Lyrix was an acquisition that made MAS limited proud, no doubt. And its Managing Director, Shrishti Tandon, 44, was rather enjoying the business of marketing a 60-year-old brand with such awesome credentials. As a pioneer of sunglasses designed to block ultraviolet and other harsh rays, the brand had proven its eyecare expertise before it was adopted as a standard accessory by film stars, at first as a shield against glare (their natural defences having weakened by hours of arclight exposure), and then as part of their offscreen persona. Slowly but surely, Lyrix became so well associated with glamour and fame that it became a fashion statement. And so it continued.

Of late, however, it was floundering a bit. And Tandon was worried. Market growth was not the issue: it was doing double digits. The trouble was that it was no longer the only big name around. In just about a year, fresh competition had lowered Lyrix's marketshare from 55 to 50 per cent. The brand was doing particularly badly with female buyers. Its classic design, for example, was seen as rather too masculine, too functional and too under-stylised. The hot new shades from the Italian fashion houses, on the other hand, were all the rage on college campuses.

Uday Agarwal, 34, Marketing Manager, MAS, thought it was time to rethink the brand's strategy, starting with the product portfolio. "Fashionable metro consumers are asking for and willing to pay for the latest international styles," said Agarwal, "Their media exposure to global glamour has risen exponentially, and everyone wants to be 'with it'."

"But we have some of the latest styles," objected Tandon, "and they're being endorsed by some of the coolest celebrities."

Agarwal wasn't impressed. "Our last few promotions, even with cricket celebs, weren't runaway successes though," he countered, aware that Tandon had seen the sales charts. "I think we have to question our earlier assumption that rising fashion consciousness will work in our favour."

"Don't go just by the upper-crust," said Tandon, "this is a vast country, and we still have half the market."

"Half, and falling," said Agarwal, gloomily. "Besides, with multiple ownership rising, the upper-end matters a lot."

Tandon paused for a moment's thought. The days that the brand advertised itself as a UV ray filter were long past, and for most of the 1990s, the thrust had been to raise volumes by expanding distribution (to B and even C class towns), containing prices within the Rs 1,000-2,000 band, and appealing to the fashion aspirant. The brand, thus, had been portrayed as an accessory for the cool, confident individual who was not afraid to be him or her self. The emphasis was on the classic model. Over-styling, it was reckoned, would've put this consumer off. In the past two years, Lyrix had used an edgy TV campaign to give itself a more yuppie image. But the product range remained the same, with a few additions here and there. So it was natural, Tandon was willing to concede, that Lyrix was seen by youngsters as a serious brand for the 35-plus.

"I feel that youngsters want sleek and snazzy designs that stand out," said Agarwal, "the kind that make a statement not just by virtue of being sunshades, but by giving a distinct look to the face."

Tandon nodded unconsciously. Was the market changing faster than she'd noticed? It was true that the entire shopping environment had got spruced up, of late, with glitzy malls opening up. Merchandising standards had risen sharply. Indian film stars had turned trendy even by international reckoning. And the typical youngster did not want to be typical any more. Blending in was out, standing out was in.

And the droolworthy sunshades displayed at the spiffy new superstores, Tandon realised, were not Lyrix pairs, but a clutch of other imported brands. Yet, volume growth was important to her, and here, a major part of the battle was tackling the unorganised sector-the Lyrix counterfeits that damaged people's eyes but continued to attract people with their throwaway prices.

"Uday," said the managing director, "I appreciate your worries about the top-end, but there's a bigger picture to work on. Staving off the fakes is our leadership responsibility. And for that, I think we need to re-emphasise the eye-care attributes of the brand."

Agarwal was alarmed. "Abandon the glamour positioning?" he asked, his eyebrows raised high.

"I didn't say that," replied Tandon, aware that the lifestyle motive was still stronger than the ray-protection motive. "And don't give me that Jim Carrey look from 'The Truman Show'-you know that the brand has a lot of science behind the starry sex appeal."

"Yeah, sure," admitted Agarwal, "we must do whatever is strategically necessary."

"Good," said Tandon. "Now why don't you work out the potential sales boost we can get from attacking the fakes? Income levels have risen at lower socio-economic levels as well, and we may get bigger volumes here, than by worrying about Pavretti, Milano and other highfalutin labels. Besides, we must never alienate the lifelong Lyrix loyalist-who has expectations of the brand on various rational and emotional levels."

Agarwal felt his gut churn. Would this spell the end of his new marketing proposal, he wondered.

Tandon continued. "We need to address both the hip and the health market," she said, "that's what Lyrix's brand heritage is all about-you know that."

Agarwal sighed. And then spoke. "Oh, I'd thought we could turn our product lines a little more lyrical, go all out for the hip college campuses and then adopt music as a brand theme. I found this interesting number by a band called Timbukthree..." He snapped on his pocket player for a demo. 'Am doing alright, gettin' good grades, the future's so bright, gotta wear shades ...' went the chorus, sounding appropriately collegiate. "It's an '80s track, so I think the core consumer would also go for it," he said, hopefully.

Tandon said nothing.

The question: Should MAS adopt Agarwal's plan?

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