Performing different forms of ‘sociable authenticity’ in five bakery shops in Sweden using the semla pastry as a prominent multimodal resource

Abstract

This article examines how five bakeries in a mid-sized Swedish town communicate with their (potential) customers using different forms of ‘authentic’ displays of the much-loved seasonal pastry, the semla (a particular type of Lenten bun). Authenticity is understood as strategies of communicating with potential customers and passers-by in ways that make them feel included in a successful, sociable relationship with the bakery in question (see Scannell’s, 2001, article, ‘Authenticity and experience’). Specifically, various semla artefacts are used in the shop window/entrance as strategies to ‘talk to and interact with’ passers-by. However, these semla displays are not recognized as advertising by the bakers themselves. While previous research on authenticity, food discourse and ideology have identified traditional, natural and elite authenticity as expressed in relation to specific social groups, this study shows how authenticity may harbour oppositional values and seemingly incoherent ways of addressing customers in relation to such questions as power, eliteness and class. One explanation for these more subtly distinctive authenticity performances may be found in Swedish culture which has less social class distinction. This may, in turn, mean that certain establishments and products may not be as prominently class imprinted as others when it comes to how they address customers. Such a culture may create a more blended range of authenticity expressions.

Introduction

This article examines how five bakeries in a mid-sized Swedish town ‘speak’ to their (potential) customers by way of ‘authentic’ displays of the much-loved seasonal pastry, the semla. ¹ Importantly, authenticity is here primarily linked to how the bakeries work at creating sociable relations with customers using semiotic and material means which relate to the semla pastry in their shop windows/entrances. Thus, the study is not primarily designed to expose dimensions of power, ideology and class, as is the focus of several other studies on food discourse and authenticity. This more ‘neutral’ application of the concept stems from studies on broadcast talk where authenticity has been an essential communicative strategy for the success of broadcasting throughout history. Authenticity, in relation to broadcasting, has been associated with ‘fresh talk’ (Goffman, 1981), that is, to unscripted and seemingly spontaneous talk. From this perspective, broadcast talk, with its performative character, has been seen as largely inauthentic (see Tolson, 2010). However, audiences have needed to be communicated with in ways that make them feel engaged and included in a social relationship with broadcasters (Scannell and Cardiff, 1991). For Scannell (2001), authentic experiences (of broadcasts) rely on the sociability of broadcasters and the ways in which they can make their audiences feel both exclusively addressed (as ‘me’) and part of a larger, anonymous group (as ‘anyone’), simultaneously.

Authenticity, then, in this study, is understood as strategies of communicating with potential customers and passers-by in ways that make them feel included in a successful, sociable relationship with the bakery in question. Specifically, various semla-related artefacts are used as communicative strategies in the shop window/entrance to ‘talk to and interact with’ passers-by . This sociable dimension of authenticity, I believe, can be successfully applied to the performative discourses of bakeries and may lead to less dichotomous results regarding how different (social groups of) people are addressed by values related to authenticity in the communication of food.

The article’s focus is formulated in relation to existing studies of food, discourse and culture which, building on and developing from Bourdieu (1984), have focused on ideology, specifically when it comes to group/class distinction, status, identities, morals and politics (e.g. Freedman and Jurafsky, 2011; Jurafsky et al., 2016; Mapes, 2018; Mapes and Ross, 2020; Ochs et al., 1996; Tovares, 2020; Zappavigna and Ross, 2021). How food, food practices and food establishments discursively construct authenticity as a marker of eliteness, privilege, status, inclusion, or exclusion continues to be a recurring and relevant topic in linguistically/semiotically oriented food research (e.g. Freedman and Jurafsky, 2011; Karrebæk, 2012, 2014; Karrebæk and Maegaard, 2017; Trinch and Snajdr, 2017). These studies illustrate how authenticity can be connected to values oriented to, for example, upper-class groups, high-end restaurants and gentrified areas of a city. Alternatively, different forms of authenticity are shown to target different social groups (upper/working-class).

Some research materializes from rather banal queries rather than from strategic planning. This study came about due to the semla gluttony of the author, combined with an interest in how the town as text and semiotic landscape (Jaworski and Thurlow, 2010; Scollon and Wong Scollon, 2003), speaks to citizens in different ways using a multitude of meaningful, yet often unrecognized, multimodal resources. Thus, when purchasing Sweden’s most popular pastry in bakeries situated in different geographical parts of my hometown, I became curious about how they promoted the semla (seasonally sold from January to Easter), given the competitive local market. The friendly bakers, often multi-tasking as tellers in small establishments, collectively claimed that no advertising of the pastry was necessary. ‘The semla sells itself’, they told me confidently, adding a saving clause, ‘apart from maybe posting a few photos on Facebook around Shrove Tuesday’ (which is the day for eating semlas). However, when passing their establishments, it was hard not to observe that a number of different semla-related artefacts were in fact present in or near their shop windows. Certainly, these objects functioned as advertisements for passers-by, beckoning them to come in and purchase some well-earned calorie bombs, for what other meaningful roles would they otherwise possibly play? This became the mundane question that turned my semla addiction into a research idea as spelled out above.

