Nostalgia can be triggered by all the senses. Sometimes it’s a smell wafting by (like the same cologne worn by the guy in the next dorm room in freshman year of college). Sometimes it’s a song (“Don’t You Forget About Me” by Simple Minds always puts me back into my best friend’s blue Chevy Malibu on a hot June day just on the cusp of high school graduation).
A color can get me (the deep crushed purple of my favorite velour shirt in 6th grade). Or a taste can do it (candy necklaces bought for a nickel from the ice cream man). Even a touch (the rose petal softness of any baby’s tummy can take me back to the wonder of being a new mom).
Yesterday the first thing that set off my nostalgia was an review of the Police reunion concert in the Wall Street Journal with an accompanying picture of drummer Stewart Copeland. I had a major crush on him in junior high, and even though he has glasses now and is 25 years older, looking at that picture transported me back into the awkward 13-year-old with the full-page LA Times ad for the Police concert at the Forum taped to my wall (I didn’t actually go myself, but if I recall, the opening act was Oingo Boingo). I don’t think the nostalgic pull was that I actually wanted to relive those junior high years (ugh! – would anyone willingly go through junior high again?). Maybe it’s more that the picture reminded me of the good feelings I experienced when I looked at his picture back then.
The other thing that gave me the nostalgic twinge was Wil Wheaton’s column recounting his own wistful feelings when revisiting the soundstage where they filmed Star Trek: The Next Generation. He certainly has much more of a connection with the show than I (he was Ensign Wesley Crusher, but now is a writer/blogger/geek-about-town), but being the sci-fi fangirl that I am, I’ve seen every TNG episode at least a few times.
As anyone who watches a good show over a long time knows, you develop an emotional connection with the characters. This show was exceptionally well-written and acted, and the deep emotions that fans felt for the show result in a nostalgic desire to reimmerse themselves in that world, as evidenced by Trekkie conventions, USS Enterprise role play sims in Second Life and Vegas reenactments.
What does all of this have to do with marketing?
Marketers have been using nostalgia as a way of pitching their products for as long as people have been talking about “the good old days.” Look at how things like fashion and music keep coming around in cycles, fueled by generations buying the things they loved for their own children. I was just talking with a friend about how I owned all the Schoolhouse Rock videos for my kids, having grown up singing about the Constitution and adverbs on Saturday mornings. The new VW Beetle is successful specifically because of nostalgia for the old Bugs. Commercials for cars, soda, and financial services are borrowing licks from 70s rock. Cultural icons like Dennis Hopper, Kermit the Frog and Bob Dylan flack for retirement planning, hybrid cars and women’s underwear.
Emotions imprinted during childhood and the teenage years are especially powerful, and by associating our products with those nostalgic memories, we can piggyback on them. First you need to know who your target audience is — 20-year-olds will be nostalgic about very different things than 40-year-olds, and regional, ethnic and social class differences may exist as well.
You could do focus groups where you ask them to name the music, tastes, smells, celebrities, TV shows, etc that they remember fondly and the specific memories associated with them. Focus on the senses, because those are the key to tapping into those nostalgic emotions. You will find that certain things get most everyone nodding wistfully; when that happens, you’ll know you’re onto something.
How do you connect your product with that nostalgia? Depending on which senses are involved, you may have to be creative. You can use music, celebrity spokespeople (if they used to be hot but have not been for a while, you may even have a better chance of getting their participation), particular graphic styles or fonts, clothes and hairstyles, food or scented giveaways, plays on old catchphrases, or other approaches.
You do need to be careful, though, when you are messing around with things that people hold dear to their hearts. If they perceive you as tampering with their cherished icons or that the people associated with them have “sold out,” you may generate a backlash.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch the the Krofft Superstars DVD I bought for my kids. Yeah, yeah, right…for my kids.

The 1950s
Yikes! I’m going to beg off this one as I was only alive for six months of that decade. Whew!
The 1960s
Candy
Now, THIS I remember. There was a little store down the street from our house, called Jarnicky’s, which sold penny candy.Yes, candy for a penny a piece.You peered into a big glass counter and a stately man scooped up the pieces you picked and put them into individual pint size brown bags. For ten cents, the bag was nearly bursting.
No kid chomping gum and talking on his cell phone. No self- serve. No siree. This was personal service and patient service. This man almost was gleeful in helping each of us seven kids (not that strange back then) make our selections. Oh – and he always added in an eleventh piece for free.
