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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 3, Issue 7 (November 1, 1928)

[section]

The great art in writing advertisements is the finding out a proper method to catch the reader's eye; without, a good thing may pass over unobserved, or be lost among commissions of bankrupt. —Addison.

Advertising—let us admit it at once—has something to live down. When I was a little boy and the annual fair was to be held at home, we used sometimes to have a balloon ascent and a gentleman dressed in velvet tights, and with a waxed moustache, used to go up in the balloon and come down in a parachute—and sometimes the parachute opened
(Photo, J. McAllister Junr.) The Invercargill-Lyttelton Express at Balclutha Station, Otago.

(Photo, J. McAllister Junr.)
The Invercargill-Lyttelton Express at Balclutha Station, Otago.

and somtimes it did not open quite as soon as it should. Now this gentleman, though we did not fail to go and look at him, was never quite one of us. You might say that he commanded a lot of admiration, but not very much respect.

And yet he was, I suppose, the predecessor in history of the air pilot who carries you and your wife and your baggage between one capital and another and lands you safe and sound to time.

Advertising has followed a very similar course to airmanship. It has become a reputable branch of commerce. It is becoming an exact science, and even now we can tell you with something approaching precision when and where it will act and when and where it won't.

And this is having a result of which some may not yet know.

In an Advertising Agency there are, of course, artists—artists in abundance. There are copywriters and there are men skilled in the niceties of lay-out and of print. But there are now coming in, in some numbers, young men from the public schools and universities, and I know of one or two Agencies in which the Balliol tie has been seen and the accents of Trinity are ceasing to excite any remarks. These young men enter upon advertising much as they would once have gone on to the Stock Exchange or joined the Civil Service. They come into advertising mainly on the directive side and they take the work very seriously indeed. They are not taking it any less seriously because sometimes they give you the impression that they are playing cricket or rugger or some team game, in which everyone must do his best for his side—even the man who only blocks the bowling while some one else—some brilliant poster man perhaps—scores runs. And so these young men can tell you a great deal about the principles and details of advertising. They know the size of a showcard which will go into a chemist's window; they will fight long and obstinately for or against the free distribution of samples; and, if they cannot tell you on the spot the actual number of babies and the potential number of bassinettes in Birmingham, they can take you to a pigeon-hole whence such a fact can be unearthed.

And so I keep on the sure ground of first principles and I say that the essential characteristic of modern advertising is the appeal by the maker of goods to the consumer. When a manufacturer brands his product with a name or mark, or, if that be not possible, encloses his product in a package which will henceforth be known, and proceeds to talk about his product—over the head of the wholesaler; over the head of the retailer—to the masses or the classes who will ultimately consume it—then advertising has begun. Immediately he begins to advertise, the maker of the goods shifts the basis of his goodwill, and whereas he used to hope that one retailer would mention his goods to twenty customers, he now intends page 47 that twenty customers shall mention them to one retailer.