A bakery window constitutes an everyday place which mostly goes unrecognized as a place where meaningful communication takes place. However, in their study of how Brooklyn shop signs reflect the borough’s changing (capitalist) values, Trinch and Snajdr (2017: 66) argue that shop signs may not reflect the shop owners’ types (or motivations) but provide character to public space for those passing by and can be examined ‘as highly visible arguments about place and people in place . . .’ Shop signs (like show windows) are texts that may seem innocuous, but may in fact make dominant imprints on a place. When it comes to food in particular, Mapes (2018: 268) states that the banal ‘stuffness’ of food renders it ‘a seemingly unpretentious semiotic resource’, while constituting anything but. Bakery windows can be viewed as a type of ‘advertising’ where food products, such as semlas with their baggage of perceptions and values, are used to signify ‘entire worlds’ (Barthes, 1997[1961]: 23). Such food worlds or social environments, Barthes suggests, are isolated in advertising. Bakery windows, I therefore argue, provide semiotic spaces for bakeries to create ‘authentic experiences’ for (potential) customers, whether this is done consciously or not.

The aim of this study is to add to research on food discourse, authenticity, culture and identity by paying attention to some nuances in the constructions of existing forms of authenticity and identity which seem mainly theorized in relation to different socioeconomic groups and to class, privilege and elite values. I also hope to contribute to literature which recognizes the importance of the material location or situatedness of signs and discourses in the world (Jaworski and Thurlow, 2010; Scollon and Wong Scollon, 2003), that is, to research that considers seemingly every day and mundane stuff that can communicate powerful meanings about the world (Thurlow, 2020).

Previous Research

With regard to the Swedish semla, it has not really been a study object for scholars, but rather an annual news item in popular newspapers, announcing that it is ‘that time of the year’, backing stories up with sales numbers, results of semla competitions and visits to the local bakery for minor reportages. However, Swedish multimodal critical discourse studies of food promotion range from a study of cod liver oil marketing from an historical perspective, proven to be driven by scientific rationality, motherhood and nature (O’Hagan and Eriksson, 2022), to milk promotion of the dairy company Arla. The company is shown to reproduce ‘old’ social democratic values and ideas connected to nature, welfare, equality and progression, even though Sweden, like many other countries, has embraced neoliberalism, global capitalism and a deregulation of society (Andersson, 2019).

The semla study relates to research on food items and practices as intrinsically culturally bound. Traditional food may not be thought of as especially tasty, but a food item’s form (for instance a pretzel, croissant, or a bagel), conveys cultural knowledge and values, speaks to our senses and tells myths (Stummerer and Hablesreiter, 2016). To culturally ‘brand’ an establishment may create an impression of quality as well as help positively value a local geographical location. Karrebæk and Maegaard (2017) show how a Danish restaurant constructs a sense of authenticity by performing an all-round sense of ‘Borgholmness’ in its discourses. That is, the restaurant’s reputation and position as a high-end restaurant is boosted by promoting the cultural connection to the actual place of the establishment.

The processes of culturally socializing and valuing food differently start early in life. Ochs et al. (1996) show how American children only get their treat (dessert) after they finish what they must eat – the main dinner dish. In contrast, in Italian families, eating as desire and individual pleasure tends to be a prioritized value. Examining the language socialization of healthy food in a city school in Copenhagen, Denmark, dominated by great ethnic and socioeconomic diversity, Karrebæk (2012) shows how rye bread is discursively constructed by teachers as the focal point of a dominant food ideology. Rye bread gets to represent, if implicitly, traditional Danish values, educational potential and ethnic and national affiliation. A ‘healthy’ food choice such as rye bread becomes indicative of moral behaviour, high intelligence and ‘good’ family backgrounds, and hence ‘respectability’ (Karrebæk, 2014: 25). In fact, food-related communication can be highly politically charged under certain circumstances in a specific culture. Tovares (2020) argues how written reactions to two YouTube videos about the Italian cheese Parmesan under political embargo in Russia, one satirical and one documentary, reveal different audience identity and ideology constructions in relation to Russian history and its geopolitical situation.

