Card Culture

When I was 11 or 12, my mother (a woman prone to pronouncements) told me with enthusiasm that the American Express was best of all cards (though she certainly carried others). Her rationale had nothing to do with the card's once-upon-a-time sales pitch of exclusivity or its more recent emphasis on not really being a credit card. Rather, her affection for the American Express was more visceral: the card looked like money.

Indeed, the American Express card, with its engraving-influenced art and portrait in a centered oval is still reminiscent of the greenback—although like the classic Brooks Brothers shirt, it has not been impervious to minor changes in style over the years. As such it is the most obviously modern equivalent of 18th century bank notes—bills released by local banks (often sketchy outfits) that used elegant engraving and classic themes to suggest authority, trustworthiness and permanence in the days before the federal government standardized currency. (American Express's first major revision to its fundamental design, the Optima card, with the off-center larger portrait, anticipated the redesign of U.S. currency by more than a decade. As it was based on European bills, it still felt money-like.)

While the American Express card took the most literal path to respectability by association, the design of other early credit cards were most certainly after the same objectives. The first Visa (then known as BankAmericard) and MasterCard (originally MasterCharge) were masterpieces of sparse international style. Built from fundamental elements—boxes or ovals and tasteful subdued colors—they oozed corporate respectability. Regardless of what vocabulary is used to telegraph seriousness, and although introduced more than a century apart, early credit cards and bank notes had the exact same goals: the medium was perceived as untrustworthy so the graphics had to counteract the financial peril inherent in using either in a transaction.

The basic American Express card may seem eternal, but otherwise credit card design has changed dramatically in the past 30 years. It's easy to dismiss these changes as merely part of the continuous parade of fashion and theory that guide corporate communication, but that would be a mistake. In the case of plastic money—which we carry with us, and is so fundamental to how we see ourselves as economic actors—it is worth considering card design by itself. Since 1970, cards have gone from half-dozen flavors to a bewildering array of styles and affiliations. Each of us, by what we choose to carry, effectively designs our own money. Cards are not just used to buy bling; more than ever they are bling.

Cards are also worthy of notice because the credit card industry has been overwhelmingly successful. Consumer debt (that is, debt unsecured by mortgages) has gone from 127 billion in 1970 to more than 2 trillion today—a change that has aligned precisely with bank card history and is largely due to their success. Design has been integral to this success--functionally little distinguishes one card from another except appearance.

Credit cards generate income primarily through interest on debt. For consumers, an increase in the quantity of cards correlates directly to increased debt exposure. The credit providers have long used design to make cards seem desirable. Techniques have ranged from prestigious-seeming “Gold” and “Platinum” cards; gimmicky cards such as citibank's “portrait” card (which included a picture of the user, ostensibly for added security) and the hypnotic “Blue” card from American Express, Today's custom-branded or “affinity” cards are the latest effort to make cards unusual and desirable.

Birth of a nation of debt
The first credit cards were introduced in the late 1950s, but they did not really start to catch on until the early 70s. The company that became Visa, began as the local offering of a single bank, but nationalized once several banks were given shared ownership over the brand. MasterCharge started as a co-op brand. Although both cards were dual-branded—that is, they were issued by banks, and not Visa or MasterCard—all featured the card's identity rather than the bank's identity. This approach—many providers, one brand—was necessary because part of the reason cards had floundered was their perceived insecurity. In the late '50s and '60s thousands of customers received bills for cards they had not requested nor received: a side effect of unsophisticated efforts to kick-start the industry. This standardization, along with improvements in how transactions were validated, created an instrument consumers could have faith in.

At first, this appearance of cooperation rather than competition among banks was not an impediment to industry growth—credit cards were a long way from saturating the market. And, for users during those early days when new cards were issued to only the most credit-worthy of customers, any card was unquestionably a status symbol.

By the early '80s as cards became ubiquitous, it seemed that distinctions within the category would be necessary for continued growth. After all, why carry more than one or two cards if they are indistinguishable? In 1987, the Visa and MasterCard designs, which once took the entire area of the card, were reduced to postage stamp-size logos, although where the logo was placed on the card was not yet standardized. A hologram—then the “it” technology—was also added, although its value as a security device was predictably short-lived.

As the bank's identity became dominant, issuers also moved to add lines of Gold and Platinum cards which, in theory, were tied to a higher credit line, more services and larger fees. “Gold” and “platinum” (followed soon by such handles as “platinum select,” “platinum preferred” and “diamond”) have become so debased as marketing concepts that it's easy to imagine that it was always so. But these artificial distinctions helped the credit industry continue to grow dramatically throughout the '90s. Metallic cards tended to be more ornately decorated and shinier than lesser cards—a conservative move counter to other design trends. Rococo designs helped prop the associations of luxury implied by precious metal names.

