At the end of the 19th Century, the advertising industry was transformed by two things: technology advances including mass market plate glass and electrics lights, and by the imagination of L. Frank Baum. Best known as the author of The Wizard Oz, he was also, I learned recently from a fact-sharp friend, the founder of The Show Window, the influential trade pub that became the voice and how-to resource for the display window industry. He in fact founded the National Association of Window Trimmers (better known today as the Society of Visual Merchandising).
While a store window in its most basic form was a display of product -- a shop's latest collection of winter shoes or coats -- it was, in Baum's eyes, an opportunity for rendering elaborate, often fantastical worlds unto themselves, so much so that strolling by the newly 'lit' windows in the evenings was likened to watching still scenes at the theater.
Baum combined his experience as an actor, a salesman and writer to good effect, and cultivated a steadily growing appreciation for the story in the window, often pulled off with mechanisms that sound like something out of a World's Fair exhibit or a Rube Goldberg dream. In L. Frank Baum: Creator of Oz, Katharine Rogers described Baum's own delight in "analyzing ingenious effects such as the stout ship weathering a storm that advertised the Monarch brand of shirts….Electric light shining through slits in a revolving wheel produced the effect of lighting, and the ship was tossed through the waves by a rod attached to a revolving wheel below, with different speeds produced by a series of pulleys."
In reading up further on The Shop Window, it seems Baum blurred the line even in his pub between trade journal pragmatism and story-telling. On one hand, he would feature detailed practical advice for the retailers and shop-owners, such as which shelf and pillar sizes to use for maximum effect, and on the other hand, he would include short stories for readers, such as works by Stanley Waterloo and Gardner C. Teall. It's actually believed that the term "Emerald City" occurred to him while writing a display piece for the publication.
If you were to look at Baum's advertising methods in light of today's goals, you'd see some flaws. Dramatic and sometimes over-the-top displays were often likely aimed at the quick lure, as opposed to a lasting relationship or a direct understanding of the product. And the notion of coupling of brand and imagination may even seem suspect, now that users have more insight than ever before into the details and qualities of a product, and more influence than ever before on how a brand is perceived.
At the same time, however, there's inspiration to be found in Baum's ability to imagine, grasp and fully articulate the world and the sensibilities of a product in a single scene or moment. In a similar vein, I still covet my secret stash of J. Peterman catalogs, in which an Indonesian Slouch Bag is not just a bag, but a promise to carry "copies of recipes, a paperback on identifying grasses, the catalog from Harriman's Tin Shop and Hardware, the daily newspaper, the London train schedule, a pad with some ideas for great places to sit around and an 1804 silver dollar to toss in the air." A product in J. Peterman was almost always more than the sum of its parts.
For me, Baum's work is a good reminder that brand story is, at its best, the result of the creative synthesis of several factors, including the product's origin, its qualities, how it's used, how it's perceived and also shaped by owners. More than a narrative, it engages the senses, and communicates meaning and context; it rings true (because it is). And in all likelihood it will, outside of talking directly with you, be the most compelling aspect of a customer's relationship with your product.