We have always lived in a world of archetypes.
From the moment primitive Man first acknowledged his meager accomplishments, an increasingly complex and self-perpetuating narrative began. Savages who struggled to stay alive on a daily basis were immortalized in fables that provided them with noble attributes and characteristics that set them above their fellow men. These fireside tales were essential in emboldening humankind to step out of the shadows and surpass instinctive but ultimately destructive survival mechanisms. As man evolved, so did his myths. Victories against daily horrors morphed into more metaphorical conquests, were noted and quoted as representation of a more idealized state of being. No matter how far a man might fall from his ideals, these archetypes remained as representations of how he should be. From the cave to the grocery idle, these myths continue to resonate, few louder than Mister Clean.
Created in 1958 by businessman Linwood Burton, Mister Clean was initially the mascot of a non-toxic cleansing solvent designed for ships. Burton soon expanded sales of his cleanser to hardware and grocery stores, and, within a year, Mister Clean was the best-selling household cleaner on the market. Given the first name “Veritably” as a result of the “Give Mr. Clean a First Name” promotion, the mascot soon found himself in homes all throughout America. A series of aggressive sales campaigns further ingratiated the strong but silent character into the American psyche. Housewives willingly invited this virile stranger into their homes in the absence of their husbands, the mute brute muscling past any opposition feeble inferior cleaners beneath the cupboard might offer. Bon Ami threw up its beret in surrender, Chore Boy cowered at his feet. Mister Clean was King.
Known as Don Limpio in Spain, Мистер Пропер in Russia, and Mister Proper throughout Europe, Clean has forged a dynasty of sterility. His war on dirt has assumed many forms: from 1966’s two-fisted grime fighter who knocked out dirt with one hand and left the shine with the other, to 1994’s highly concentrated “ultra” cleanser, Clean has remained the Alpha Predator of household filth. But there’s more to this mascot than his attributes.
Like most archetypes, it’s not what Mister Clean was, but what he came to represent. After the second World War, America was moving towards a newfound economic prosperity. The country had done its share of hard work and was looking to relax into a life of modernity and ease. Liberating us from the past and providing the freedom to achieve, Clean shouldered the burden of modern living so we didn’t have to. Like all idealized heroes, he proved noble and selfless, asking nothing but the chance to serve. In this he was more like some monk or holy man, only with a “get it done” proactive role as opposed to passive stance. The dynamism proved appealing to Westerners who like to flirt with Buddhism in the grocery aisle. Like the finest iconography, Clean redefines myth for the modern age, assuming the attributes and characteristics valued today: strength, purity, and resolve. Consider the incantatory power of his chant:
Mr. Clean gets rid of dirt and grime/
And grease in just a minute.
Mr. Clean will clean your whole house/
And everything that’s in it!
Quite a promise, yet Mister Clean proved he was more than up to the task. This quiet self-confidence ensured him dominance in his field for decades to come. Referenced on everything from The Venture Brothers to the Linux kernel build system, Mister Clean occupies a unique role in our cultural topography. Known to multiple generations, he is afforded a cultural cache ordinarily reserved for Superman or Mickey Mouse. It is this cache that nets him his own plastic representation.
Interestingly enough, I bought this figure from a filthy, filthy man. He had several tables at my local flea market covered in “stock” I assume was he pulled out of out a burning building somewhere. Everything was broken and dented and covered in a thick layer of sooty grime, but I live in Ohio, so that’s par for the course, really. Compelled by the brightly colored box and smiling visage within, I quickly haggled the guy down from $10 to a few bucks and walked off with my prize.
“What do you want that for?” Wife in the Anthill asked. I mumbled something about “writing an article” and she rolled her eyes, wandering off to look at vintage Tupperwear. I stood in the dazzling morning sun and considered my purchase. How could I explain the sudden rush of welcome familiarity that flooded through me upon seeing Mister Clean’s steely gaze? How would I articulate that this was part of a heroic pantheon I myself was only becoming cognizant of? How would I convey to the world the greater meaning behind that smug expression and powerful ham-like fists? I did the only thing I could do, what I had been forged in the fires of tradition and ritual to do: I took the figure home and I cleaned him.
If you’d like to learn more about Mister Clean and his plan for your life, click here.
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