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Friend of the Fuwa
Lecture prepared for the Central Academy of Fine Arts, Beijing
(the event was, unfortunately, cancelled due to scheduling conflicts)
The internet is littered with claims of this nature. For example, this comment posted to the China Daily BBS: “I THINK THE BEIJING OLYMPIC FUWA DOLL ARE MOST UGLY IN SPORTS HISTORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Or this sardonic quip from the blog jeelife.com: “All their 5 names combined is “Bei Jing Huan Ying Ni” which is ‘Beijing welcomes you’. Quite creative – bleh.”
Perhaps the most damning criticism, however, has been leveled by the artist who was responsible for illustrating the Fuwa. Han Meilin has been quoted as saying that “it was as if officials guided [his] pen and, while they may have a correct view of the world, their view of art was not necessarily correct.”5 In an interview with the Beijing Times, Han also stated that his “biggest regret...is that the Fuwa failed to embody the great art of Chinese calligraphy. We tried for thousands of times, but the results came out unsatisfactory.”6
So Han is not happy with the way the Fuwa turned out. But he was not alone in bringing them to life. The mascots were envisioned and prototyped by a team of faculty and students at Tsinghua University’s Academy of Art and Design, who were ultimately charged with developing the mascot visual program for the Games. Through a process that included assessing hundreds of proposals and suffering through dozens of revisions, the team finally achieved what this observer believes is a strong, flexible, culturally-relevant troupe of mascots.7
In addition to following the color scheme of the Olympic rings, each of the five mascots represents one of the traditional Chinese Wu Xing, or five natural elements: water, wood, fire, earth and sky. Four of the five also represent animals indigenous to various regions of China: from the rather pedestrian fish and swallow to the iconic giant panda and Tibetan antelope. The fifth, Huan Huan, represents the Olympic flame. Details seen in the headgear of each mascot are derived from cultural relics, pass times (e.g., kite flying) and the clothing of Chinese minority groups. Another nice touch: names of the five can be arranged to form the phrase “beijing huan ying ni,” or, as the caustic blogger cited above points out, “Beijing welcomes you.”
Such details suggest that, at the very least, the Fuwa are not badly conceived. There is a rational, applicable logic to the number, form, color and denomination of Beijing’s Olympic Fuwa. Which means that, if criticism of the mascots is valid, their flaws must be executional. In order to assess the formal success of the Fuwa, it may be instructive to take a look at the cuddly buddies that have preceded them.
The word mascot found its way into the English lexicon during the 1880s when Edmond Audran’s comic operetta La Mascotte crossed water and was dubbed The Mascot for English-speaking audiences.8 The term originally referred to an object, animal or person that brings good luck. Mascots grew in fame as schools, sports teams and military units adopted them to strengthen their identities and garner supporters. By the latter half of the 20th century, mascots had ceased to function simply as totems of good luck, and came to occupy the place of brand identifiers and potential revenue streams.
The first unofficial Olympic mascot appeared at the 1968 winter games in Grenoble, France. A rough-hewn downhill skier bearing the name Schuss9 took his place on postcards and in the form of a stuffed doll. This primitive, home-spun idol would be the antithesis of what followed at the 1972 Munich Games. Famed graphic designer Otl Aicher was charged with developing the Olympic identity system for his home country, which included mascot creation. Aicher responded to the challenge with Waldi, a proud German dachshund whose form was so refined, so taut, that one wouldn’t dare squeeze his plush torso.
Montreal 76’s mascot, Amik the beaver, suffered from a similar affliction: he was just a touch too hard, too life-like, to capture the hearts and purses of the world.10 It wasn’t until the 1980 games in Moscow that an Olympic mascot proved to be an international success. Misha the bear,11 the work of children’s book illustrator Victor Chizikov, became a well-received and well-loved icon of the games. Why did Misha succeed where the other mascots had failed? The answer, I think, is simple: Chizikov knew how to appeal to children. He knew how to keep it cute. And how to tell a story (Misha was the first mascot to be featured in an animated cartoon). Which is not as easy as it sounds. Clearly, many of the developers of Olympic identities before and since have failed to pick up on these two key elements of branding: make your product lovable and give people a story to connect with it.
