Why be a behind-the-scenes manufacturer for other companies when the real money was in launching a brand with built-in purpose? Resurrecting America's watch industry-which hadn't existed for half a century-in a city that was long ago left for dead was an irresistible marketing proposition. Every time customers in Neiman Marcus or Saks purchase one of the brand's $850 watches or $300 leather iPad cases, they too can feel like they're doing their part in Detroit's fight for survival.īut Kartsotis quickly tuned into something a less savvy marketer might not recognize: Detroit's rising power as a brand. Most important, by hatching the brand in Detroit-a city emblematic of American hardship, resilience, and craftsmanship-the brand is selling more than watches it's selling a comeback. Shinola's products are designed and packaged with an American midcentury look, evoking nostalgia for a bygone era of quality and integrity. In 2010, his outfit reportedly spent some $1 million to buy the name of the long-defunct American shoe polish remembered today for being part of a World War II-era insult-"You don't know shit from Shinola"-and reanimated it with a new narrative. If the Shinola name feels vintage, that's because it is.
He won't reveal the secrets of his particular style of marketing theater, but he leaves enough breadcrumbs to piece it together.
With Shinola, Kartsotis has performed a near magical marketing act-creating an artificial heritage brand by co-opting others' rich American histories. When former president Bill Clinton-said to own more than a dozen Shinola watches-dropped by, he propped it up as a homespun model for the rest of the country: "We need more American success stories like Shinola in Detroit," he said. A swell of celebrities and politicians, from Neil Young to Jeb Bush, showed up at the factory to see the craftsmanship firsthand. Michigan governor Rick Snyder touted the company as a model for reimagined job creation, even as he imposed bankruptcy proceedings on the city. In its short life, Shinola had quickly catapulted from half-baked marketing concept concocted by Kartsotis and a bunch of his ex-Fossil hands in Plano, Texas, to national symbol of Detroit's revival and American manufacturing possibility. It turns out the idea for the Shinola power strip goes back at least three years, when executives from General Electric toured the watch company's factory. How a power strip could possibly be amazing has less to do with its aesthetic than with the alchemy of its branding.
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