A new brand era

Connect:   Spring, 2007. Hundreds of thousands of SSIA holders are finally getting their hands on the loot. New car sales are through the roof, holidays have been booked, but there's still a few euro in the kitty.

What about a nice Kloffsta table? Or a Nilsby sofa-bed? Taking a deep breath, an entire nation converges in its '07 motors on a large, spanking-new, blue-and-yellow box in Ballymun. And discovers that Gridlock is not just a name for a cleverly-designed anglepoise lamp. Traffic in the new Port Tunnel grinds to a halt. People abandon their cars on the M50.

Stranded for days in Ikea, families are forced to bed down for the night on Klippan sofas (discovering they're not quite as comfortable as advertised). Emergency planeloads of Swedish meatballs and gravadlax are flown into Dublin Airport, but fail to make it the three miles to Ballymun before their expiry date. It's all very exciting for a while, then it calms down. Ikea becomes part of the furniture like everything else.

Each time a major international retailer opens its first outlet in Ireland, there's the same, predictable media fuss. The sex-and-shopping pages go to town on the fabulous new stuff you can now get to impress/depress the neighbours. The greybeards in the opinion sections wring their hands over yet another example of rampant consumerism.

The shop in question reports the most spectacular opening week it has ever had - anywhere. We are satisfied at last. We have taken our place among the nations of the world. Now we have Ikea, we're as hip and cosmopolitan as, er, Cardiff. Fantastic. When is Starbucks coming, anyway?

Occasionally, good, old-fashioned, nationalist rhetoric is wheeled out in defence of the embattled local retailer. Mark Fielding of the small businesses' association ISME was moved almost to tears this week by the news about Ikea: "It is over 1,000 years since the Viking marauders were banished from our shores," he said. "And in one fell swoop the Government, in its wisdom, has decided to pave the way for a further invasion, with the victims in this case being local small businesses and their employees."

Fine and very purple words, Mr Fielding. But really, what's the point? The panzergruppen of Lidl, the conquistadors of Zara and the redcoats of Tesco have already reduced the round towers of Irish retailers to rubble. It does, though, raise the question of what importance, if any, we attach to our consumerist signifiers as badges of national identity.

The closure of Bewley's last November showed that residual affection based on nostalgia cut very little ice in modern Ireland (but did it ever?). And it didn't say much for local business skills that the country's most famous cafés could go bust in the midst of the biggest coffee boom since the 18th century.

Plaintive cries are still occasionally heard about the transformation of our city and town centres into British high streets. That process is now almost complete, and there's no going back, however much we may regret it. Meanwhile, the Spar/Centra virus has enveloped the country, erasing the individuality of local grocers and cornershops with plastic blandness. Much of this reflects what's happening all over the world, with huge multiples and global brands displacing the small and the local.

The companies themselves attach huge importance to the emotional and psychological power of their brand names, and invest vast sums of money in maintaining them in the forefronts of our minds. Local identities are an impediment to the process. Does any of this matter a damn? The ambiguous Irish relationship with our own urban landscapes has made it easy for us to embrace the process with particular gusto. Most European cities have retained a larger proportion of independent retailers as part of their streetscapes. Some have specific legislation to maintain that mix. We don't seem to care very much when the local butcher or baker is replaced by a mortgage store or a mobile phone shop.

The few larger brands we have are likely to come under increasing pressure in the next few years. Tesco is steadily increasing its market share at the expense of its Irish competitors. Even Tayto crisps, pined for by generations of Irish emigrants, is under assault from Walkers.

Amidst the debris, one indigenous sector stands tall, proud and highly, even obscenely, profitable. But who actually likes our banks? And after the events of the last few years, do any of us feel any emotional loyalty to Bank of Ireland or AIB? With Danske Bank on its way, there's a sector that many of us feel could do with a bit of pillaging. Bring on the Vikings.