stirring events. They often took place at night so that urbanites would witness a procession of Jackson supporters holding torches. Others would carry colorful banners with portraits of Jackson or caricatures of Adams and slogans ridiculing his decadent ways. And everywhere there was hickory—hickory sticks, hickory brooms, hickory canes, hickory leaves in people's hats. Men on horseback would
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ride through the crowd, spurring people into "huzzahs!" for Jackson. Others would lead the crowd in songs about Old Hickory. The Democrats, for the first time in an election, conducted opinion polls, finding out what the common man thought about the candidates. These polls were published in the papers, and the overwhelming conclusion was that Jackson was ahead. Yes, a new movement was sweeping the country. It all came to a head when Jackson made a personal appearance in New Orleans as part of a celebration commemorating the battle he had fought so bravely there fourteen years earlier. This was unprecedented: no presidential candidate had ever campaigned in person before, and in fact such an appearance would have been considered improper. But Jackson was a new kind of politician, a true man of the people. Besides, he insisted that his purpose for the visit was patriotism, not politics. The spectacle was unforgettable—Jackson entering New Orleans on a steamboat as the fog lifted, cannon fire ringing out from all sides, grand speeches, endless feasts, a kind of mass delirium taking over the city. One man said it was

"like a dream. The world has never witnessed so glorious, so wonderful a celebration—never have gratitude and patriotism so happily united." This time the will of the people prevailed. Jackson was elected president. And it was not one region that brought him victory: New Englanders, Southerners, Westerners, merchants, farmers, and workers were all infected with the Jackson fever.

Interpretation.
After the debacle of 1824, Jackson and his supporters were determined to do things differently in 1828. America was becoming more diverse, developing populations of immigrants, Westerners, urban laborers, and so on. To win a mandate Jackson would have to overcome new regional and class differences. One of the first and most important steps his supporters took was to found newspapers all around the country. While he himself seemed to have retired from public life, these papers promulgated an image of him as the wronged war hero, the victimized man of the people. In truth, Jackson was wealthy, as were all of his major backers. He owned one of the largest plantations in Tennessee, and he owned many slaves. He drank more fine liquor than hard cider and slept on a soft bed with European linens. And while he might have been uneducated, he was extremely shrewd, with a shrewdness built on years of army combat.

The image of the man of the earth disguised all this, and, once it was established, it could be contrasted with the aristocratic image of Adams. In this way Jackson's strategists covered up his political inexperience and made the election turn on questions of character and values. Instead of political issues they raised trivial matters like drinking habits and church attendance. To keep up the enthusiasm they staged spectacles that seemed to be spontaneous celebrations but in fact were carefully choreographed. The support for Jackson seemed to be a movement, as evidenced (and advanced)
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by the opinion polls. The event in New Orleans—hardly nonpolitical, and Louisiana was a swing state—bathed Jackson in an aura of patriotic, quasireligious grandeur. Society has fractured into smaller and smaller units. Communities are less cohesive; even individuals feel more inner conflict. To win an election or to sell anything in large numbers, you have to paper over these differences somehow—you have to unify the masses. The only way to accomplish this is to create an inclusive image, one that attracts and excites people on a basic, almost unconscious level. You are not talking about the truth, or about reality; you are forging a myth.

Myths create identification. Build a myth about yourself and the common people will identify with your character, your plight, your aspirations, just as you identify with theirs. This image should include your flaws, highlight the fact that you are not the best orator, the most educated man, the smoothest politician. Seeming human and down to earth disguises the manufactured quality of your image. To sell this image you need to have the proper vagueness. It is not that you avoid talk of issues and details—that will make you seem insubstantial—but that all your talk of issues is framed within the softer context of character, values, and vision. You want to lower taxes, say, because it will help families—and you are a family person. You must not only be inspiring but also entertaining—that is a popular, friendly touch. This strategy will infuriate your opponents, who will try to unmask you, reveal the truth behind the myth; but that will only make them seem smug, overserious, defensive, and snobbish. That now becomes part of their image, and it will help sink them.

2.
On Easter Sunday, March 31, 1929, New York churchgoers began to pour onto Fifth Avenue after the morning service for the annual Easter parade. The streets were blocked off, and as had been the custom for years, people were wearing their finest outfits, women in particular showing off the latest in spring fashions. But this year the promenaders on Fifth Avenue noticed something else. Two young women were coming down the steps of Saint Thomas's Church. At the bottom they reached into their purses, took out cigarettes—Lucky Strikes—and lit up. Then they walked down the

avenue with their escorts, laughing and puffing away. A buzz went through the crowd. Women had only recently begun smoking cigarettes, and it was considered improper for a lady to be seen smoking in the street. Only a certain kind of woman would do that. These two, however, were elegant and fashionable. People watched them intently, and were further astounded several minutes later when they reached the next church along the avenue. Here two more young ladies—equally elegant and well bred—left the

