In England most stone-foot shops are closed due to the corona pandemic, so Christmas gift inspirations should be sought elsewhere. While browsing the magazine last week, the Finnish heart was beating: Eastern Finnish summer day blue Sisu Bouquet scented candles have entered the market (FT supplement 14 November).
The price, though, is pretty bad – a £ 60 candle – but what wouldn’t you buy under Independence Day in the year of the corona (ed. Note Englishism and pun intentional). Handmade Sisu candles are now leaving for everyone familiar with Brexit-Britain as a Christmas present, so a little new posture will be obtained in this country as well.
Except that doesn’t leave.
Examining the backgrounds, it turned out that the Sisu candles were made in Malmö, Sweden. Why did this happen again? The nimble Swedes have commercialized the Finnish interior in the form of a candle.
For a moment, I was thinking about the strongest possible protest of the 2020s, that is, hitting the cultural ownership card on the table in a Malmö candlestick. However, the protest shielded from the outset to the elegant departure of the Swedes. According to the Amoln website, the Sisu candle is a “tribute to the Nordic neighbors”. The aromas of the candle – the Finnish national flower lily and the Finnish rhubarb – “celebrate” Finnish philosophy and Finnish values.
Finnish and the difference between the Swede is that in Finland, “Finnish values” are a political issue, while the Swede smells a rhubarb scent in the values of his eastern neighbor and casts a candle worthy of it in the weekly supplement of the Financial Times.
However, the game is not yet completely lost. A pandemic has redefined people’s real and imagined needs. The spirit of the times now favors everything that Finns are naturally (or lazily) good at: home weaving, simplicity and naturalness. When the package is frosted with marketing poetry, exportable products are obtained. Exports, on the other hand, bring income and jobs.
Concrete examples? Here are three for free use.
In the first place Finland should start making a wide range of non-alcoholic spirits. In Finland, non-alcoholic “gins” and “whiskeys” still have a habit of laughing: who seems to be able to drink non-alcoholic GT drinks? The British are doing well. Sales of non-alcoholic beverages for adults grew at a rapid pace before the pandemic. As more and more people choose not to drink, there must be interesting non-alcoholic options at parties and bars. The Swedes have already found this affluent zero-per cent market. But when can you get a non-alcoholic Finnish field chicken cossack, non-alcoholic white peppercorn or non-alcoholic lutka vodka from London?
Another underused area of Finnish know-how is footwear. The pandemic freed women from high heels, and after a year of sneaking, no one agrees to torture his heels anymore. The Italian shoe industry is suffering, but for Finnish sensible footwear, this is a stroke of luck. Ainos, Reinot, shovels, raccoons, pencils, thorns, whips, felt slippers and slippers – the world is now yours. On the side of the shoe box, you must remember to print a sales story that draws on Finnishness. Finnish shoes do not sell with their beauty.
If blaming goods for the world haunts you, you can productize Finnishness to an intangible market. Hire soft-sounded grandmothers to perform Kantelettare’s song poems and Sell the recordings to a non-Finnish-speaking audience as a magical rite of relaxation in the North. Even the most stressed, London City broker refreshes after all the in-ear headphones Went to the woods and a non-alcoholic Savol birch sap cognac flickers in the glass. The shareholder thanks.