The Culture Code (23 page)

The German Code for Germany is perhaps best illustrated in a story.

Lego, the Danish toy company, found instant success with their interlocking blocks in the German market, while sales foundered in the United States. Why?

The company’s management believed that one of the primary reasons for their success was the quality of the instructions they provided inside each box that helped children build the specific item (a car, a spaceship) that a particular box of blocks was meant to build. The instructions were quite a breakthrough in the field: precise, colorful, and refreshingly clear. They made construction with Lego blocks not only simple, but in some ways magical. If one followed the path through the instructions, tiny plastic pieces methodically turned into something grander.

American children could not have cared less. They would tear into the boxes, glance fleetingly at the instructions (if they looked at them at all), and immediately set out on a construction project of their own. They seemed to be having a wonderful time, but they were as likely to build, say, a fort, as they were to build the automobile for which the blocks were intended. And when they were done, they would tear their fort apart and start over from scratch. To Lego’s dismay, a single box of Legos could last for years.

In Germany, however, Lego’s strategy worked exactly as intended. German children opened a box of Legos, sought out the instructions, read them carefully, and then sorted the pieces by color. They began building, comparing their assembly progress to the crisp, helpful illustrations in the instruction booklet. When they were finished, they had an exact duplicate of the product shown on the cover of the box. They showed it to Mother, who clapped approvingly and put the model on a shelf.
Now the children needed another box.

Without knowing it, Lego had tapped into the Culture Code for Germany itself:
ORDER
. Over many generations, Germans perfected bureaucracy in an effort to stave off the chaos that came to them in wave after wave, and Germans are imprinted early on with this most powerful of codes. That imprint makes children reach dutifully for the instructions, and that Code prevents them from immediately destroying their neat construction in order to build it anew. Lego’s elegant, full-color instructions had tapped into the German Code in a way that assured repeat sales.

G
iven both Codes—the Code for the home culture and the Code for the foreign culture—a company should be well armed to succeed.

Several years ago, AT&T attempted to get the contract for France’s national phone service. Their primary competition was the Swedish company Ericsson. AT&T’s pitch focused on how big and powerful it was and how it could come in and save the flagging French telephone system. They failed to acknowledge either the French Code for America (by presenting something new or unusual) or the French Code for France (by acknowledging that they could work with the ideas the French already had in place). When the Ericsson people made their pitch, they appealed first to the French Code. They thanked the French for giving them their monarchy (in a Napoleonic brainstorm of turning the country over to the young general Jean Bernadotte, who became King Charles
XIV
and led Sweden into the modern era). By starting this way, Erickson acknowledged its understanding of the French culture and showed that the company respected it and could work well within it. They received the contract.

Chrysler (which is still perceived as an American company because all research and development for Chrysler products comes out of Detroit) did a much better job of navigating the Codes when it introduced the PT Cruiser to France. They fulfilled the American role as space travelers by introducing a car that looked like nothing else on French roads. They then marketed the car in a way that was completely on Code for the French. Their ads spoke of the 150 new ideas that went into the creation of the PT Cruiser, with different ads detailing several of these ideas. The French, of course, responded to this. Even though the PT Cruiser costs much more in France than it does in America, it is hugely popular there.

The bottom line for business is that it is not possible for an American company to succeed in the world marketplace with one global message. How could one strategy possibly address IDEA/
SPACE
TRAVELERS
, ORDER/
JOHN
WAYNE
, and CLASS/
UNASHAMEDLY
ABUNDANT
at the same time? A global strategy requires customizing for each culture, though it is always important that the strategy embrace “American-ness.”

When Jeep relaunched the Wrangler in France and Germany using the “liberator” pitch, sales increased significantly. The pitch worked because it was on Code in terms of how those countries saw themselves and us. In France, the ads played up the Wrangler’s unique styling to appeal to the national fascination with ideas. In addition, the Wrangler’s off-road capabilities subtly suggest the notion of space travel, of breaking through the bonds of our atmosphere. In Germany, focusing the marketing campaign on the Jeep’s place in history was an on-Code reminder of the order restored to that country after World War II, and of the John Wayne–like part the Jeep played in liberating Germany from the Third Reich.

In England, the marketing campaign needed to be very different. The English didn’t have the experience of American soldiers liberating them. In addition, their own Land Rover dominated
SUV
sales in this category in England. Understanding the country Codes, the company chose not to push hard with the Wrangler in England, but to position the upscale Grand Cherokee as the Jeep of choice instead. The campaign showed a couple taking a fully loaded Grand Cherokee from their London house to their country estate. The presentation of the car’s numerous high-end features was an illustration of unashamed abundance, while the beautiful house in London and the sprawling country estate emphasized class. The ad was right on Code, and it helped Jeep gain ground on the Land Rover.

LIVING
ON CODE

America and Americans send different messages to different cultures around the world. People within those cultures sometimes see in these messages something they long for, something that is missing from their lives. When a person sees something in a foreign culture that feels more consistent with his or her own worldview, moving to that culture can make a great deal of sense.

I was born in France, but like everyone else in the world, I had no choice of homeland. From the time I was very young, I knew that parts of the French culture failed to fit me properly. The French are extremely critical, they are pessimistic, they are jealous of what others have, and they put little value on personal success. When I told people there that I wanted to build a large business based on new ideas, they sneered and called me a megalomaniac.

The American culture seemed to offer so many of the things I wanted from life, especially in building a career. When I decided to emigrate, François Mitterrand was president of France and he’d frozen the assets of any French citizen leaving the country. Therefore, when I arrived in New York, I had no money. I also had no place to live and my English was very poor. I’d come to America to do work on archetypes, and few people had any idea what I was even talking about.