Candy buying experience in 2007 vs. 1967
Selection, only if it’s prepackaged. You don’t know how long anything’s been sitting around. And service from stately gentlemen? Must have been a figment of my imagination. Pfft. Gone with the wind. Boy was that lovely. I’ll remember that place for all of my life. I can still smell the candy wafting in the air and hear the bells jingling on the door as we walked in or out that door to Jarnicky’s.
The 1970’s
Gas stations.
I learned to drive in 1975. And even though I pulled in to the gas station with a buck or two pulled together to meet the requirement from my dad’s “you better put some gas in the car before you come home” statement as I’d run out the door — a team (yes, team) of attendants would come on out as soon as I drove over that piece of rubber hose that cut across the driveway of the gas station. They weren’t half as interesting or joyful as how the movies depict these guys, but they were prompt, filled the car up, took my money and brought back the change. I didn’t have to get out of the car, and my windows always got washed.
Filling up the tank in 2007 vs. 1975
No attendants. I don’t really count those people in the mini-mart as an attendant. They take the money when the machine says “see cashier.” I’ve never once seen one venture out into the gas filling area. And where did all those rubber hoses go that went “ding!” when we drove in? Gone with how it feels to filler up these days – no one notices if you were there or not.
Loyalty for a gas company? If someone told me how one brand of indifferent service was over the other, maybe I could have an opnion.
The 1980s
Dry cleaners.
Could our shoulder pads have gotten ANY bigger? I mean really! In 1981 when I graduated from college, I made a bee-line to Crate and Barrel to buy my standard ration of juice jar glasses, placemats and whatever else I could get for fifty bucks. Felt like a bundle to me – because I can tell you that my $11,000 a year starting salary sure didn’t once I had to figure out how to live on it.
Since everything I bought to wear to my new shiny career was too long, I turned to the local dry clearners for help. In the miniature orbit of my world back then, they just about filled up my Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Only a block from the place I rented, these wonderful people hemmed my pants (on credit when I was living on fumes), cared about my new life, fed me and sent me home with leftovers and helped me figure out the neighborhood.
Dry Cleaners in 2007 vs. 1981
THIS I would say is one of the longest standing bastions of human kindness left in retailing I’m not sure if sitting in a steamy environment all day long gives people kinder hearts – but most corner dry cleaners still go the extra mile. As most are still independants, our dry-cleaners remember us by face (if not by name), trust us inexpicably when we’ve forgotten our wallet, rush to get the hemming done on our pants due to our perennial lack of planning, and always seem to have food around that is gladly shared. No need for databases to ‘wire in’ corporate memory – they know us because they’re there when we arrive every time. And the pride seeps through that they are there to serve. Bravo!
The 1990s
Home buying.
Bought my first house in 1990. Home buying in the 90s seemed to be like floating aimlessly down a river current without a paddle. Once you were magically approved, actions were scheduled, paperwork put in motion and countless trees began to be cut down to print your closing documents. ou got about three conversations out of the loan officer:
#1 – the first conversation on rank, age and serial number to determine if you were worthy of getting funded; #2 – the jubilant (I’m kidding) call to say you were approved, and #3 – the “sign here,” “sign here,” “sign here” on the day that money jumped from their pocket to yours and suddenly you owned a house.
Walking out the door of the loan office with your big paper folder and 2-inches thick of paper and those coupons to make the payment – you were, well, scared &(*^)^*. At least I was. Oh, I forgot conversation #4 – “Congratulations” was delivered as the loan people showed you the door so they could show in the next lucky contestant (errr customer) on “we’ll give you a loan if your numbers (that you have no clue how they reached) are right.”
Home Buying and Loans in 2007 vs. 1998
The service is still up and down, but as consumers we are out of the dark ages. Thank goodness that we are now allowed to be informed about FICO scores and how loan grades are calculated and our options when it comes to choosing a bank – and that it is not “tacky” to shop around. Putting the information into our hands that we all have as prospective consumers of loan companies and banks has at least put us in a bit of the driver’s seat on this one. The massive amount of information that consumers are privvy to now, has this industry starting to take notice.
2000 and Beyond
Parental healthcare.
In this age of HMOs and rotating physicians going in and out of the rounds to serve my mom and dad, I’ve literally got whip-lash. Navigating the labyrinth of requirements by medical ’silo’ (muscle pain, heart pain, physical therapy, home health care) is tedious and so time consuming it’s exasperating. If our parents weren’t already weakened before they began, surely the process of trying to figure out how to navigate getting care will make them feel nauseous. Someone needs to ride in on a white horse and wrestle this down to the ground for parents and their exasperated children around the globe.
Hope you enjoyed my bit of nostalgia. I’ll be back next week with something more sage than a walk down memory lane!