From Heroin to Moxie and beyond:
The future of outdated drugs
Where do old drug brands go when they die? What happens to the names that pharmaceutical marketers spend money, time and effort attempting to introduce into everyday usage, after their creators, and the trademark registry, have walked away and consigned them to the Mature Products' Retirement Village?
     In an industry where product patents routinely expire once every 20 years, there should be a stock answer to those questions. However, there isn't. Experiences seem to vary considerably.
     Consider the analgesic diacetylmorphine, once marketed under Bayer's cleverly conceived brand name, Heroin. Following the near-worldwide ban on diacetylmorphine sales and possession around the time of the First World War, Heroin began its long descent to lower-case debranding -- and with that, a robust, if notorious, second life as the global scourge of law-enforcement officials and physicians specializing in addiction treatment. (As a curious footnote, while the heroin name in genericized form has attained the status of a household word -- that is, among junkies who maintain households -- it's said that contemporary scofflaws who market the illegal substance now use a lexicon of trade names familiar to street users: 'China White,' etcetera.)
          There were many odd parallels between the marketing of pharmaceutical agents and so-called medicinal tonics in the underregulated frontier that was the late 19th century. And while those Bayer employees who were long ago tasked with encouraging doctors to consider prescribing that new breakthrough therapy, Heroin, surely could not have imagined where things might end up, there's also the example of Dr. Augustin Thompson of the Ayer Drug      Company.
         Dr. Thompson created an ingestible form of gentian root extract, which was sold as a bottled patent medicine treating disorders such as "loss of manhood" and "softening of the brain." (It must be noted that modern science has done little to eradicate these conditions in the ensuing centuries, and cases of both remain plentiful, especially in Canada's National Capital Region.)
         The product's popularity surged after the manufacturer added a tweak to the delivery system, in the form of bubbles. As a carbonated beverage, it thrived under the brand name, Moxie Nerve Food, later shortened to just plain Moxie. That's where the paths of those two great health brands, Heroin and Moxie, began to diverge.
         The authorities clamped down on diacetylmorphine, driving it underground, while the makers of Moxie geared up an impressive marketing apparatus to promote the product's health benefits. Central to the effort was the depiction of the Moxie Man, being a stern, dark figure in suit-and-necktie who enjoyed extending his index finger into the viewer's face. The implied message was: "You want to know what I've got and you don't, bub? Confidence! That's right: Moxie! I got it in scads! You better get some, too, if you know what's good for you!" In certain parts of North America, but mainly New England, the Moxie Man could be found everywhere, in precisely the same way Robert Jarvik was frequently seen -- until, of course, recently -- endorsing Lipitor.
         Moxie's extensive use of promotional tactics was similar to that employed by purveyors of other medicinal tonics, including the one concocted in 1886 by Georgia pharmacist John Pemberton. He called his thing Coca-Cola.
         We have a pretty good idea of what happened to Coca-Cola. But Moxie has been a little more difficult to track down. It emerges that Moxie still exists, although its distribution network is patchy at best, and it has toned down its claims quite considerably. Like Coke, it began by extravagently promising health and vitality to the consumer, and now offers only accompaniment to a Big Mac. The Moxie brand is now under the ownership of Japan's Kirin Brewery, which is to say the least ironic. Moxie began in the 1800s as a medicine-of-sorts before morphing into a soda pop, while Kirin, a century-old maker of drinks, has only in this decade branched into selling actual pharmaceuticals, with the purchase of several drug lines.
         Those who have recently tried Moxie say that, as a soft drink, it still tastes remarkably like a patent medicine. That is to say, foul. The flavor of gentian root, still the key ingredient, recalls what one wag describes as "Dr. Pepper laced with rat poison." Moxie's current sales base is concentrated in the backwoods of northern Maine, where the moose far outnumber the restaurant critics. Fittingly, Maine is also known as one of the remaining handful of jurisdictions where those seeking soft drinks are heard to ask for a "tonic."
     This is what sometimes happens when brand equity expires: It assumes another form, just to mock you. And the lesson for today's marketer may be that you should enjoy your branding successes while you can, because there's no way to know what humiliations await. Following this established path, tomorrow Vioxx seems likely to become a breakfast cereal, and kiddies will begin the day by gobbling down a bowl filled with crunchy pill-shaped goodness. Tomorrow, the Redux tablet may become a retro fashion statement, worn in clusters by emaciated fashion models as haute designer jewelry.
     Can't see it coming? Then wake up and take a whiff of this: The popular designer fragrance sold by Yves Saint Laurent. The one known as Opium.