I knew a few French immigrants in New York and I went to see them as soon as I arrived. They welcomed me, offering me a place to stay, some money, and the use of a car. When I told them about what I planned to do for a living, they encouraged me and told me they were sure I would succeed. As happy as I was to hear these words, the first thought that came to mind was “Are you sure you’re French?” These people, who’d been living in America for a few years, were utterly different from the French I knew in France. They were optimistic, helpful, generous, and enthusiastic about new opportunities. In other words, they were American. Yes, they’d embraced the American culture, but in addition, like me, they had many of these traits already and came here because they knew they would be surrounded by like-minded people. The French who were lazy and lacked imagination stayed in Europe. The ones with guts and determination came here. These people found “home” by moving elsewhere. Their homeland was an accident of birth; they found a permanent place to live when they left it to come to America.

While America does an exemplary job of embracing and assimilating immigrants, Americans can also find their “true home” culture elsewhere. The actress Gwyneth Paltrow, who now lives in England with her British rock-star husband, was recently quoted as saying “I’ve always been drawn to Europe. America is such a young country, with an adolescent swagger about it.” Clearly, the American culture doesn’t resonate with Paltrow as the English one does.

As with corporations, the key to successful immigration (here or elsewhere) is connecting with the Code of the local culture. An intellectual from any culture would find France stimulating. A control freak would resonate strongly with the German culture.

For a company breaking into a foreign market or an individual looking for the ideal place to live, the most important thing is to connect with the Code.

The Code for the American Presidency

I
n 1789, when the Electoral College chose George Washington to run the fledgling United States of America, the electors asked him how he would like to be addressed. They suggested traditional terms—“Your Excellency,” “Your Majesty,” “Sire.” Washington responded by saying that he wanted to be called “Mr. President,” and thus he set in motion a distinctly American approach to governmental leadership. The new president had no interest in becoming king. He’d recently led his people in an epic battle—against terrible odds—to free themselves from a king, and he and the other Founding Fathers realized that the notion of simply replacing the old boss with a new version of the same thing was inconsistent with the tenets of this emerging country. George Washington became “Mr. President,” and in so doing made a tremendously powerful imprint on the American culture.

The American presidency placed the finishing touch on the rebellion against British rule. Unlike earlier historical rebels, we did not assassinate the king in order to effect change—instead, we repudiated him and most of what the monarchy represented and fought to break away. In choosing George Washington as president, the electors selected the leader of that rebellion. He wasn’t the king; he was the rebel-in-chief. This meshed effectively with a culture in its infancy (young children are all about testing limits and learning for themselves how the world works), and it connects especially well with our current adolescent culture. Like all adolescents, we have little patience for father figures. However, we are happy to follow a rebel as he leads the charge. Several of the twentieth century’s most successful presidents had strong rebellious streaks. Bill Clinton was a Washington outsider with decided adolescent tendencies. Ronald Reagan challenged us to re-create America’s greatness by leading a “rebellion” to restore tradition. Franklin Roosevelt rebelled against the Depression with the adolescent cry “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

This is a very powerful notion and one that never existed in history before the founding of America. Our leader is the person who leads the rebellion. This is essential in a culture where health means movement. We are always changing, always moving forward, always reinventing, and we want a president who can direct this process. The president needs to understand what is broken, have a strong idea about how to fix it, and then “rebel” against the problem. The nature of the rebellion is always changing, and we tend to choose the president who understands this best. In the 2000 and 2004 elections, George W. Bush led the rebellion toward the conservative right. Perhaps the next president will rebel by leading the charge back toward the center.

One cannot be a terribly effective rebel if one cannot state clearly (in words or deeds) what one stands for. We expect our presidents to show us that they know where the country needs to go and how to take us there. The first George Bush famously derided “the vision thing,” and that cost him dearly in the 1992 election. George Washington understood “the vision thing.” So did Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and all the other presidents who resonate in our minds as the greatest to lead our nation.

This is not to say that we always elect a president who has great vision. Sometimes a president doesn’t win an election as much as his opponent loses it. In 1976, Jimmy Carter—someone who hardly comes off as a rebel and one who has been more of a visionary in his postpresidency life—defeated Gerald Ford in large part because Americans had such strong negative feelings about the Republican Party after Watergate. In 2000, George W. Bush’s “vision thing” was only slightly stronger than his father’s had been, but he won the electoral vote (if not the popular vote) because Al Gore failed to inspire the country.

When the George H. W. Bush campaign hired me to discover the Code for the American presidency, I first studied each of our presidents and their opponents to glean how Americans perceived them during the elections. As with everything else, the reptilian always wins. We don’t want our presidents to think too much. We want them to respond from the gut, to have a very strong survival instinct. The candidate doesn’t need to be extremely reptilian, only more reptilian than his opponent is. In the 2000 election, Bush wasn’t a particularly strong reptilian, but his opponent was
very
cortex. In the 2004 election, the differences were even more pronounced; John Kerry was a veritable Mr. Cortex. In the 1996 election, Bill Clinton was both more reptilian
and
more cortex than Bob Dole, as was the case in 1992 when he defeated George Bush. George Bush, however, was more reptilian than the cortex-driven Michael Dukakis. Ronald Reagan was much more reptilian than either Jimmy Carter or Walter Mondale. If one continues to go back through the other presidential elections, you’ll note that this pattern is broken only under extreme circumstances, as after Watergate.