Vespas have travelled widely. Having gotten their start in Italy, the country they are still associated to in the collective imagination, their production soon expanded into Germany, the United Kingdom, France, Spain and Belgium. By what transnational itineraries did the production and adoption of the little Italian scooter wind up turning into a vehicle for European cultural identity around the world?
The Origins: From Military to Civilian, and from Aeronautics to the “People’s Motorcycle”
Officially launched in 1946, the Vespa – surprisingly – is doubly indebted to fascism.
The manufacturing firm Piaggio set up shop in Pontedera, a village near Pisa, in 1924 to build airplanes and airplane engines. The company enjoyed near-constant growth thanks to orders from the fascist government, which was practically always at war from the mid-1930s to World War II. Shortly before the fall of Mussolini’s regime, in 1943, Piaggio employed 12,000 people. Boosted by government demand, the firm possessed both an array of cutting-edge machine tools and precious capital in the form of industrial knowledge and savoir-faire anchored in their engineers and blue-collar workers, enabling it to be innovative. From 1943 to 1946, at the instigation of Corradino D’Ascanio, one of the most brilliant Italian aeronautics engineers of his day, those assets were converted to civilian production of the Vespa.
Why did they decide to start making scooters? The arrival of small American vehicles after the Allied invasion of Sicily in July, 1943, was probably a contributing factor. But the project actually followed path that had been opened earlier in Germany. The “people’s car” (“Volkswagen”) that Hitler wanted as early as 1934 – no pricier or more gas-guzzling than a motorcycle – was being marketed by 1939. In Italy, specialized magazines fantasized about massively motorizing the country, which was far behind Germany in that respect, thanks to a “people’s motorcycle:” a light, two-wheeled vehicle that would be elegant (and therefore desirable) as well as inexpensive. In short, something stylish and sexy, like the Italians themselves, according to the stereotype that many of them are happy to believe. Piaggio was the first to get into the race, and their Vespa caught on quickly.
Taking Off: From Europe to the World
As Vespa was enjoying early success on the national market, America’s Marshall Plan, or European Recovery Program, enabled Piaggio to improve both productivity and their products’ competitivity. So the company decided to try exporting its scooter, to neighboring countries at first. Trade barriers in effect at the time led to manufacturing it directly in other countries, however. This was achieved by selling the license to other firms, or, more frequently, by creating subsidiaries. In that way, Piaggio became a multinational corporation with deep roots in Europe: first in West Germany, with Hoffmann-Werke in 1949; then, from 1955, in Augsburg, with Vespa GMBH. Next they went to Bristol (England), in 1950, with Douglas, and, the same year, to Fourchambault (France), with ACMA (Ateliers de construction de motocycles et accessoires), where they also produced a four-wheeled Vespa (the Vespa 400). Then came Moto Vespa S.A. in Madrid, in 1952, and, two years later, Motor Industry, in Brussels.
The presence of factories producing Vespas directly in many influential European countries – mobilizing entire families as workers, sub-contractors, dealers and service providers – had at least two consequences. For one thing, it meant that the consumer good became hybridized in the collective imagination: the Vespa was no longer seen only as something imported, but also as a product that was a little bit German, English, French, Spanish or Belgian, depending on the context. In a sense, those factories Europeanized it. In addition, increased production capacity contributed to the Vespa’s spreading around the world. In fact Piaggio’s licensing agreements stipulated that firms established in countries that had colonies – particularly France and the United Kingdom – were required to market the scooter in their colonies, too. For the year 1965 alone, for instance, 720,000 of the 3.2 million units produced in Italy and elsewhere were exported. Asia and Oceania were the main export zones, with 41.2% of the total; trailed by Europe, with 27%; the Americas, with 23.8% and Africa, with 7.3%. Altogether, in the 1960s, Vespas could be found on the roads of more than 60 countries.
The Symbol: Advertising Communication and Social Appropriation
Vespa’s long-lasting success is due not only to its intrinsic motorization and design qualities, but also to the image forged around it, by both the firm’s communication and consumer practices. The advertising focuses on the Vespa’s strong points, of course (it is economical, agile, comfortable, practical and easy to drive). But it also goes beyond that, turning the scooter into an icon, so that purchasing or riding a Vespa identifies the consumer with the icon itself. In Italian, the name vespa (“wasp”) suggests summer, freedom, and both lightness and sturdiness. Projecting a particular kind of femininity, as well as an ability to act in a hostile environment, it stands at the intersection of untamed nature, individualism and a social community. In the context of the 1950s, promotional calendars, films, movie stars’ endorsements, and the firm’s participation in both national and international car and motorcycle shows portrayed the Vespa as an object of desire, or even a legend, one that Piaggio adapted to various national cultures.
In that same period, the Vespa clubs that opened across Europe tended to take advantage of free time to develop both individual and collective identification with the brand, and managed to project both a sense of belonging and of standing out.
In the 1950s and 1960s, the Vespa accumulated decisive symbolic capital through communication that managed to stay fresh by renewing its repertoire and themes. Hired by Piaggio, advertising executive Gilberto Filippetti connected the scooter to young people’s new behavior, irreverently poking fun at conformism. “Chi Vespa... mangia le mele” (“Those who Vespa… eat apples”), according to one almost surrealist Italian ad campaign. Yet proposing preestablished models of behavior didn’t keep the Vespa from being appropriated in subversive ways. Some youth segments, like the Mods – a subculture born in London in the late 1950s – used it shrewdly to overturn the symbolic, and sometimes legal, order. But a closer look reveals that even those uses only reinforced the Vespa’s success and strengthened its standing in Europe’s social memory.
The effects of the identification between the Vespa and Europe can still be felt in cultural-industry productions. In the early 2020s, for instance, the series Emily in Paris, produced by the American giant Netflix, choose to introduce a Vespa in the second season. So after Roman Holiday in 1953, Emily, another young American coping with culture shock from the – essentially fantasized – lifestyle in a major European capital, rides through the streets of Paris on a Vespa, which is, it goes almost with saying, considered sexy.
