Is It Time to Eighty-Six Those Ketel One Ads?

Nothing, is the answer to the last one. The Dutch owners of Ketel One consider this, their first and only foray into U.S. advertising, a huge hit. Yes, it prompts plenty of letters from baffled readers. Yes, it has provoked merciless ribbing on ad-watching blogs, such as Copyranter.blogspot.com (Sample reaction that does not contain an obscenity: "It is cultural puke and both Ketel One and their advertising agency deserve to be hit by small tactical nuclear devices.")

But it's working. About 1.8 million cases of Ketel One vodka were sold last year, up from 1.2 million in 2003 when the campaign began, according to Adams Beverage Group, a market research firm. The brand's growth rate now exceeds that of Absolut, and it isn't just infiltrating bars and liquor cabinets. It turned up in a question on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," was ordered by one of Tony's paisans in an episode of "The Sopranos" and has made cameos in such films as "Garden State" and "Something's Gotta Give."

All of this tickles the Nolets, the family that owns Ketel One and has been distilling booze in a small town in their native Holland for more than 300 years. A decade after the vodka's quiet introduction to the U.S. market in 1992, the family decided that it was time to mount a national ad campaign. Carl Nolet Jr., his brother Bob and their father, Carl the elder, gathered in the company's U.S. headquarters in Aliso Viejo, Calif., and listened as five advertising firms auditioned for the job. The first four pushed the same ideas: a babe in a bar, or a reverent look at the family history. Then came M&C Saatchi, which more than an hour into its presentation unveiled an oversize mock-up of a magazine page, empty but for these words:

Dear Ketel One Drinker

Thank you.

Apparently, this struck a chord.

"My dad started crying, I started crying, my brother started crying," says Carl Nolet Jr., who sounds on the phone like he's not kidding. "It was exactly what we wanted to say. It was simple, it was black and white, it was genuine."

It was the start of something really annoying.

Most advertising is a death match in which victory goes to the loudest and/or the most dazzling and/or the cleverest. It's been true for so long that consumers have fine-tuned their own internal defense system, which automatically and unconsciously spots ads and filters them out before they can register. Ketel One, or rather its ad agency, knows that. So the essential components of clutter -- color, cars, cleavage -- have been swapped for the opposite of clutter. It's like a guy in a noisy room who won't speak above the din, which tricks you into leaning in close to listen.

Then there are the messages themselves, which take a bit of history to fully explain. Initially the company portrayed the brand as the choice of what advertisers call "thought leaders," which in this case means bartenders and scenesters. Carl Jr. was dispatched to the States and given two instructions by his dad. 1) Persuade 25 restaurants and bars in New York City to carry Ketel One. 2) Sell only to those establishments willing to subject their staff to a seminar about the history and magnificence of Ketel One. That's right, no Ketel One for you until you heard the spiel -- the handmade this, the old copper that, blah blah blah. It was vodka positioned like fine wine, which was a new idea.

"Honestly, I struck out 99 times before I had one bite," says Nolet. "I'd have people say, 'Okay, I'll buy three bottles' just to get me out of the bar, and I'd say 'I'm sorry, but no. If you buy three bottles, you'll just put it in the back of the bar and that'll be it.' "

When Carl Jr. had roped in 25 restaurants, he didn't look for a 26th. Instead, he moved on to Chicago, Miami and San Francisco and did the same thing.