Department stores all over the world sell a huge variety of goods, trampolines, hamsters and corsets, but these are generally sold under a variety of manufacturers' brands. Yet as no one in the UK seems to question why one brand sells chicken curry, hand towels and brassieres, no one questions the quality either. Quite an achievement if you consider market confusion if Vodafone or Volkswagen started to sell running shoes, lipstick and lawnmowers overnight. This could have something to do with the fact that M&S has been doing this for 120 years. The brand symbolizes quality and is as much of a British icon as the Royal Mail, scones with clotted cream, and polo matches.

M&S is a superstar of brand stretch. It was stretching its brand across most of the essentials of everyday life long before Virgin's Richard Branson ever heard a tubular bell or used a mobile phone, and in a low-key, unassuming and traditional sort of way, M&S gets away with it.

Like other British institutions such as chicken tikka masala, the Mini, and the English language itself, M&S was developed by immigrants. It was in 1884 that Michael Marks, a Russian-born Polish refugee, opened his first stall at a market in Leeds. Around ten years later he moved the trestle-table empire to Manchester where he went into partnership with Tom Spencer, a former cashier. Over the next ten years they built an operation that would grow to become the most British of institutions.

In fact, M&S is nothing if not unapologetically British. Its stately head offices were on Baker Street, the home of a famous detective and the address of the Beatles' disastrous attempt to run a small shop. Until recent years, moreover, M&S sold only British-made goods, didn't accept credit cards and stayed stubbornly closed on Sundays.

Yes, it was a brand that stoically and proudly reflected a quintessentially British image of Britain—nice manners, gray Sunday afternoons and every gentleman wearing a hat. Unfortunately, it was the Britain of 1956. Britain in the 21st century had changed—it was a place where people ate pizza, sat on flat-packed furniture and purchased things on Sunday afternoons.

The bedrock of British tradition had shifted under the brand's feet and it had to change—fast. The disparity was reflected in the company's bottom line—in the late nineties, M&S was racking up a billion pounds of profit a year but in 2001 the company recorded a mere £145 million profit (US$ 275M).

M&S had been forced to undergo a makeover. Despite waning profits, a number of takeover bids by British retail wunderkind Philip Green perked the old girl up. In 2004, Stuart Rose was appointed chief executive and charged with overseeing a major refocus for the brand, increased innovation, and better quality in fashion and food. So far, the strategy is paying off—the share price has shot to 623p (as of September 20, 2006), up from 319p in June 2005 ($12.00 to $6.00).

The M&S vision of the world seems a peculiarly British one, and this shows in its history of international expansion. The brand's retail concept has enjoyed successes in Ireland, Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and other parts of Asia including Hong Kong, but several other locations haven't caught on to the concept. Its stores in the US as well as Canada failed, mainly due to the pricing of its products and its image of being a bit stodgy and old fashioned. In France, the combination of cultural differences and French labor laws forced the closing of all stores there.

Despite its recent financial problems and its slightly confused brand image, M&S shows what can be done with tradition in the development of brand equity. Standing for values that have a place in society beyond the product can have important cultural ties for consumers. M&S stands for Britain as much as it does for retailing, and that's a symbol that British consumers aren't keen to give up in a hurry.

Jackson Mahr is a director of Kodimedia, a London-based design and brand consultancy.