How Santa Claus Became the World’s Most Resilient Brand

In Hawaii, he arrives by canoe wearing board shorts. In Russia, he’s an old man in blue robes traveling with his granddaughter. In Iceland, there are thirteen of him—mischievous pranksters named Spoon Licker and Window Peeper who show up one per night. Italy has an old witch on a broomstick. France gave him a donkey instead of reindeer.

The outfit changes. The transportation varies. The date shifts. Even the name transforms across borders—Sinterklaas, Père Noël, Ded Moroz, Joulupukki, Babbo Natale, Father Christmas.

And yet somehow, everyone recognizes exactly who it is.

That recognition doesn’t come from matching details. It comes from a promise that’s stayed consistent for seventeen centuries, across every medium that’s ever existed, through wars and depressions and complete cultural reimaginings: Generosity rewarded. Wonder preserved. Joy delivered when you need it most.

Here’s how a 4th-century bishop became a Civil War propaganda tool, a Coca-Cola icon, and the world’s most resilient brand. And what that reveals about positioning that actually endures.

It Started With a Bishop and Three Bags of Gold

The historical Santa was Saint Nicholas of Myra, a 4th-century bishop in what’s now Turkey. His parents died young, leaving him wealthy. Instead of keeping it, he gave it away—famously tossing bags of gold through windows to save three young women from being sold, providing their dowries so they could marry instead.

That’s the whole verifiable story. A guy who gave money to people who needed it, expected nothing in return, and tried to do it secretly.

Everything else got added as the story traveled. The Dutch brought Sinterklaas to New Amsterdam in the 1600s. Washington Irving turned his bishop’s robes into a floppy stocking cap. Clement Clarke Moore’s 1823 poem gave him reindeer and a sleigh.

Then came Thomas Nast.

When Santa Became Union Propaganda

In January 1863, in the middle of the Civil War, political cartoonist Thomas Nast published an illustration in Harper’s Weekly titled “Santa Claus in Camp.” Santa visits Union soldiers wearing a jacket patterned with stars and striped pants, holding a puppet of Confederate President Jefferson Davis hanging from a string.

Subtle? No. Effective? Absolutely.

Nast drew Santa for Harper’s for 33 years, gradually adding details: the North Pole workshop, the naughty-and-nice list, elves, a round belly, a white beard. He based Santa’s appearance partially on himself—a bearded, rotund German immigrant who believed in the Union cause.

President Lincoln reportedly said Nast’s illustrations were “the best recruiting sergeant the North ever had.” Santa became a propaganda tool, a morale booster, a symbol of American values during the nation’s most divisive moment.

After the war ended, the image stuck. The political baggage didn’t.

Then Coca-Cola Turned Him Into an Icon

By the 1920s, Coca-Cola faced a seasonal problem: people only wanted soda in summer. In 1931, they commissioned Michigan artist Haddon Sundblom to create a Santa who felt warm, human, relatable—not the stern figure from earlier ads.

Sundblom drew inspiration from Moore’s poem and used his friend Lou Prentiss as a model (later, he just used himself). The result: a plump, rosy-cheeked grandfather in a red suit trimmed with white fur. A Santa who played with toys, raided refrigerators, and paused mid-delivery to enjoy a Coke.

For 33 years, Sundblom painted Santa for Coca-Cola. Those images appeared on magazines, billboards, calendars, store displays. They toured the Louvre. They’re now among Coca-Cola’s most valuable archival pieces.

Coca-Cola didn’t invent modern Santa—Nast had already established the red suit and white beard decades earlier. But Coca-Cola standardized him. They took a figure with dozens of regional variations and made him feel universal. They gave him warmth, approachability, a personality that transcended the product.

They did it during the Great Depression, when people desperately needed something joyful to believe in.

From Believer to Skeptic to Collaborator

What makes Santa’s positioning brilliant: the relationship evolves over decades, and each stage deepens the connection.

Stage One: Pure Belief. You’re a kid. Santa is magic. No questions, just complete faith. You leave cookies, write letters, check the sky on Christmas Eve for reindeer.

Stage Two: Skepticism. You figure it out. The logistics don’t work. You spot your parents’ handwriting. You notice the mall Santas look different.

I remember asking my parents about this. Were the mall Santas “real”? They positioned those guys as “Santa’s helpers”—people with a deep connection to the real Santa who helped because one person can’t be everywhere at once. That explanation preserved the core truth (someone cares about you, someone wants to bring you joy) while acknowledging practical reality.

Stage Three: Collaboration. You become a parent, an aunt, a teacher. Suddenly you’re participating in the story you once questioned. Wrapping presents at midnight. Taking bites out of cookies. Writing “From Santa” on gift tags. You’re complicit now. And that feels more meaningful than belief ever did.

Most brands panic when relationships shift. They rebrand, chase trends, assume evolution means abandonment.

Santa shows what happens when you trust your positioning enough to let people grow with it. The relationship doesn’t end when belief changes form—it transforms into something deeper.

Why the Promise Outlasts Everything Else

This holiday season, Santa will show up in a thousand forms across cultures and contexts. Hawaiian shirts and blue robes. Canoes and steamboats. One jolly man or thirteen mischievous pranksters. Somehow, everyone will recognize who it is.

Not because the details match. Because the promise does.

When we work with clients on brand positioning and messaging, this is the principle we’re after: finding the promise that’s strong enough to survive being completely reimagined while staying unmistakably itself. The kind of positioning that can travel across markets, evolve with audiences, and deepen over time rather than dilute.

That takes work. Research. Strategy. A willingness to strip away what’s merely decorative to find what’s genuinely essential.

But when you find it? You build something that lasts longer than a campaign. Longer than a rebrand. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, longer than centuries.

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