Design was also used in other ways to distinguish cards. A Franklin Mint-inspired “Lighthouse” design (circa 2003) from People's Bank was one of many cards that took a pictorial approach to creating a distinct card. Triple-branded or “affinity” cards, as they are known within the industry, were first introduced in 1978 but did not become ubiquitous until much later. These store, school and organization-branded cards are an inherently superior way to create continuing demand for new cards. Affinity cards unlike the words “gold” and “platinum” have ownership and therefore the potential for exclusivity. They also provide an identity separate from a raw appeal to status. Banks themselves are hardly sexy brands, but Apple and Volkswagen (both of which have cards) and your alma mater (which may well have a card) are. Turning cards into a collection of functional bumper stickers allows the consumer to vicariously proclaim computer skills and literacy (Amazon), a fondness for strong coffee (Starbucks), or social concerns (Audabon) with every transaction.

Why does affiliation matter? While banks wish to be perceived as conservative, prudent and careful, affinity cards take on personalities that graphically encourage consumption. Amazon's current card features a large, off-kilter shopping cart. Motor company cards—like other big-ticket brands—typically apply a small percentage of spending into a point system to be used for the next purchase. This approach nurtures the fantasy that accruing debt is a faster route to new wheels than saving would be. A visit to a major bank's credit card site, such as Chase, provides an experience similar to any online store's as users are invited to “shop” for a card. There are options for lover of cigars, Six Flags, Toys 'R' Us and many others. These vehicles for debt offer surrogacy for and the promise of real products and experiences. Of course, the application for credit does not promise eventual debt. It is, however, a necessary first step.

The id card
Cards have graphically flowered as instruments of consequence-free buying with the advent of gift and awards cards. Turning the usual plastic transaction on its head, these cards invite the user to lend money to the company (interest-free) to load a credit-like card. These funds are then returned to the customer at once or over time in the form of products. In the abstract, it may seem ludicrous to tie up funds (even in trivial quantities) in an inherently illiquid medium (you can't use your Pottery Barn card at Sears), but these cards offer the ability to affiliate with a desirable image, come in a large variety of styles (and are therefore highly personalized), and require only a small investment to join the club (some rewards cards can be purchased for as little as $5).

Award and gift cards carry the most playful of designs. Chain department stores in particular excel at a creating cards that users will want to own. JC Penny has released cards containing optical games—one card shows a two-step animation of a dandelion being blown. And Nordstrom releases cards that are tactile, translucent and optically playful. Starbucks, no slouch in the gift card department, produces a range of cards some of which are quite fey. Starbucks cards often tie in to seasonal store promotions.

As much as it may appear otherwise, these reverse-credit cards often have consequences as they are often purchased, or reloaded, with a credit card (as one can do on line with Starbucks or in restaurants with the MacDonald's Arch Card). Essentially, affinity cards allow the user to consolidate dozens of too-small-to-charge purchases into one credit transaction.

Affinity cards are in their infancy, but in the years ahead it will be interesting to see how the freer designs of these cards will influence traditional bank cards. Starbucks has already added a second design to their credit card choices based on the popular and festive-looking “Community” rewards card. Though not influenced by gift cards, American Express's touted Blue card is such an alluring piece of eye candy, that users must accept an interest rate considerably higher than on AmEx's other products. Banks and stores both clearly believe that fun design is worth paying for.

From the magnetic strip introduced in the mid-70s to holograms and smart chips later (though the last two are primarily decorative) the card issuers have generally embraced new technology. Touch cards, which have built in transponders are just now being introduced, and with them holograms are disappearing. It is likely that the loss of the hologram will also allow greater freedom of design.

Personally, I am waiting for an affinity card with a picture of the burning bush on it. Like the bush, my cards all continue to burn, but are never consumed.

Figures
Except for Fig. 1 and Fig. 2, all cards are from the author's personal collection. The numbers have been altered cards where there would be security concerns.

Early bank notes
Fig. 1: Chemical Bank
Fig. 2: Exchange Bank of Virginia
Fig. 3: Farmers and Merchants Bank, 1862

Early cards
Fig. 4: BankAmericard, c.1970
Fig. 5: MasterCharge, c.1975
Fig. 6: Chase Visa, c.1984

Credit cards
Fig. 7: AT&T Universal Platinum, 2003
Fig. 8: American Express Blue
Fig. 9: AmazonCart, c.2005
Fig. 10: BankOne Graybars
Fig. 11: BankOne Platinum Connect
Fig. 12: People's Lighthouse

Non-credit cards
Fig. 13: AT&T Sales Card
Fig. 14: DebtMaster
Fig. 15: Sterling (after blue), 2004
Fig. 16: National Guard, 2006
Fig. 17: JC Penny, c.2004 (blown)
Fig. 18: Starbucks Angel Card
Fig. 19: Starbucks Bonbon Card
Fig. 20: Starbucks Wood Card, 2006