The Times Op-Ed: A guide to electionspeak
By David Rowan
THE VOTERS have been cheated yet again. The least the politicos owe us, having anaesthetised us with a month of excruciating verbiage, is a few linguistic tickles. In past campaigns, we could always expect a few newly minted social archetypes to take home. Where, then, are this year's Mondeo Man or Worcester Woman? At the final word-count, it pains us to report a distinct no-show.
Blame the new generation of database-munching marketers, obsessed with segmenting the electorate beyond recognition. When Worcester Woman was targeted by the Conservatives in the Nineties, or White Van Man a decade earlier, we could all smile with familiarity. This time round, the party strategists have targeted bespoke campaigns at such niche social groups as Greenbelt Guardians and New Urban Colonists. Want to bet if any of those make it into the next Concise Oxford?
Our one freshly identified demographic with a future is Generation Jones, a US import which refers to the lost generation born between 1954 and 1965 - too old to be carefree Generation Xers, but too young to be have-it-all Baby Boomers. The American marketing consultant Jonathan Pontell named the group after a Seventies slang term for a craving (you would typically be jonesing for marijuana, according to the Urban Dictionary). As Pontell defined it, this in-between generation craved all the material, personal and social opportunities promised by the Sixties, but lacking by the Seventies. They are rich, creative and can be persuaded to switch brand allegiance. The Bush campaign targeted them ruthlessly.
"This election they became a vital group in the UK too," according to Andrew Hawkins, of the pollsters Communicate Research. "They're at the peak of their earning power, thinking of pensions, and the parties have been watching them closely."
It's hardly the most animated buzzword, but Generation Jones's electoral influence gives the term its staying power. Catchiness, you should understand, does not determine the longevity of voter stereotypes. Stephen Byers identified the Bacardi Breezer Generation as the 18- to 25-year-old clubbers who might be won back to Labour in 2003. All good for a headline, but you win our mystery prize if you heard of it once during this campaign - rather like Mr Byers himself.
(The Times Op-ed, May 7 2005)
THE VOTERS have been cheated yet again. The least the politicos owe us, having anaesthetised us with a month of excruciating verbiage, is a few linguistic tickles. In past campaigns, we could always expect a few newly minted social archetypes to take home. Where, then, are this year's Mondeo Man or Worcester Woman? At the final word-count, it pains us to report a distinct no-show.
Blame the new generation of database-munching marketers, obsessed with segmenting the electorate beyond recognition. When Worcester Woman was targeted by the Conservatives in the Nineties, or White Van Man a decade earlier, we could all smile with familiarity. This time round, the party strategists have targeted bespoke campaigns at such niche social groups as Greenbelt Guardians and New Urban Colonists. Want to bet if any of those make it into the next Concise Oxford?
Our one freshly identified demographic with a future is Generation Jones, a US import which refers to the lost generation born between 1954 and 1965 - too old to be carefree Generation Xers, but too young to be have-it-all Baby Boomers. The American marketing consultant Jonathan Pontell named the group after a Seventies slang term for a craving (you would typically be jonesing for marijuana, according to the Urban Dictionary). As Pontell defined it, this in-between generation craved all the material, personal and social opportunities promised by the Sixties, but lacking by the Seventies. They are rich, creative and can be persuaded to switch brand allegiance. The Bush campaign targeted them ruthlessly.
"This election they became a vital group in the UK too," according to Andrew Hawkins, of the pollsters Communicate Research. "They're at the peak of their earning power, thinking of pensions, and the parties have been watching them closely."
It's hardly the most animated buzzword, but Generation Jones's electoral influence gives the term its staying power. Catchiness, you should understand, does not determine the longevity of voter stereotypes. Stephen Byers identified the Bacardi Breezer Generation as the 18- to 25-year-old clubbers who might be won back to Labour in 2003. All good for a headline, but you win our mystery prize if you heard of it once during this campaign - rather like Mr Byers himself.
(The Times Op-ed, May 7 2005)
<< Home