Can a Pair of Latin Artists Help 222-Year-Old Cuervo Look a Little Younger?

Shaving a few decades off an 18th-century tequila

Ricardo Cavolo designed the limited-edition bottles, and Carlos Campos designed the clothes.
Courtesy of Cuervo

On a rainy night last week, the Kola House, a trendy cocktail lounge in New York’s Meatpacking District, was full of two things: hipsters and bottles of Cuervo.

The hipsters are usually there anyway. As for the well known tequila brand, the bottles weren’t just sitting behind the bar, they were all over the place—to be precise, they were inside of glass-box pedestals strategically placed around the floor, each dramatically lit from beneath as though the bottles on display were artwork.

Which was, actually, the point of the evening. To celebrate its 222nd year of distilling, Cuervo was unveiling a limited-edition collection of tequila bottles (exactly 222 of them) designed by Spanish-born artist Ricardo Cavolo. Looming in the back of the club was another limited-edition collection, this one of clothing designed by Honduran fashion phenom Carlos Campos, which takes its design cues from Cavolo’s bottle designs.

The limited-edition bottles, themed after love, music, the woman and the devil, go for $26 each
Courtesy of Cuervo

The practice of brands teaming up with artists is in vogue these days. Last year, luxe brand Bally issued a capsule collection with Swedish graffiti artist André Saraiva (also known simply as Mr. A ). Prestige watch brand Audemars Piguet hired Chinese artist Sun Xun to build an installation piece called “Reconstruction of the Universe” for Art|Basel in Miami last December. In fact, depending on a brand’s needs, “artist” doesn’t even have to mean a bohemian with a paintbrush. In 2016, New York street-wear brand Supreme put out a line of hoodies and waffle thermals in collaboration with 1980s thrash-metal band Slayer.

The difference in Cuervo’s case is that it’s not a coveted luxury brand, a prestige wristwatch or a funky urban clothing company—it’s a brand of booze that’s been around since America had only 15 states. And while none of today’s tequila drinkers have been around that long, those with fond memories of drinking Cuervo are more likely to be boomers than millennials. After all, Jose Cuervo’s big moment in popular culture was a mention in the Steely Dan song “Hey Nineteen” (“The Cuervo Gold / The fine Colombian / Make tonight a wonderful thing”)—and that was 1980.

Artist Ricardo Cavolo
Courtesy of Cuervo

While spirits watchers will tell you that tequila is in its ascendancy again, it’s newcomer bottles like KAH and Patrón that are getting much of the buzz. Older brands such as Cuervo, said veteran brand consultant Allen Adamson, “are under enormous pressure as consumers gravitate toward craft brands they discover on their own. The challenge if you’re a big brand is how do you connect and become relevant again with younger consumers.”

Fashion designer Carlos Campos
Coutesy of Cuervo

One way, clearly, is hooking up with two undeniably cool artists—in this case, ones who also have a Latin pedigree. “People connect with the Mexican spirit [in my work],” said the 34-year-old Cavolo, who’s known for his uproarious and colorful murals on the walls of Madrid, Barcelona and other cities around the world. Cuervo, he said, believed his gritty, tattoo-inspired style would be a good fit for the themes it wished to convey. So, when it called, he said, “of course I said yes.”

Cavolo’s brief was to riff on the four pillars of Cuervo’s brand heritage: the heart (which symbolizes Cuervo’s 1795 warrant from the King of Spain to produce tequila); the lady (Ana González-Rubio de la Torre, who ran the company in the years following the Mexican Revolution); music (which drinking Cuervo has inspired plenty of); and the devil (a reference to “devil’s water,” which was the name Americans coined for tequila after it crossed the border in 1873). Cavolo expanded on each theme (one per bottle) with a profusion of colors, symbols and mystical figures. He’s especially fond of eyes—sometimes placed on inanimate objects—rendered with eerie, penetrating stares. “When I want to speak about a country,” he said (Mexico, in this case), “I don’t paint a landscape. I paint a person speaking for the country. I know how to take the abstract idea and blend it with the character.”