CoBi, the Picasso-inspired dog created for the 1992 Barcelona games, received a chilly reception when he was introduced to the public in 1987, then went on to become the most commercially successful Olympic mascot to date.12 Cobi can’t be described as conventionally cute, but he does exhibit qualities of child-like openness, vulnerability and imperfection that we—that is, the human species—are drawn to. The palate of traits and features that we share with the anthropomorphic Cobi (what Wittgenstein referred to as “family resemblance”) is broad enough that we can readily identify with the quirky Catalan sheepdog, despite his flattened physiognomy. That these family resemblances became apparent to the masses was due in part to the success of the cartoon series The Cobi Troupe, introduced in 1988. This anecdote suggests that narrative character development conveys a depth of insight that can’t be ascertained by simply picking a doll up off the shelf.
For contrast, consider some of these Olympic losers: Roni the Racoon (Lake Placid, 1980), Howdy & Hidy (Calgary, 1988), Magique (Albertville, 1992), Sam (LA, 1984), Athena & Phevos (Athens, 2004), and perhaps the most reviled mascot of all time, Izzy (Atlanta 1996’s electric blue blob). What these Olympic failures all have in common is their inability to pass the cute test. The elements of cute are not all that mysterious. In a recent New York Times article on the subject, Natalie Angier writes:
Scientists who study the evolution of visual signaling have identified a wide and still expanding assortment of features and behaviors that make something look cute: bright forward-facing eyes set low on a big round face, a pair of big round ears, floppy limbs and a side-to-side, teeter-totter gait, among many others. Cute cues are those that indicate extreme youth, vulnerability, harmlessness and need ... As a species whose youngest members are so pathetically helpless they can't lift their heads to suckle without adult supervision, human beings must be wired to respond quickly and gamely to any and all signs of infantile desire.13
The more “cute cues”, the greater the alacrity with which we rush to swaddle and nurture. Which brings us to the Fuwa.
I own a Jing JIng doll. It’s true. Approximately one week after arriving in Beijing in January of 2006, I walked from my hotel on Jinyu Hutong to the official Olympic merchandise outlet on Wangfujing. I took the escalator to the second floor of the Sun Dong An department store. I encountered an array of dolls, shirts, pins, notebooks, pencil cases and coins all bearing the likenesses of Beijing 2008’s mascots. I selected a 30cm tall plush Jing Jing and paid around ¥80 to take him home. And I’m glad I did.
If I’d waited another week, I would have been SOL. Friendly-less. During the course of the following week, Jing Jing sold out at every Olympic merchandise retailer in Beijing, and was not restocked for what seemed like months. Huan Huan followed. Bei Bei, Ying Ying and Ni Ni, however, remained in circulation. Like pudding at an all-you-can-eat buffet, the remaining Friendlies found takers, but only after the pie had been consumed.
Why have Jing Jing and Huan Huan outsold the other Friendlies? The short answer: cuteness. Cuteness—an attribute that seems difficult to qualify, one of those “you know it when you see it” type of things—has played a vital role in the success and failure of past Olympic mascots. Take a look at the Friendlies. Which one is the cutest? If a pole were taken, I predict that the greatest number of votes would be cast for Jing Jing. Followed by Huan Huan. Then Ying Ying or Ni Ni.14 And the least would go to Bei Bei.
See, Bei Bei isn’t cute, or, rather, isn’t cute enough. Her eyes are too widely set and too high on her face. Her mouth is too small and luridly colored, like a child who has discovered mom’s lipstick. And then there is her headgear, which somehow approximates both Plymouth Rock Pilgrims and Spartican medusae.
Now have a look at Jing Jing (who has the advantage of bring derived from perhaps the cutest of all charismatic mega fauna: the giant panda). His round, slightly cocked head, open, direct stance, low-set, forward-facing eyes, round, bushy ears and simple floral adornment aches of cuteness. But his economy of color and form prevents him from tilting to the deadly realm of saccharin-sweetness. Jing Jing is, frankly, a likable character with an endemic connection to his country and a universal appeal to the cute receptors in us all. Jing Jing may be the most successful Olympic mascot (both financially and conceptually) of all time.
