Why the New Welcome Feels Less Like Home

 

The Silhouette and the Slogan: What We Lose When We Brand the Land

By Jerry Buchanan

There is a distinct difference between being a place and being a destination.

Looking at these two signs, the shift is clear. In 1949, Virginia didn't feel the need to sell itself. The sign was a quiet statement of fact: a hand-painted silhouette of the Commonwealth, a bit of elegant script, and the sturdy white posts of the Department of Highways. It looked like a signature at the bottom of a deed—permanent, proud, and rooted.

Fast forward to the modern era, and the landscape has changed. The 2015 sign is sleek, reflective, and "on-brand." It’s designed for a car moving at seventy miles per hour, optimized for a quick glance or a roadside selfie. We’ve traded the map for a heart and the history for a slogan.

While "Virginia is for Lovers" is an iconic piece of marketing, many of us feel a twinge of nostalgia for the old black-and-white boards. To the modern traveler, the new sign is a welcome. But to those of us who grew up in the shadows of these mountains, the old sign felt like a landmark.

The new one feels like an advertisement.

It raises a question that every Appalachian storyteller eventually has to ask: Is progress always an upgrade? Or are we just painting over the grit and grace of our history with a bright red heart?

Sometimes, the most welcoming thing a place can be is simply itself.