Food advertising is argued to exploit different forms of authenticity for different socio-economic groups in society. Freedman and Jurafsky (2011) show how potato crisp bags advertise their content in distinct and different ways whether it is an expensive or inexpensive type of crisp. On the one hand, the authors find that natural authenticity is the form targeted towards upper-class customers with language that emphasizes the product’s naturalness, healthiness and non-artificiality. Working-class customers tend to be addressed with traditional authenticity, which focuses on local values, family traditions and history. Studying US menus from both expensive, high-end restaurants and cheaper ones oriented to the working-class customer, Jurafsky et al. (2016) find a similar linguistic pattern as in Freedman and Jurafsky’s (2011) potato crisp bag study. Other researchers such as Mapes and Ross (2020) extend their research on food discourse and elite authenticity to celebrity chef postings on Instagram, and multimodally examine how seemingly small-scale, local and ethically produced food is used as a semiotic resource to communicate privileged, exclusive eating practices, where elite displays include ingenuity, rarity and skill. Elite authenticity is described as the tendency for food discourse to appeal to notions of genuineness, naturalness, egalitarianism and tradition (Mapes, 2018), made possible by privilege and socioeconomic status.

Arguing for a widening of the exploration into the class-sustaining practices of distinction (see Bourdieu, 1984) from the linguistic or expected ways of doing multimodality, Thurlow (2020) finds privilege communicated in the tangible, tactile and affective properties of mundane artefacts, such as the experience of Business Class menus on a plane or the weight and feel of a small porcelain pepper pot used in the spicing of your in-flight dinner. This study takes inspiration from such a material methodological elaboration, if only in a limited way.

Data and Methods

The general framework for the study is multimodal (discourse) analysis (Ledin and Machin, 2020a; Machin and Myer, 2012; Van Leeuwen, 2022), specifically visual analysis (Kress and Van Leeuwen, 1996: Ledin and Machin, 2020b). In line with social semiotics which underpins these theories/methods, I focus on how semiotic resources are mobilized in texts and how these resources realize different meaning potentials. The ambition is to extend the multimodal (discourse) analysis beyond the ‘conventional’ and ‘to-be-expected’ (Thurlow, 2020: 5). A mix of conventional and material analytic features will therefore be included among the semiotic resources of interest as bakery windows are explored.

The windows/entrance of bakeries are treated as an overarching semiotic resource in which other resources are exploited to attract attention. I thereby avoid the more complicated discussion of what constitutes mode and/or media in multimodal analysis (e.g. Bateman, 2017; Van Leeuwen, 2022). I will specifically look at how semiotic resources are used to express sociable relations through forms of authenticity (see below).

Like studies using ethnographic studies to examine food and restaurant practices (e.g. Karrebæk, 2012, 2014; Karrebæk and Maegaard 2017; Ochs et al., 1996), this study’s overarching approach, as already hinted at, is autoethnographic (Ellis et al., 2011). The researcher’s personal experiences of illustrating and characterizing cultural experiences and social phenomena for others’ benefit guide the study. Every year, the author goes on a bike excursion that takes them around town to different bakeries in a quest to find this year’s favourite pastry. The choice of the five bakeries in this study (Hälls, Västerport, Princess, Jeremia and Sveas) ² is explained by the author’s (repeated) inclusion of these establishments in the ‘2023 semla tour’.

The primary data used for in-depth analyses, encompassing the semiotic features mentioned above, consists of photographs (taken with a smart phone) of five bakery shop windows/entrances in a mid-size Swedish town. The photos display salient objects and their arrangements relating to the semla. The secondary data consists of semi-structured interviews with five bakers employed at the studied bakeries. The interviews were conducted with no prior notice and between customers, and were therefore rather brief, 5–12 minutes. Nevertheless, the interviewees’ accounts based on lived experience added relevant contextual knowledge prior to any scientific explanations (Brinkmann and Kvale, 2015).

Analysis of five bakery windows/entrances

The Jeremia bakery (Swedish: Jeremiabageriet)

Jeremia is a small bakery shop situated in the Eastern part of town where wooden buildings from the 1500s and 1600s function as open-air museums. The residential area is considered as previously upper class with its villas and grand apartments. The shop used to house a local poet, which adds to its cultural and historic value. As can be seen in Figure 1, the communicative affordances of the small shop with its absence of large windows constrain its marketing possibilities. Indeed, even on Shrove Tuesday, when semla sales are booming, there is no evidence when passing the establishment that any such pastry exists on the premises.

Figure 1.

Jeremia on Shrove Tuesday (21 February 2023). © The author.

