Diksha Bisla 
The tyre manufacturer behind the Bugatti Veyron (the fastest car in the world), Space Shuttles, and the colossal Caterpillar dump truck isn’t just about rubber meeting the road. It’s also in the business of awarding the culinary world’s most sought-after accolades – Michelin stars. If you, much like myself, were oblivious to this fascinating piece of information – “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Calm down!” (Gordon Ramsey)
Let’s connect these delicious dots together.
How did Michelin – the second largest manufacturer of tyres in the world – bridge the gap between mud-caked tyre treads and the pristine world of white tablecloths?
Back in 1888, two French brothers, André and Édouard Michelin, decided to pivot from their family’s dwindling farm equipment business. André, an engineer, and Édouard, a landscape painter, decided to expand their business by offering vulcanised rubber tyres during the rise of the automobile era, and voilà, Michelin Tyre Company was born.
As they tinkered with a bicycle tyre in their factory, the Michelin brothers stumbled upon a game-changer – a method that rendered tyre glue obsolete, paving the way for the world’s first removable pneumatic tyre in 1889.
Their innovation didn’t stop there. They crafted the first replaceable rim and tyre capable of handling speeds over 100 kmph, and later, they even hopped on the rail transport bandwagon in 1929.
But the Michelin brothers weren’t just tyre whizzes; they were marketing maestros. To boost tyre sales at a time when automobiles were still a luxury only a select few could afford, they realised there were two avenues for growth – one tied to new car sales and the other to the replacement market, contingent on tyre usage. So, they set out to fuel the latter by making tyres wear out faster, cunningly capitalising on the need for more frequent replacements.
With a rubber factory in their corner, they decided to play a bigger role in the burgeoning tyre market, cooking up some clever tactics to spice up the tyre industry’s recipe for success.
In the early days of the automobile industry, when cars were still figuring out their way in the world, the Michelin brothers decided to take the scenic route to success. They cooked up an ingenious plan to create a guidebook, a hot commodity in those times.
Their motorist’s guidebook was a Swiss army knife of information for anyone behind the wheel. Packed with details on all the grease monkeys in France, step-by-step guides on how to swap out a flat tyre, a roadmap to make Lewis and Clark jealous, and a list of pit stops and cosy inns for weary travellers, it was the ultimate road trip companion. But what made this guidebook a tyre-rubber-burning genius move was that it gently nudged people to hit the road, ultimately wearing out their tyres faster and priming them for replacements, all while boosting Michelin’s business.
These guidebooks were the epitome of quality. Even though publishing guides wasn’t their main gig, they made sure everything they touched was as polished as a Michelin-starred plate. After all, this was their bread and butter, or in this case, their Michelin-starred strategy.
In World War II, when the Allies decided to take on the Germans in France, guess what came in really handy? Ammunition and Michelin guidebooks. It has been speculated that the soldiers were armed with these guidebooks, not just because they had the best maps, but because Michelin didn’t mess around when it came to quality.
Their guidebook was a trailblazer. It caught on like wildfire, and the brothers decided to take their show on the road, launching similar guides in other European countries. Needless to say, they were a smashing success.
But as the 1920s rolled around and people became more car-savvy, the Michelin brothers took a timely cognizance of the signs and shifted gears. Realising that people were getting the hang of the mechanics, they gave their food section more room to shine.
They were true visionaries, blending customer focus with their expansion plans. They recruited full-time food inspectors and undercover food critics to anonymously evaluate restaurants. This philosophy remains their compass today, ensuring only the cream of the culinary crop made it into their guide.
Then, in 1926, they cranked up the exclusivity. Since only the well-heeled could afford cars at the time, they thought, “Why not?” That’s when the Michelin Stars came in. One star meant “high-quality cooking, worth a stop,” two stars meant “excellent cooking, worth a detour,” and three stars meant “exceptional cuisine, worth a road trip.”
Let’s face it, tyres are not the sexiest products but with this ingenious move, the Michelin brothers made them a part of a memorable adventure.
Back in the day, Michelin’s guidebook had a bit of a snooty reputation, like a fancy French restaurant where the only thing on the menu is “expensive.” It was like a guide for the elite, with little room for the everyday food enthusiasts.
Well, Michelin wasn’t about to take those complaints lying down. They decided to introduce a whole new section in the guide and gave it a catchy name – the Bib Gourmand, a nod to their ever-smiling mascot, Bibendum, or the Michelin Man.
What makes the Bib Gourmand special is that it’s all about budget-friendly bites. Michelin made sure these eateries served budget-friendly bites, with prices set according to what your average Joe can afford. In a taste central like Singapore, where everyone’s got a craving and a budget, Michelin went the extra mile. They started handing out Michelin stars to humble places in hawker centres, where you can enjoy a plate of mouth watering grub for as little as $2!
Now, Bibendum wasn’t just a mascot. He was an early branding genius! While other companies were still figuring out their logos, Michelin had Bibendum, serving as their ambassador.
Conceived in 1898 by the Michelin brothers and artist Marius Rossillon (aka “O’Galop”), Bibendum was the ultimate tyre pitchman. His name, derived from the Latin phrase “Nunc est bibendum” (“Now is the time to drink”), symbolises Michelin Tyres’ ability to slurp up obstacles on the road with ease.
In order to stay relevant and well-liked, he’s had a makeover or two over the years. Going from a mummy-esque look to sporting glasses while fashionably smoking a cigar to adopting a relatively slender figure, Bibendum has never shied away from change.
His enduring popularity has made him one of the world’s most recognisable corporate mascots, transcending the world of advertising to become a cultural and automotive icon. You might even bump into Bibendum at the grand entrances of swanky restaurants, almost like spotting a celebrity.
If you think about it, Michelin’s prestigious stars are like the culinary Olympics. Winning one is like strapping a rocket to your restaurant’s popularity. You get a Michelin Star, and suddenly you’re swarmed with customers faster than you can say “appetiser.”
But on the flip side, losing a Michelin Star? Well, that’s like having your gold medal snatched right off your neck, and it stings like a kitchen burn. Even superstar TV chef Gordon Ramsay, with his mantle full of Michelin Stars, once had a Michelin meltdown when he lost two of them for his New York-based restaurant, The London.
It’s mind-blowing to think that a little red book could turn chefs and restaurants into overnight sensations, rolling in the dough like a freshly kneaded dough ball. Michelin has been the unsung hero of the restaurant world for a century, and what’s even more mind-boggling is that this culinary revolution was orchestrated by a tyre company.
According to Tony Fouladpour, Michelin North America’s director of corporate public relations, Michelin is fully aware that many folks still don’t connect the dots between the guide and the tyre company. “We can’t just roll out a multi-million-dollar campaign screaming, ‘Hey, we’re the tyre folks!'” Fouladpour chuckles. “But it’s heartwarming when people finally make that connection.”
