The Che Cachet

"The U.S. has always had the ability to appropriate rebels," says Meyer, on the phone from his studio in Mexico. "It's a cheap way to deal with your urge to be rebellious. You buy a T-shirt and you don't have to do anything more."

Korda, who died in Paris in 2001, apparently never earned any royalties from his most famous portrait. He did, however, win an out-of-court settlement in England against Smirnoff after the company ran an ad with "Guerrillero Heroico," along with the words "A complete flavoured vodka," a riff perhaps on John Paul Sartre's claim that Che was "the most complete man of his age."

"I am categorically against the exploitation of Che's image for the promotion of products such as alcohol," Korda is quoted as saying, "or for any purpose that denigrates the reputation of Che."

Why Che? How did this Argentine doctor with a bad case of asthma acquire such astounding worldwide cachet, not to mention enduring commercial appeal?

The hunky looks don't hurt. Actually, they help, quite a bit. And few doubt the man's sincerity, even if his sincerest wish was a dreary, centrally planned bummer.

"Even his ideological foes admire him because he represents the great virtues it takes to be a revolutionary," says Jon Lee Anderson, a New Yorker writer who penned the biography "Che: A Revolutionary Life." "Bravery, fearlessness, honesty, austerity and absolute conviction. Those are the prerequisites to carry others into what is actually quite a miserable existence. He lived it. He really lived it."

After he helped to overthrow the Batista government in Cuba, he headed to other countries, including the Congo and Bolivia, to try to foment revolution there. Adding to the mythology, he died a martyr's death in 1967, captured and executed at the age of 39 as he battled U.S.-trained troops in Bolivia. Reportedly, his last words to the soldier who shot him were "Shoot, coward, you're just killing a man."

And, it seems, creating a brand. He's lionized by insurgents around the world, according to Anderson, in places as varied as Burma and Afghanistan. Last month, the new president of Bolivia asked for a moment of silence at his swearing-in to remember, among others, Che Guevara. The Cuban government, meantime, has tapped heavily into Che-mania, presenting Guevara to tourists as the public face of the island ever since the Russians withdrew financial support. Che T-shirts are among the first things you'll see after landing at the Havana airport.

But at least the Cubans know whom they're glorifying. In the United States, Che's life story and ambitions seem beside the point, or maybe they've just been reduced to caricature. The guy's face is shorthand for "I'm against the status quo." He's politics' answer to James Dean, a rebel with a very specific cause. And since very few people know anything about the cause, or the rebel -- besides the basics -- the Che shirt has about it the whiff of inside info. It makes you part of the thrift-store intelligentsia, even if your real focus is beer pong.

This, in brief, is why capitalism won. It's the only system that understands that we'd all like to change the world, but we are way too lazy for that sort of thing. Especially if there's ice cream around. When you get done with a Cherry Guevara, you're left with a wooden stick with the words "We will bite to the end!" stamped on it. If there are nails in Che's coffin, this, no doubt, is what they look like.