The closed door could simply be explained by it being winter and cold outside. However, the shop abstains from any external signs to showcase their star pastry which has twice won the local paper’s yearly semla competition. This total absence of any semla pointers could communicate inaccessibility and a certain nonchalance given that the bakery survives on getting customers through the door. However, the shut door could also communicate an implied self-assured position in relation to the customer (‘we know that you know we offer great semlas so we don’t have to tell you!’). Jeremia offers the priciest semla in town at SEK 48 (€4.35) which is about €1/US$ more than any other bakery. The price signals confidence in their semla quality as well as in their customers’ ability and willingness to pay for it despite their lack of marketing on location. Applying Mapes’ (2018: 271) rhetorical strategies of elite authenticity, it may be that Jeremia makes use of simplicity as a(n) (elite) strategy, explained as an attitude of ‘less is more’ – a minimal aesthetic in design of food, space and marketing, resulting in a (performed) effortlessness. This effortlessness, characterized by its refusal to explicitly address the customer with any enticing commercially-driven semla messages outside its premises, but rather relying on the historic and cultural surroundings to supply its ‘quality stamp’ for them, distinguishes Jeremia from the other four bakeries in the study. From a sociable authenticity point of view, however, where the shaping of social relations through talk and interactive features with people is seen as key for interests to be provoked (see Scannell, 2001), Jeremia chooses apparent asociality as a communicative strategy, explicitly not recognizing, externally, that it is the season for semlas.

Sveas bakery (Swedish: Sveas)

Sveas is situated in the town centre in a district of older but elegantly refurbished buildings surrounded by relatively classy shops and restaurants. Sveas was started in a nearby small town in 1940 but has expanded considerably since. It is the biggest business in the sample with one bakery, 90 employees and at the time seven coffee/pastry shops in four towns. They also provide bread and pastries to many of the bigger general food companies in the county. Thus, they have the only industrial profile of the five bakeries but still stress their ‘local roots’ in semla stand slogans in general stores: Baked locally, and maybe by someone you know. The close analysis of Sveas sociability performance is concentrated on the semla poster which is the one salient artefact that signals semlas to passers-by from the outside. It is attached to the glass wall to the right of the entrance door of the coffee/pastry shop in mid-town (Figure 2).

Figure 2.

Street advertisement in the coffee/pastry shop window at Sveas town centre shop (20 February 2023). © The author.

The poster is dominated by a white frame around a photographed close-up of about two-thirds of a semla, exposing its main ingredients. The pastry stands on a powdery surface, hinted at in the image, and above a darker background accompanied by a round but irregularly edged label with the wording: A genuine craftsmanship. Baked locally, in capital letters. In the lower part of the white frame and below the semla’s image, the sentence reads: NOW WE ARE HERE [we] know that you have longed . . .. The poster hangs crisply on the door as if it has just arrived from the printer for the season. It displays no unique Sveas features which most probably means that it is a generic poster used by other semla bakery shops around Sweden.

In its context, a bakery window, the most obvious functional purpose of the poster is to make the potential customer aware of the seasonal pastry’s existence in the shops, and, importantly, to create a desire to buy them. The interaction to which the walkers-by are invited is a focused one (Goffman, 1981), ‘now we are here’ (implied reaction, ‘come in and buy us’). Compositionally, the visual of the semla is the salient object with the texts as complements. It is represented in an extreme close-up, making it impossible to visually avoid. Although not showing the whole object, the main ingredients are attractively exposed and the dusting of powdery sugar has a connotation with the snow of the season. This type of close-up could lend a certain eroticism to the pastry’s representation. However, the cool, classy whiteness in the frame surrounding the close-up photograph constructs an overall intimate but not sexualized relationship. Malik et al. (2022: 2851) have shown that the proximity to foods in ads plays an important role when it comes to consumer responses. Up-close pictures of indulgent food products tend to invoke ‘positive perceptions of tastiness, purchase intentions and the likelihood of recommendation’.

The most prominent words are printed in capital letters at the bottom of the poster, NOW WE ARE HERE, followed by [we] know that you have longed . . . on the line below. The capitalized letters signify importance, the message demanding attention. However, the capitals are just outlined and ‘see-through’, thus balancing their potential brashness with values such as subtlety and simplicity, possibly connoting a certain degree of (at least desired) eliteness (Mapes, 2018). These values are also communicated by the white frame that encloses the visual and texts. The lower line’s curved font replicates handwriting but in a technologized way due to the font’s regular features (see Van Leeuwen, 2022). The angular nature of the capitalized font versus the round-shaped font in the sentence below can also be associated with masculinity and femininity, respectively, thus suggestively addressing both gender identities (see Ledin and Machin, 2020b). This gendered reading can be further strengthened in that the angular utterance articulates a fact (= masculine coding), ‘now we are here’, whereas the curvier line below articulates the sentiment of longing (= feminine coding). Handwriting styles also communicate that a human touch and care have gone into producing the product (Ledin and Machin, 2020a).

