I've always been fascinated by printed motorcycle advertisements, the sizzle in most cases being as interesting to me as the steak. While I enjoy reading through black-and-white magazine ads from the '50s and '60s, the ones that really grab me are the old, poster-sized broadsheets manufacturers supplied to their dealers to brighten up dingy showroom walls. I value those mostly for nostalgia's sake, and because they appeal to my taste in art-which normally favors things like pictures of poker-playing dogs.
One of my favorites is from the early '30s. It depicts a stylishly dressed young woman pounding an Ariel single down an English lane. Since she's wearing white silk stockings, I have to assume that her Ariel did a better job of containing its oil than those I rode in later years, but no matter, it's still a pretty picture. The ad, which has no text other than a banner reading "The Modern Motorcycle of 1930," manages to convey a sense of fun and freedom, with the implication that the bike is reliable and easy to operate.
I'm also fond of a Matchless advertisement from 1939 done in the Bauhaus style. In shades of gray and red, it portrays a lone rider moving quickly across a blurred background. There is no text, but there doesn't need to be. The art suggests speed and grace with a subtle undertone of, I don't know, danger or foreboding? Whether the artist was influenced by the gathering war clouds or I'm just reading more into it than I should is debatable, but there's certainly a story being told.
Granted, the older ads tended toward a certain amount of puffery. For instance, Royal Enfield's claim that its 750cc Interceptor was the "World's Most Beautiful" motorcycle and Triumph's assertion that it made "The Best Motorcycle in the World" had to be taken with a grain of salt-though no more so than any current ad suggesting ownership of a given brand will magically transform your otherwise humdrum life into something exhilarating.
The hype wasn't always about glamour; many older ads played up the practical side of motorcycling. Harley-Davidson ran an ad in the late '50s touting one of their 125cc two-stroke econobikes that featured a smiling assembly line worker commuting to the factory, lunch box strapped to the luggage rack, "for just pennies a day." Given its penchant for repeating history, it's surprising that Milwaukee no longer builds a 125 or uses economy as a selling point.
Image-conscious manufacturers went to great lengths to portray motorcycling in a positive light, so the riders of the day were always depicted as well-groomed and nattily dressed. In England, everyone apparently wore ties or ascots, while Europeans favored fluttering silk scarves. In the U.S.-where riding always had an air of hooliganism around it-men and women often appeared wearing club uniforms composed of riding breeches, collared shirts, neckties and, of course, a cap. By the '60s, the uniform of the day had changed to chinos and madras shirts for the men and Capri pants and not-too-tight sweaters for the women, but everyone was still clean cut and wholesome. This culminated with Honda's "You meet the nicest people" campaign-an advertising coup that literally kick-started the motorcycle revolution in the U.S. during the '60s.
Apparently, all that's changed. Today's male riders are manly man-type rugged individuals, all wearing black designer T-shirts, a three-day beard and a scowl, and the women are either the opening act at the Badda Bing lounge or own a leather fetish store.