But make no mistake: my love of Jing Jing does not mean that I consider the remaining four Fuwa superfluous. Rather, I believe they are essential armature that strengthen the narrative structures in which Jing Jing has been embedded. Sure, Jing Jing in isolation is cute, but Jing Jing in the company of a band of similarly drawn characters enables us to enter a world of Fuwa. We get to imagine or, as in the case of the recently released TV series Olympic Adventures of Fuwa, even visualize the “lives” of the Fuwa. This narrative platform offers qualitative data for comparing the Fuwa to ourselves and each other. And this is important. We don’t make aesthetic choices based purely on what we like. Often, we work in reverse: we eliminate what we don’t like and then see what’s left. It is through the comparison of differences that we are able to say A is cuter than B. Or even to consider the superlative: A is the cutest among A, B, C, D, and E.
So Bei Bei, as much as I dislike her aesthetically, is not just a blue herring . She plays an important role in the creation of the aura of Jing Jing. Her mouth is too small. Jing Jing’s is more attractive. Her coloring is too infantile. Huan Haun’s is bolder and more sophisticated. Jing JIng’s, however, is the most sophisticated of all. By comparison of differences, each of the five Fuwa strengthens his or her profile as an Olympic mascot. Through this comparison, we get to imagine a depth of character that would not be possible with a single, alien mascot (cf. Izzy).
The Fuwa aren’t perfect. As I've already pointed out, Bei Bei, for example, was derived from a generic fish and rendered with exaggerated fish-lips that simply fail to balance with her bulbous head. More though could have gone into the selection of this mascot archetype and more refinement in its formal execution. But given the arguments presented above and the historical precedents that the Fuwa will follow, I can’t help but toss my discus into the ring of friends of the Fuwa.
1 As of October 2006, the 2008 Olympic mascots were forced to abdicate the moniker “Friendlies”. They are now collectively referred to as Fuwa. The Beijing Olympic Committee has not commented on the name change, but criticism of the name online may have sparked the change. A common criticism is the belief that the term “friendlies” is confusing, since the word can also be used to describe a noncompetitive sports match, and, further more, that the term is too similar to “friend lies” or “friend less”. The term “fuwa” means, roughly, “wishing good fortune to the young people” and is seen as an expression of good will to the athletes who will come to Beijing. (People’s Daily, Oct 20, 2006)
2 The 1972 Sapporo Winter games being the exception.
3 Even Waldi, the 1972 Munich Olympic dachshund and first official mascot, was sold as a plush toy.
4 See Michael Weisskopf’s report for time.com, June 14, 2007.
5 “Olympic Friendlies Come Under Fire.” The Times UK. Jane Macartney. October 17, 2006.
6 Translated interview with Beijing Times by Cruz Fang, Chinadaily.com.cn, August 22, 2006.
7 What are the criteria for creating a good mascot? According to Brad Copeland, who has served as an advisor to the IOC on every Olympic identity since the 1996 Atlanta games, “cultural relevance is one of the most important criteria in the creation and selection of the mascot. The truly memorable mascot brings a warm, welcoming personality to the Games, appealing naturally to children, and in the most successful cases, to adults as well.” Interview with Brad Copeland published on www.vancouver2010.com
8 See Wikipedia entry on Mascots for further details.
9 Schuss was designed by Mme Lafargue.
10 His economy of form and minimal adornment does, however, appeal to the aesthetician in me. I just don’t think these are necessarily the qualities that make for a strong Olympic ambassador.
11 Misha’s full name is Mikhail Potapych Toptygin.
12 Michael Payne, IOC head of marketing for 20 years, quoted in The Times UK, June 6, 2007.
13 “The Cute Factor”, NY Times, Natalie Angier, January 3, 2006.
14 Since their appearance is largely the same, Ying Ying and Ni Ni should receive roughly the same number of votes.
The official 2008 Olympic mascots.
Preliminary sketch for the Fuwa.
Schuss - Grenoble 1968 unofficial mascot.
Waldi - Otl Aicher's design for Munich 1972.
Amik - Montreal 1976.
Mischa - Moscow 1980.
Izzy - Atlanta 1996.
Jing Jing - Beijing 2008.
All images © their respective owners.
© 2007 Joseph Magliaro