The poster contains the image of what can be construed as a stamp of quality in its right-hand corner. This placement communicates something ‘new’, something that the on-looker is not assumed to know beforehand and therefore needs to pay special attention to (Kress and Van Leeuwen, 1996: 187). It is signified by a round, irregularly edged shape in a brown shade, reminiscent of an old-fashioned letter or parcel stamp, with the words, A genuine craftsmanship. Baked locally. The emphasis on locality and historicity (‘genuine craftsmanship’) is seen as markers of more inexpensive products targeted towards the working class (Freedman and Jurafsky, 2011). The emphasis on craftsmanship and the ‘local’ stamp may be a strategy to ‘disguise’ the fact that Sveas mass produces and distributes semla pastries to the general stores (i.e. to the ‘working/middle classes’) across the county from a small town nearby. In relation to the small-scale bakeries who offer genuinely limited semla ranges baked on the premises, for Sveas the stamp may appear beneficial to attract those customers who expect a truly original, exclusive and local product. Notably, although there is a global mistrust of brands making green claims, customers are more inclined to believe such advertising claims of small brands rather than large ones (Fernandes, 2023). Here though, it seems that Sveas attempts to establish a sociable authenticity by implying closeness, locality and craftsmanship without it really fitting their brand profile.

Hälls bakery (Swedish: Hälls)

Hälls is situated right in the middle of town in the Central Palace, a prestigious and culturally preserved building built in the early 1900s. Hälls presents itself on their website as the town’s oldest bakery dating back to 1910. It does not display semla posters but showcases the semla pastry in the form of three types of shewbread (Swedish: skådebröd); a cake, a classic version and a mixed version. Originally tracing back to Biblical times and sacrifices to God, this shewbread is produced for decorative purposes (Figures 3a and b). The semlas may look like the real thing but are inedible, yet cost-effective, as they can be used year after year. The shewbreads’ function as icons for the material product in the store and their repeated use at Hälls promote values of history, recognition and familiarity. Semla shewbread is used by several of the bakeries around town if not displayed quite as prominently (however, see Princess below).

Figure 3.

(a) Semla cake shewbread in Hälls’ left shop window (11 February 2023); (b) Semla shewbread showcasing the two most popular variants in Hälls’ right shop window (21 March 2023). © The author.

Notably, when it comes to the shapes of semlas of which Hälls displays three, the semla has been subject to a number of different innovations during the last couple of decades. This quest for innovative versions of classic products can be seen to reflect the core neoliberal economic strategy which favours constant re-thinking and re-interpretation of commercial products (see Newfield, 2019). These innovations include architectural ones (Henderson and Clark, 1990), where the components are kept but may be slightly re-arranged to create ‘coolness’, something which is generally deemed acceptable among the bakers. There are also incremental innovations in which individual components are ‘refined’ but the design is kept, such as the Danish semla, the vanilla, the blueberry and raspberry semla. These alternative versions are partly found at some of the bakeries but are dismissed by others as fads. The radical innovations in which the pastry undergoes fundamental changes in form and/or taste as, for instance, the semla wrap or semla taco, are among the least acceptable among the bakers. ‘The classic’ remains most popular among customers which may stem from the fact that ‘familiar foods, their recurring shapes and tastes offer comforting reassurance in a world of constant change’ (Stummerer and Hablesreiter, 2016: 356). ‘The mixed’ with its blended almond paste and cream, and the bun cut Pac-Man style comes a close second, according to the bakers. These two latter ones, along with the semla cake are also the chosen forms displayed at Hälls which shows that they prefer to be linked to what is classical (and perhaps conservative) rather than ‘out there’ and radical.

The prominent placement of the different semla versions communicates their status as the pastry to consume at this time of the year. Their very shape and look, even if in an inedible form, are deemed to lure customers into the shop. Perhaps one could argue that the placement, where the passer-by looks downward onto a window of perfectly looking shewbread can be seen as a communicative strategy to aestheticize the semla to those walking by, as well as to remind them of their (and the bakery’s) historical cultural roots, and therefore deserving of its prominent place. Such an ‘aestheticization’ of an iconic object is certainly further exploited on the bakeries’ Facebook pages in and around Shrove Tuesday but, on these pages, showcasing the real thing in photographs (see Zappavigna and Ross’s [2021] study of avocado images on social media). The semla shewbread clearly evokes history, especially Swedish history. It is inedible (as shewbread) and unhealthy (in terms of calories) but its edible version is sold in an historic prestigious location in town. Thus, their display does not really fit with natural or traditional authenticity as far as target groups go (Freedman and Jurafsky, 2011). From a sociable authenticity point of view, it may be that Hälls chooses to articulate semla historicity through shewbread to conjure up ideas of a shared national identity (see Billig, 1995). Alternatively, the shewbread reflects the elite-ish location and connotes to abundance as back in the day it used to be displayed as an indicator of a farm’s wealth.

