Obituary: Dana Wirz—The Man Behind the Ovo Slogan

«With Ovomaltine, you can't do it better, but you can do it faster.»

Our son was about six years old when he discovered Ovomaltine cookies in a ski lodge. As soon as he saw the package, he started blurting out the slogan over and over again—each time a little differently, never quite right.

«It's not better, but it's faster. No, not faster, but worse. Not longer, but better. Not better, but worse!»

Which, taken as a whole, fit perfectly with the original: «With Ovomaltine, it doesn’t get any better. But for longer.» This line is one of the most popular advertising slogans in Switzerland of all time. Every child knows it—or, like our son back then, at least almost. This iconic slogan wasn’t created by a copywriter, but by an art director: Dana Wirz, in 1999.

Even in the advertising industry, few people know who coined this famous phrase. This was typical of Dana: He created excellent advertising for his clients, but hardly any for himself; he felt uncomfortable doing so.

Dana and I worked together for about 13 years, first at Advico Young & Rubicam, and later at Spillmann Felser Leo Burnett.

Brainstorming is often referred to as «idea ping-pong,» as if it were a rapid back-and-forth exchange of thoughts. With Dana, it was more like «idea tides»: Thoughts flowed slowly, and there were long periods of silence. And then, after what felt like an hour of thinking and silence, Dana muttered something to herself out of the blue: an idea that instantly got your heart racing. That’s it! That’s awesome! It’s a blast! ADC, Cannes, awesome, awesome, awesome!

When you looked over at Dana then, your adrenaline pumping, you could barely see any reaction. Only the corners of his mouth had lifted a few millimeters. Enthusiasm on the back burner.

Dana was just as reserved when his work was recognized, which happened often: Although he would go up on stage, he usually hid behind someone else. Still, the corners of his mouth were a few millimeters higher than usual, so he was clearly overjoyed—in his own way, of course.

You could tell from his work that he had put a lot of thought into it beforehand. It was surprising, humorous, self-deprecating, and offbeat, yet always strategically straightforward.

Take Switzerland Tourism, for example, with its April Fools« Day prank featuring the »rock cleaners« who wiped bird droppings off our mountains. Or the long-running series starring the two Bartlis, Sebi & Paul, who did everything they could to ensure perfect vacations in Switzerland. The Mammut campaign, where you never actually saw the high-quality gear because its users—the mountaineers—were caught in snowstorms or thick fog. The National Insurance campaign depicting damage in the otherwise pristine world of advertising. The blue recycling bin with three holes, labeled »Tires,« »Metal Parts,” “Bones”—for downhill biking in Laax. Or, later, the safer sex campaign for the Federal Office of Public Health, with instructions on how to properly suck, finger, and penetrate.

When I looked at these works a few days ago, the corners of my mouth turned up by more than just a few millimeters. Dana's ideas can make you laugh even when you're not in the mood to laugh at all.

During the week, we were a creative team; on the weekends, sometimes a barbecue team; and during our vacations together, sometimes a snowboarding team. After a long, amazing powder run, we got back on the gondola at the bottom. He didn’t say anything, but the corners of his mouth were turned up slightly. Total happiness, Dana-style.

Dana has given me personally—and many others in the advertising industry—so much:

Hundreds of surprising, crazy, funny ideas; moments when we suddenly solved problems that seemed unsolvable. But also perfectly sensible ideas, like deciding not to eat yet another greasy kebab from Albisriederplatz for lunch, but instead to have a homemade tomato-mozzarella salad.

He gave us his excellent judgment, his consistency, and his tenacity—qualities that could sometimes be exhausting. For example, when we had to rewrite headlines because he didn’t think they were good enough and therefore wouldn’t include them in the layout. His strictness made many texts—and many writers—better.

But his greatest gift was his few, yet apt, words. His dry sense of humor. And, of course, the corners of his mouth when they turned up just a little.

We miss her. We miss you, Dana.