The real story behind BMW's Ultimate Driving Machine slogan

As a newbie copywriter, I am always being told to keep it simple (stupid). Clarity is the best policy. We don’t want funny, or obtuse, or abstract. So I go all Ronseal* and refrain from tapping into my (questionable) creative talent and stick to simplicity and clarity.

If you don’t know what Ronseal is, it’s a brand of wood treatment products in the Uk. Their slogan is ‘It does exactly what it says on the tin’.

But everywhere I turn, I am surrounded by copy that is so vague, so metaphoric, so damn abstract I am left thinking — what about them? Who gave them the right to be so eclectic and eccentric? And what the fudge do half of these slogans actually mean anyway?

B M W — The ultimate driving machine

Gert, the man who put the Bastard in BMW, sat in his modern top-floor office, and stared at the collection of papers on the mahogany boardroom table in front of him.

Seated around the table were all of the suited executives and today was the day. None of them spoke. At least three of them were elective mutes, and the rest were just shitting themselves.

Gert had a temper, you see. He had a tendency for throwing people out of the huge panoramic windows of his office when he didn't get what he wanted. The pavements below were still stained from when the head technician Tobias, had met with his dramatic end only two weeks before, after telling Gert that they couldn't get rid of the wing mirrors and indicators on the new range of BMWs. Tobias had argued that safety standards dictated that they must have them but Gert disagreed, stating they were unnecessary as BMW drivers clearly didn’t need them or use them.

They agreed to disagree.

Gert with Tobias, Tobias with the pavement below.

Ironically, if Tobias had been wearing wing mirrors himself he may have been able to see Gert grab him from behind and prevented his meteoric demise, which mirrored his meteoric rise through the ranks at BMW.

Gert got up out of his luxurious, black leather chair and strode thoughtfully around the room. The two men sat closest to Gert, both clad in sharp suits to match their sharp haircuts and sharp wits, looked particularly nervous.

The two men, Leon and Christian were the copywriters that Gert had hired to do the branding on the new campaign for the new range of BMWs. Leon, the older of the two, picked at imaginary fluff on the sleeve of his jacket, trying desperately to look nonchalant. His partner, Christian, much younger and obviously fairly new to the job, wore the sharp suit like a teenager who had been dressed for a wedding. He looked decidedly more nervous, fiddling constantly with his fidget spinner.

Gert walked around the room, but no one watched him. That was the rule. He created a bow wave of anxiety as he walked around the table and the men assembled around the table sensed him walking behind them. They each tensed up or fidgeted more as he walked past. They weren’t in the firing line per se but they had all been there on the day when Tobias had been so violently ejected and most of them were still not sleeping due to the nightmares.

Gert came back around to his chair but he didn’t sit down. He stood over the papers assembled on the table in front of him and looked pensive. He reached down and picked up one of the papers and inspected it, like a stereotypical Russian border guard from the movies.

Christian swallowed audibly. The triple glazed windows reverberated a little.

Gert looked up and addressed the table. ‘B, M, W’ he said in his clipped, abrasive tone. ‘The best car’.

Christian nodded as Gert spoke. Leon winced slightly.

‘The…. best….. car’, said Gert again, pausing between each word.

‘The best car?’ he repeated, but this time as a question, while fixing his cold blue eyes on Leon.

He spoke slowly and menacingly, looking straight at Leon. ‘Four weeks. 15,000 euros. And this is what you give me. The best car?’

Leon swallowed hard. It measured on the Richter scale. The water in the glasses arranged around the table vibrated like in Jurassic Park.

Leon stared hard at the table, refusing to look up at Gert. Quietly, he mumbled, ‘But it is the best car, isn’t it?’ He looked around the table for confirmation, for allies, for anything. The rest of the men assembled suddenly looked around to find anything else to be interested in. The office was pretty sparsely furnished, so a few focused on a fascinating air vent while the rest seemed suddenly enraptured by the grey Munich skyline.

Leon didn’t stand a chance. He had no time to react. Gert grabbed the back of Leon’s jacket and dragged him out of the chair and across the floor toward the window. His eyes were bulging and he was screaming down at Leon, ‘15,000 euros. Four weeks. The best car’.

Leon’s hands were up at his own neck, trying to prevent his tie from choking him while his shoes slipped and thrashed wildly on the carpeted floor. Gert dragged him past his desk.

Gert paused, momentarily, lifting Leon up a little so he was gasping like a landed fish, and reached into his desk drawer, retrieving a sturdy looking hammer. The company had installed reinforced glass since Tobias’ ‘accident’, so Gert had got one of his interns to go and buy him a decent hammer, for this very purpose.

Dragging Leon up to the window, in one fluid movement, Gert swung his arm and smashed at the glass with the hammer. It cracked but didn’t break. There was an awkward 30 seconds while Gert smashed and smashed the window to make a Leon sized hole. The men gathered around the board room knew better than to watch this violent display. They all stared down at the table, occasionally jumping or twitching with the sound of the hammer smashing against the glass, while Leon made strangled and gurgled protestations.

Eventually, Gert had had enough and launched Leon at the window, purple and choking, using his weight to force the glass to yield. And yield it did.

Leon fell back through the glass, ass first and disappeared the same way Tobias had.

Gert watched Leon land and turned back to the room, red faced and sweating from his exertions. He calmly walked back to his desk and replaced the hammer in the drawer.

The room was silent apart from the wind whistling in through the gaping hole in the window. It picked up the papers on the table and they floated around, landing softly on the floor before being whipped up again and taken off around the office.

Gert watched them for a moment before turning his attention back to the table, and then to Christian. Christian visibly tensed up and whimpered like a scolded dog.

Gert fixed his glare on Christian and said, ‘Do you have something for me little copywriting boy? Something better than the best car?’

Christian whimpered again, mumbling something inaudible which sound like ‘mama’.

Gert reached forward and grabbed Christian by the knot of his skinny tie. ‘Thought not’ he said. He picked Christian up off the floor, for he was much lighter than Leon, and carried him towards the hole in the window. Gert looked mildly disgusted like he was carrying a bag of cat litter out to the dustbin.

He dangled Christian out of the window, his little legs pedalling an invisible bicycle.

‘Last chance, copy boy. What have you got?’

Christian looked down and whimpered again. ‘Ummm…. errr…. b-b-B…M…W — a really good car?’ His voice had gone up an octave.

Gert shook him a little. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, copy boy’.

‘Ummm….ok’, whined Christian, trying desperately to think. ‘Ok, ok…. ummm b-B…M…W, the greatest car?

No, no, not that.

Wait, wait……ummm….b-B…M…W… The Greatest driving machine?

…..no, no, wait, I’ve got it…. BMW.

The Ultimate Driving Machine’.

A smile spread across Gert’s face. ‘That’ll do, copy boy. That’ll do.’