The Princess bakery (Swedish: Princesskonditoriet)

Princess is situated to the north of the town centre, in a neighbourhood dominated by working-class rental apartment buildings and small general stores and restaurants. It started its business in 1955 and emphasizes in its website presentation that it still produces all their baked goods and pastries on the premises. Like Hälls, a link between history and quality is created in the window using semla shewbread as a resource (see Figure 4).

Figure 4.

Semla shewbread in the Princess window (11 February 2023). © The author.

The in-depth analysis will focus on the poster on Princess’s entrance door (Figure 5). The image is dominated by a black/dark background against which the semla is showcased. It sits on a powdery surface in moderate lighting. Each of its main ingredients, the bun, the almond paste and the piped cream under a powdered lid, is seen in a close-up with no other objects competing for attention. Above the semla, there is a written sentence in a light colour, saying, I know you have missed me! (you /Swedish: du / here referring to the singular form).

Figure 5.

Poster on the Princess’s entrance door (11 February 2023). © The author.

The poster ‘communicates’ with the passers-by by constructing or assuming a certain relationship with them, creating a certain participation framework (Goffman, 1981) with the use of the semla as an active agent. In the written discourse on the poster, the semla occupies all three of Goffman’s speaker roles: author, principal and animator. That is, using ‘I know’ and ‘me’, the pastry is positioned as if it is talking or composing the message itself, is the one responsible for the utterance, as well as the one articulating it directly to the audience. The text also assumes prior knowledge of the pastry as it is represented as something (or someone, me!) that you have missed (implying previous pleasurable experiences of it). The typography of the utterance is reminiscent of personal – and perhaps due to its roundness – feminine handwriting (see Ledin and Machin, 2020b). The letters are replicated in a slightly irregular yet easy-to-read shape. They display some additional flourishes (e.g. angled crossbars, ‘hoops’ on the ‘g’s and the ‘k’) which together connote a friend writing a special note or a postcard to you, i.e. a content and style which imply a close relationship to the recipient (see Van Leeuwen, 2022). The size of the written words is prominent, taking up about half of the poster’s image, thus signalling their importance as a personal message to the on-looker. The poster dominates the entrance and is impossible to visually ignore when walking in, one’s eyes falling on a level with the personalized message. Although the represented participant is a pastry here and not a human, the confident message to ‘me’ along with the prominently displayed semla creates a ‘demand’ image (Kress and Van Leeuwen, 1996: 122) which requires a social relationship to be formed with the person encountering it. Compositionally, the poster also follows Kress and Van Leeuwen’s ‘ideal’ and ‘real’ information value (p. 193). The written message at the top represents the ideal emotive appeal, which might come to be (if you buy me) and the bottom, the semla, representing the actual real thing that you can buy inside the shop and thus fulfil the promised relationship.

The semla is the main visual feature while the large text, as mentioned, adds personification. Its main ingredients are lusciously exposed in an attractive soft light in a relative close-up. The black background makes the semla even more salient as it stands out against the darkness surrounding it (see Kress and Van Leeuwen, 1996). The dark colour can be argued to imply intimacy and mystery in relation to the audience while the high saturation in the poster adds passion. Together with a ‘provocative’ full-on semla image, a slightly erotic impression is constructed. The overall enjoyment of eating it could also, at least from a psychoanalytic/discourse perspective (Parker, 1997), connote a near erotic experience. However, a potential sexualized relationship is simultaneously neutralized by the curvy/loopy and friendly ‘postcardy’ greeting text over the visual. All in all, the lexical and visual representations construct a certain ambivalent audience relationship: am I addressed as a friend or . . . something more?

As pointed out by Scollon and Wong Scollon (2003; see also Thurlow, 2020), the materiality of signs conveys meanings in and of themselves. For instance, aspects such as temporality or newness may be communicated through ‘the freshness of installation’ (Scollon and Wong Scollon, 2003: 136). While the crisp, white Sveas poster seems to be invisibly attached to the glass surface as if it was a natural and self-evident part of its relatively classy surroundings, and thus conveying newness, the Princess poster’s attachment method and prior use is highly visible. A few fingerprints on the glass and the poster corners, layers of adhesive tape, slightly worn edges, paper creases and small spots lend a worn and pre-loved character to the poster, conveying temporality. In addition, given that the poster’s dark and suggestive aesthetics are not to be found in any other current semla marketing material around town, it seems safe to conclude that it has several years, possibly a few decades, under its belt.

