Marketers: The New Weed Killers

Down With Hempster Madness

Play to rebellious drug culture, then declare your product to be "hope, not
dope." Welcome to the confusing world of hemp hype.

It was only about two days after snowboarder Ross Rebagliati was stripped
of his Olympic gold medal that the bumper sticker appeared: "Smoke a fattie
for Rebagliati." Most Vancouverites chuckled empathetically or
nostalgically, depending on their current toxicologies. On at least a
couple of interpretive levels, "snowboarder" and "dope" are not exactly
incompatible nouns, so it was no surprise that Ross had a measurable level
of tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC, the primary psychoactive component of
marijuana, in his golden-boy blood. What was astonishing, however, was how
quickly he went from Japan to Jay Leno and, from there to being the focus
of Roots' fall 1998 ad campaign. In a nanosecond, he became one of the
most marketable commodities in North America.

Rebagliati's impressive athletic accomplishments in Nagano couldn't tell
the entire tale of his subsequent success, since there were many other
gilded athletes who, after arriving home, fell right back into obscurity.
No, the reason Ross Rebagliati didn't fade from collective memory is simply
this: he achieved nicely balanced notoriety. And he has pot, the newest
marketing ploy, to thank for that.

As do a lot of other people or, to be more precise, companies. Witness the
Hemp line of products from The Body Shop, or the hemp ales from breweries
like Bowen Island and Shaftebury. There are hemp vests and hemp shirts,
sunscreens, granola bars and writing paper. Then there is celebrity
hempster Woody Harrelson who, in the tradition of Johnny Appleseed and John
the Baptist, spreads both fertilizer and the gospel, or a combination
thereof, for the cause. Harrelson is just one of a growing number of
die-hard hemp boosters who feel it is their divine right to bore the rest
of us to tears by itemizing the many ways hemp can save the planet, expand
one's spiritual self, clean the toilet - really, take your pick. It all
spells "nirvana."

But it is true that today the graceful lines of the typical marijuana leaf
no longer inspire much fear or loathing; nor do they inspire dire soapbox
dissertations about how "reefer" might incite the sexual proclivities of
unsuspecting teens. Today, flying the cannabis leaf flag on your product
is almost like having the Seal of Approval.

Weed has long been used to shill. In previous decades, the herb has been
the sacrament behind anything from underground comic books, to reggae
tunes, to Cheech and Chong. While that duo's dope-driven comedy on the
album "Big Bamboo" was entirely forgettable, the massive (and functional)
rolling paper that was included was anything but. Oh, the fun that
inspired! Such excellent, excellent times. If only we could remember them.

But these products were aimed toward a niche market--a red-eyed,
energy-depleted, munchie-afflicted group of navel contemplators, to be
sure, but a niche, nonetheless. And it's one that many of the newest hemp
entrepreneurs would like to ignore. They're out to capture a far more
mainstream audience.

Last October, the Body Shop launched their new Hemp skin care line with
great and unexpected fanfare. The five hemp-based products (a lip balm,
hand cream, body oil, soap, and something called "Elbow Grease") inspired a
sober second look from Health Canada bureaucrats, who apparently thought
that if one were to expose oneself to a multiplicity of hemp products, the
cumulative effects of THC may cause the kind of impaired judgment that
could lead to the commission of foolhardy acts like, say, working for
Health Canada.

Body Shop founder Anita Roddick expressed outrage - genuine, surely,
considering how most companies feel about free publicity. The Body Shop
was promoting hemp, not marijuana, they countered. And it even says so on
their packaging: "Hemp is hope, not dope" goes the line. Well, it is dope
and it isn't dope. What hemp is, really, is marijuana with the buzz bred
out of it. It is not, as Body Shop literature claims, a "distant cousin"
of pot, but rather its twin brother - or more accurately, its well-behaved,
castrato twin.

Not too well-behaved, perhaps. Last month, an unreleased Health Canada
"draft risk assessment" study, obtained by the Globe and Mail, claimed that
even minute amounts ot THC could cause health risks, primarily to infants,
the unborn and teenagers. The study was not, however, based on original
research and its conclusions have yet to be peer reviewed. In a press
release, The Body Shop, ever vigilant, refuted the study's findings.

Few would, however, dispute Roddick's claim that hemp is an environmentally
sound product; there are a myriad of excellent reasons why we should be
cultivating it. Yes, hemp is capable of leaving the soil in better
condition, and it doesn't require as much pesticide as some other crops.
But let's get to the real point. No one gets this passionate about wheat.

That's because there's more going on here than the championing of a viable
cash crop. It's just a little disingenuous of Roddick to sanctimoniously
separate her products from the evil weed when phrases like "Hard Core Hand
Care" and "Well-Oiled" moisturizing oil appear on her packaging, while pot
leaf-adorned posters shouting "Get Hooked on Hemp" are slapped up all
around the country. Hemp beer tastes like an awful lot like beer made from
barley, but is rendered tastier through the connotation. And Roots
certainly profited from an association with Ross Rebagliati. He's a rebel,
sure, but in a gentle, non-threatening and almost distinctly Canadian way:
the perfect Roots symbol.

For the above companies, and many more, it is marijuana's outlaw semiotics
that they are buying into. And selling back to us. Yet why pot? And why
now? Marijuana is illegal, sure, but it's a relatively innocuous symbol of
danger. In this, an age when junkies start snorting in high school,
marijuana - as a symbol and a drug - seems almost quaint. Like James Dean,
or the Rolling Stones.

But there's always a market for rebellion, no matter how tame. Just ask
aging boomers, their Maserati dreams and black leather fantasies long ago
displaced by Nissan Pathfinders and control-top pantyhose. These
unfortunates need to revisit a time where they can claim some minuscule
amount of badass cachet, at least in their own minds. And they can do
this, they believe, through product association. Marijuana, once a
counter-cultural symbol of disaffection and separation, has been drained of
its potency, much like industrial hemp. And, current paternity problems
notwithstanding, a lot like Mick Jagger, too.