church, approached the two holding cigarettes, and, as if suddenly inspired to join them, pulled out Lucky Strikes of their own and asked for a light. Now the four women were marching together down the avenue. They

were steadily joined by more, and soon ten young women were holding
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cigarettes in public, as if nothing were more natural. Photographers appeared and took pictures of this novel sight. Usually at the Easter parade, people would have been whispering about a new hat style or the new

spring color. This year everyone was talking about the daring young women and their cigarettes. The next day, photographs and articles appeared in the papers about them. A United Press dispatch read, "Just as Miss Federica Freylinghusen, conspicuous in a tailored outfit of dark grey, pushed her way thru the jam in front of St. Patrick's, Miss Bertha Hunt and six colleagues struck another blow in behalf of the liberty of women. Down Fifth Avenue they strolled, puffing at cigarettes. Miss Hunt issued the following communique from the smoke-clouded battlefield: 'I hope that we have started something and that these torches of freedom, with no particular brand favored, will smash the discriminatory taboo on cigarettes for women and that our sex will go on breaking down all discriminations.' " The story was picked up by newspapers around the country, and soon

women in other cities began to light up in the streets. The controversy raged for weeks, some papers decrying this new habit, others coming to the women's defense. A few months later, though, public smoking by women had become a socially acceptable practice. Few people bothered to protest it anymore.

Interpretation.
In January 1929, several New York debutantes received the same telegram from a Miss Bertha Hunt: "In the interests of equality of the sexes . . . I and other young women will light another torch of freedom by smoking cigarettes while strolling on Fifth Avenue Easter Sunday." The debutantes who ended up participating met beforehand in the office where Hunt worked as a secretary. They planned what churches to appear at, how to link up with each other, all the details. Hunt handed out packs of Lucky Strikes. Everything worked to perfection on the appointed day.

Little did the debutantes know, though, that the whole affair had been masterminded by a man—Miss Hunt's boss, Edward Bernays, a public relations adviser to the American Tobacco Company, makers of Lucky Strike. American Tobacco had been luring women into smoking with all kinds of clever ads, but the consumption was limited by the fact that smoking in the street was considered unladylike. The head of American Tobacco had asked Bernays for his help and Mr. Bernays had obliged him by applying a technique that was to become his trademark: gain public attention by creating an event that the media would cover as news. Orchestrate every detail but make them seem spontaneous. As more people heard of this "event," it would spark imitative behavior—in this case more women smoking in the streets.

Bernays, a nephew of Sigmund Freud and perhaps the greatest public

relations genius of the twentieth century, understood a fundamental law of any kind of sell. The moment the targets know you are after something—a vote, a sale—they become resistant. But disguise your sales pitch as a news
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event and not only will you bypass their resistance, you can also create a social trend that does the selling for you. To make this work, the event you set up must stand out from all the other events that are covered by the media, yet it cannot stand out too far or it will seem contrived. In the case of the Easter parade, Bernays (through Bertha Hunt) chose women who would

seem elegant and proper even with their cigarettes in their hands. Yet in breaking a social taboo, and doing so as a group, such women would create an image so dramatic and startling that the media would be unable to pass it up. An event that is picked up by the news has the imprimatur of reality. It is important to give this manufactured event positive associations, as Bernays did in creating a feeling of rebellion, of women banding together. Associations that are patriotic, say, or subtly sexual, or spiritual—anything pleasant and seductive—take on a life of their own. Who can resist? People essentially persuade themselves to join the crowd without even realizing that a sale has taken place. The feeling of active participation is vital to seduction. No one wants to feel left out of a growing movement.
3.
In the presidential campaign of 1984, President Ronald Reagan, running for reelection, told the public, "It's morning again in America." His presidency, he claimed, had restored American pride. The recent, successful Olympics in Los Angeles were symbolic of the country's return to strength and confidence. Who could possibly want to turn the clock back to 1980, which Reagan's predecessor, Jimmy Carter, had termed a time of malaise?

Reagan's Democratic challenger, Walter Mondale, thought Americans

had had enough of the Reagan soft touch. They were ready for honesty, and that would be Mondale's appeal. Before a nationwide television audience, Mondale declared, "Let's tell the truth. Mr. Reagan will raise taxes, and so will I. He won't tell you. I just did." He repeated this straightforward approach on numerous occasions. By October his poll numbers had plunged to all-time lows.

The CBS News reporter Lesley Stahl had been covering the campaign,

and as Election Day neared, she had an uneasy feeling. It wasn't so much that Reagan had focused on emotions and moods rather than hard issues. It was more that the media was giving him a free ride; he and his election team, she felt, were playing the press like a fiddle. They always managed to get him photographed in the perfect setting, looking strong and presidential. They fed the press snappy headlines along with dramatic footage of Reagan in action. They were putting on a great show.