The Princess has its roots in the 1950s, a fact which is proudly communicated in a mini-historical narrative within an old-style frame in the window beside the shewbread. These indicators of history – and the fact that all bakes are still made on the premises –convey historicity as a rhetorical strategy, something which, in turn, is seen as a sign of elite authenticity (Mapes, 2018). However, as the somewhat ‘adventurous’, come-hither, pre-loved and outdated poster is the prominent object showcasing the semla, the sociable authenticity communicated to customers seems not one of eliteness, but one of confidence and working-class orientation where caring about ‘the latest’ and ‘fanciest’ marketing methods is irrelevant and superficial when what one has to offer inside is the old-fashioned, real (quality) deal.

The Västerport bakery – (Swedish: Västerport)

Västerport is another bakery with a long history. It started in 1953 and is situated in the western part of town, farthest away from the city centre in the sample, in a working/middle-class area dominated by rental buildings. It is run by father and son, the former employed since the 1960s but nowadays one of the owners. At Västerport, the semiotic resources serving to attract the customer include a ‘cut-out’ image of a big semla made of medium-sturdy cardboard material which hangs to the left of the front door of the bakery (Figure 6).

Figure 6.

Västerport’s paper semla window representation (8 February 2023). © The author.

The way the semla hangs from the ceiling in mid-air may symbolize the light airy quality of what can be inferred to be the bakery’s semlas. The cut-out character of the image signals its importance and exclusivity as the pastry to enjoy at this time of the year. Over the close-up of the semla, the text, Feast on our freshly baked cream semlas is ‘attached’ for extra information and a pointer to the passers-by. Notably, this audience address is impersonally phrased and therefore has a more general target than the singular ‘you’ at Sveas and Princess. Along with the poster at Sveas, this one has no signs of being especially produced for Västerport, but is probably widely available among a selection of generic semla marketing resources used by Swedish bakeries. However, as if to immediately verify that they do offer more than cardboard-printed representations, Västerport showcases their actual fresh pastries immediately to the left of the advertising sign (Figure 7).

Figure 7.

Västerport showcasing the real thing in their main window (8 February 2023). © The author.

The two variants of the semla for which the bakery is renowned are on show (they have also been the winner of the local newspaper’s semla contest once): a classic (on the top shelf) and the mixed on the bottom shelf. This placement speaks of the undoubtful classic version as the premium and first choice, while also acknowledging ‘the other’ popular variant. On a black sign reminiscent of an old-style school writing board, the words FRESH SEMLAS are seemingly hand-written in fat but slightly irregular capital letters, lending it an informative simplicity, yet with a personal touch and address. Accompanying this rather self-evident information given the multiple pastries behind it, an image of a semla is drawn, and the price 39 (Swedish Krona) is displayed.

The personal style of writing and hand-drawn semla symbol work to mitigate the effect of the price, making the represented number appear highly reasonable and value-for-money, situated as the sign is, immediately below the luscious materiality of the displayed semlas. Thus, Västerport goes for simplicity in that they choose a no-nonsense approach to semla marketing by prominently displaying their product at eye-level for passers-by, confident in their material allure. Even though large blackboards with more or less stylish representations of their menus are regular ways of communicating food for restaurants irrelevant of status, Västerport’s small one seems there for informative purposes primarily rather than for flourish. By making the actual product the salient object while keeping other marketing strategies humble and rather discreet, Västerport communicates a direct, genuine and honest kind of sociable authenticity which displays a pride in the labour that goes into the production of the product. The semla sales alone enable them to stay closed during the summer months, the baker reveals. Again, it is difficult to place Västerport’s semla displays into either natural or traditional authenticity categories. They certainly push their local production and traditional selection, but also their freshness and natural ingredients.

Concluding discussion

This study has examined ‘advertising’ as acts of sociable, authentic performances that take place in bakery shop windows/entrances using various semiotic resources. At the same time, these types of advertisements are seemingly unrecognized as parts of each establishment’s marketing practices when asking the bakers themselves. I have argued that these performances have the aim of constructing ‘authentic experiences’ in relation to (potential) customers and passers-by through sociable means. Of course, the ultimate purpose with any advertising is functional, that is, to promote sales. The bakers’ apparent unawareness of their commercial efforts regarding the semla may have to do with the fact that they underrate the potentially (dominant) imprint that their shop designs might have on their socio-cultural surroundings (see Trinch and Snajdr, 2017), while simultaneously overrating the importance of their digital activities on Facebook.

The study showcases that the five bakeries produce different kinds of authenticity when it comes to forming sociable bonds with customers and passers-by with the use of semla displays. Jurafsky et al. (2016: 19) argue that authenticity is not a monolithic concept; variations of it are constructed if ‘in a coherent way for product differentiation’. However, when focusing on the social dimensions of authenticity the results here show more incoherence in the ways in which authenticity is constructed in relation to different target groups. I will summarize the various authenticity performances below.

