Irn-Bru is known as a hangover cure. One imagines this would appeal to vodka drinkers: from The Sunday Times, July 1999
Scotland’s other national drink is putting the fizz into Russia, where it now enjoys cult status among the young. Simon Crerar reports from Moscow
Hubba, Hubba, Hubba, Hubba!” scream teenagers in what is now regulation combat clothing. They spill out of their monster jeep as it cranks up what appears to be surface-to-air missiles.
Moscow’s political scene is somewhat turbulent these days and it is not uncommon to bump into old Stalinists or fiery nationalists bemoaning the state of the nation. But this lot look like really crazed fanatics.
However, closer examination of the “missiles” on the back of the jeep reveals nothing more sinister than giant bottles – of Irn-Bru of all things.
These kids are members of the Hubba-Hubba army: devotees of Scotland’s other national drink. Every afternoon their jeep parks outside popular spots such as Gorky Park, the Moscow Zoo or Sparrow Hills. Huge speakers blast out ear-splitting techno music as the “troopers” run through an intrigued crowd giving away bottles of Irn-Bru and organising ridiculous competitions for hotly sought-after baseball caps and T-shirts.
Each week there is one golden ticket, entitling the bearer and friends to 24 hours’ exclusive use of the jeep.
Irn-Bru has been in Russia less than a year and, despite the economic crisis last August, sales figures are impressive. The drink has a cult following, helped by advertis-ing that is as innovative as the television commercials that recently caused a stir in Britain. In Russia the drink is seen as hip, a vital requirement in a country where urban youths are painfully self-conscious.
A franchise called KLR Soft Drinks, set up by Sergei Konov, the former Pepsi distributor, and Gerry Laba, his investment banker partner, runs the operation. The pair were looking for what Laba calls an “A-brand product”. Introduced to Irn-Bru owners Barr’s at a British Embassy trade function organised by Scottish Enterprise, KLR was immediately impressed by the fizzy drink, the ingredients of which remain a secret.
Apart from its youth appeal, Irn-Bru has a reputation as a hangover cure. One might imagine this would appeal to a country renowned for its vodka drinking habits, but this is downplayed by Laba, who insists: “What really got us hooked was the integrity of the organisation, something we hadn’t always found with other potential partners.”
KLR soon found a factory site, a former warehouse for light aircraft parts, although it took some convincing to find backers. Eventually $7m capital was secured from the Agribusiness fund and KLR signed a unique franchise agreement with Barr’s.
The first bottle zipped off the production line on July 12, 1998. A month later Russia plunged into financial crisis. Laba shudders as he recalls how “everything shut down”.
“All the banks were frozen, all people had was the money in their pocket, which shrank in value as the days went by,” says Laba. “We were lucky in that we managed to secure our assets. It was 2½ months before the economy started to work again.”
Yet in a perverse way the crash seemed to work in their favour. “Yes, it hurt us financially, but the fact that everything collapsed meant that as a new concern we were in a position to take giant leaps towards the market leaders, for whom the crash had a much greater negative effect,” he says.
And so it is that there are now four Irn-Bru plants in the world, at Cumbernauld in Scotland, Atherton and Mansfield in England, and Moscow. Irn Bru appears to have achieved tremendous distribution, at least in the Russian capital – it is on sale at virtually every shop, kiosk and hot-dog stand and has even been spotted in the bar at the Bolshoi. Nearly everybody seems to have heard of the drink – and many declare it their drink of choice.
Twenty lorries a day trundle out of the factory to service all of Russia west of the Urals. Moscow, a city with an immediate catchment area of about 15m and an official population of 9m, alone makes Scotland appear like a drop in the ocean.
Laba claims the drink is now third in the soft-drinks market. In August last year the company sold 300,000 bottles; by the following May this had increased to 1.8m. The plant is producing about 4,000 bottles an hour and if demand increases it will soon reach its capacity of 2.5m a month.
Irn-Bru is available in 2 litre, 500ml, and 250ml sizes. The smallest bottle is aimed at young children and elegant Novy Russky women looking for something swish and small to slip into their fake Prada handbags.
The success of the product has been largely ascribed to the strong and highly distinctive advertising campaign run by IDIO International, the biggest advertising agency in Russia. Irn-Bru “bad taste” commercials have provoked complaints in Britain – particularly the one with the cow saying, “When I’m a burger I want to be washed down with Irn-Bru”. In Russia the impact has been similar.
The first advert showed the little Barr’s Irn-man with a fig leaf covering his private parts, the strapline warned that the drink was “for adults only”. This was perhaps a little cryptic. Russians are not as adspeak-literate as western consumers – some asked why they should try such a dangerous substance.
The second ad was more successful. It introduced the “Hubba, hubba!” soundbite, a piece of American gobbledegook that has somehow captured the drink’s appeal. The Irn-man thrusts his hips provocatively at an old lady who has just bought herself a bottle. “Hubba, Hubba!” he yells. She collapses on a bench in a state of shock. Teenagers re-enact the ad all over Russia.
The next commercial featured eclectic groups of pregnant people: young, old, male and female, even a platoon of goose-stepping Kremlin guards. “It’s not six months,” went the voiceover, “it’s six bottles of Irn-Bru.” In another, a cartoon bird stands on the polar ice looking dejected until it discovers a bottle of Irn-Bru and “Hubba, Hubba!”. The implication is that Irn-Bru will help you through the gloomy Russian winter.
It has shades of the “You’ve been Tangoed!” British campaign of the early-1990′s. Essentially meaningless but, supposedly like the drink, guaranteed to leave a smile on your face.
Irn-Bru and Russia seem made for each other. The Russian people are big fans of all things sickly sweet and the name of the drink seems highly appropriate, capturing as it does all those romantic ideals of Slavic strength.
Perhaps one of the contenders for the presidential elections next year should allow himself to be photographed taking a swig.