Dear Messrs. Coca-Cola Korea
A love letter expressing respect and affection for Coca-Cola Korea.
Dear Messrs. Coca-Cola Korea is a text-based web love letter produced by Min Guhong Manufacturing. It began politely: “Dear Messrs. Coca-Cola Korea.” But it ended as an unsent confession. Or, more precisely, it was sent once, and Coca-Cola Korea actually replied. More precisely still, the reply was merchandise: a notebook, stickers, a key ring, and a tin case printed with the logo. When a response to his feelings arrived in physical form, he became certain that the letter was both a product and an artwork.
Following Coca-Cola’s signature colors, the letter alternated its background and text colors, while the speed at which letters appeared and disappeared varied with sentence length. Elaborations emerged at a quarter of the full screen’s size. Min Guhong introduced himself as the operator of a company based in Seoul, South Korea, and as a website director, designer, and planner. At the same time, calling the letter he was writing “a letter as thrilling as Coca-Cola,” he made clear in advance that this was no ordinary fan letter or proposal.
The letter drew ever closer to a confession. He said that his first Coca-Cola had accompanied a hamburger his aunt bought him at Wendy’s in the Sampoong Department Store, and that he still could not forget its fizz. Since then, Coca-Cola had colored his life a beautiful black; sometimes it was more exhilarating than marijuana, and on some days it mattered enough to make him want to change even his birthday. He said, “The drink I had after my first sexual experience was also none other than Coca-Cola.”
This confession was more than a collection of memories. Through the letter, he made an actual proposal: “Would you show this text-based web artwork in the lobby of Coca-Cola Korea?” The proposal was both practical and emotional. Before the desire to lean on the company’s reputation, it held a sincere belief that this could be a healthy event that encouraged pride and brought energy to the work of staff whenever they came and went. He even appointed himself Coca-Cola’s non-executive outside marketer, promising to send Dear Messrs. Pepsi as his first task.
The end of the letter continues into a postscript. It will repeat until the web browser is closed, or until its operator enters a coffin due to diabetes and no one remains to pay the server bills. This confession is always in the present tense and can be viewed again at any time. He said, “Patience is the virtue that completes a love letter. Just as true love is ultimately unrequited love.”
His confession begins with a misread politeness and ends, instead, in the most precise feeling. Love begins by addressing a company by name, and emotion attaches itself to that address. Through this letter, Min Guhong Manufacturing became the first company to confess its love to a company; that love was sent, received, and answered in the form of merchandise. The letter was not presented, but it was posted, viewed, and recorded. And it is still repeating.
Perhaps this is what love is like. In form, it resembles a proposal; it sometimes takes issue with typography and diligently repeats an introduction, yet ultimately returns to the attitude of waiting. He did not tell Coca-Cola he loved it, but wrote, “Just knowing you existed let me keep working.” In the end, it is such a sentence that completes a love letter. A sentence that says something without saying it. Precise as a product, ambiguous as an artwork.