The Jeremia bakery makes use of an unspoken or assumed authenticity with the creation of customer distance, (seeming) inaccessibility, a no-show product and an overall incognito identity. Instead, they rely on their privileged location and product quality reputation to work ‘silently’ in their commercial favour. Jeremia, I argue, is the bakery closest to achieving an elite authenticity, especially when considering how they present themselves online (even if not included in the analysis here) by pushing small-scale, local and ethical production values (see Mapes and Ross, 2020).

Sveas constructs more of a generic authenticity, signified by limited but well-placed advertising which attempts to create a loving customer relationship as well as underscoring local production. However, the poster as semiotic semla resource displays no unique Svea features but feels detached from the establishment’s actual semla products inside which offer the largest selection of semla variants in town. Notably, a few months after the ethnographic observations were made, this division of Sveas was closed, possibly reaffirming their lack of customer acceptance of their ‘authentic place’ and identity in the city centre.

Through their shewbread displays, Hälls emphasizes the historicity of the semla which has been identified as a marker for the promotion of products to lower socioeconomic classes (Freedman and Jurafsky, 2011). However, when considering the old-style traditional visual design and the privileged place and space of the bakery, the historicity performance rather creates a bourgeoise authenticity which appeals to different types of customers, something that can be witnessed every day when peering in to see who is sitting by the coffee tables (that is, people representing a variety of social groups).

Princess also displays shewbread semlas as historical artefacts in their main window but, on the prominent poster taped on the entrance door, the semla is represented as a cheeky sexy object which relates rather intimately to the customer. The unfashionable poster, the fingerprints on the glass and less than perfect poster material surface speaks of, and to, a customer who does not care about perfection but is drawn to the charm and quality of the small local bakery, and to a cheeky authenticity. Aspects of what Freedman and Jurafsky (2011) speak of as traditional authenticity directed at the working classes can be observed, if not, again, expressed in a consistent way, as they also display the finery of the shewbread which connotes to church, religion and the upper classes.

Finally, Västerport advertises their freshly made semlas with two versions of their own products at eye-level in the window. Other non-edible artefacts signalling the semla’s existence flank the real pastries in the periphery. However, the latter ones are the salient objects in the window and thus their main selling point. Thus, Västerport constructs an immediate connection with their customers or passers-by through the luscious-looking pastry itself, promoting values of accessibility, affordability, closeness and a no-nonsense approach. The bakery can be seen to create a realistic authenticity where the representations of the semla in the window are also what is sold, that is, what you see is what you get. As with other bakeries in this study, it is not immediately clear to which target groups the semlas are promoted. The elegance of the semlas’ design, their direct placement in the window, their local production yet affordable price, combine values from elite, natural and traditional authenticity in the bakery window, placed as it is in a largely working/middle-class neighbourhood.

Hence, for the bakeries in this study, authenticity is for the most part (expressed as) a broad church, harbouring oppositional values and seemingly incoherent ways of addressing customers in relation to such questions as power, eliteness and class. One explanation for these more subtly distinctive authenticity performances may be found in Swedish culture, which is far from classless, but it is probably fair to say that it is considerably less social class differentiated than, for instance, the US or the UK. This means that certain establishments and products may not be as prominently class imprinted as others when it comes to how they address customers. Such a culture may create a more blended range of authenticity expressions.

Of course, another explanation may be ideologically rooted. The semla is a money-maker on which small bakeries rely for their livelihood. Naturally, the bakeries want to appeal to as many customers as possible, irrelevant of social group, gender, ethnicity, or their placement in town, at the same time as they want, and need, to speak to their own demographics. Interestingly, when asked about the demographics of their customers, the bakers simultaneously singled out age as a significant factor. The over 40s and beyond are the ones with a particular love of the pastry. Bakers were more reluctant to elaborate on race and ethnicity. Only one baker said that ‘ethnic Swedes’ or ‘the average Swede’ constituted the most common customer. Others swiftly changed the subject. Questions regarding race, ethnicity and whiteness tend to be explosive topics in Sweden (Lundström and Hübinette, 2020) which may explain the bakers’ seeming resistance to expand on their customers in this respect. Nevertheless, I would argue that most lovers of semlas do not buy the pastry at a particular bakery to showcase any (social) group belonging (see Karrebaek, 2012), but they do so to satisfy their semla sweet-tooth. That is not to say that by doing so, one also reinforces, if unconsciously, one’s nationality in an everyday banal way and one’s identity as an (especially ethnic, white) Swede.

Finally, I would welcome more (multimodal) and/or linguistically oriented studies, from different geographical locations, which embrace authenticity as a sociable construction, as a complement to the ideological approaches which tend to organize results primarily in relation to fixed, social class/group categories. Such future research could further advance our thinking, and conceptualization, of authenticity in relation to food discourse.