Whichever way you cut it, mix it or remaster it, the Eurovision Song Contest is a deeply weird thing. Not weird in the sense of outlandish outfits, incomprehensible lyrics or fever-dream choreography (although that’s all there if you want it). Nor weird in the sense that a 69-year-old pan-European singing competition has become one of the few remaining water cooler events that pull people outside of their own bubbles and into a shared frame of reference.. But weird on a more fundamental level. An event, and a brand, that is unbelievably hard to pin down. On the one hand, it’s the Euros for people who don’t like football – big, bombastic, slick, chock-full of mini flag icons and low-level national biases. And on the other, it’s this gloriously bizarre exercise in high camp, a joyful gathering of relatively unknown musical acts in such a way that makes the music almost an afterthought. Basically, an excuse for one big, mad, everyone’s-welcome party. In an era where every European country has long-established talent shows; when the music industry is dominated by a handful of transnational mega-stars; when even the notion of “Europe” is itself under strain, it’s hard to understand quite why it still exists. Never mind that it reaches a global audience of 163 million. Its genius lies in how seriously it takes itself. And perhaps it offers a little insight into a much overlooked aspect of brand identity – self-perception. Make no mistake, Eurovision is a serious brand. From visual identity to marketing to international television rights to the experience itself, it’s very aware of the power it wields. It’s the world’s biggest live music event for a reason. But crucially, Eurovision is a brand that feels in on the game it’s playing. It comes brilliantly close to acknowledging how preposterous the whole thing is. Whether that’s including Australia, for the simple fact that it’s really popular 9,000 miles from Europe, or whether it’s the brooding figure of executive supervisor Martin Österdahl, smouldering and saying nothing as he helps count votes. Even the presenters (both on-stage and on our screens) feel in on the joke. Always seemingly one step away from breaking out into an unrecoverable fit of giggles. “Crucially, Eurovision is a brand that feels in on the game it’s playing.” This is exceptional, serious branding. It’s branding that creates just enough space to offer a wry wink at its audience. To say, “We get it. In the grand scheme of things, none of this truly matters, but you might as well enjoy it.” It’s a glint of mischief that simultaneously acknowledges that it’s a confection being broadcast to an audience of consumers, while drawing that same audience sincerely closer, warmer to the brand than before.Eurovision might be an extreme example, but great brands are masters at the glint of mischief. IKEA famously talks about their “twinkle in the eye” – a little dose of irreverence that manages to make the proposition of affordable, self-assembly furniture and aspirational style hold together against the odds. As a consumer, you can’t help but like them, even when the category conventions are pushing you to think the opposite. Method have harnessed the glint through packaging design. Just no-frills and minimalist enough to winkingly call bullshit on the garish, overhyped claims of the cleaning products category; never quite no-frills or minimalist enough to become either a self-parody or budget bleach. Even Ryanair, with its unrepentant take on budget customer service, employs the glint of mischief to make people dislike them that little bit less. How a brand views itself translates to how others view it. And if you view yourself with genuine self-awareness – you understand, however implicitly, that you are a brand, built to sell help sell things, and not a pioneering force for positive change, a cultural disruptor, or an essential part of a lifestyle identity – you can connect with an audience who themselves know, deep down, they are being sold to. A glint of mischief, a twinkle in the eye, a little touch of human self-awareness in a world of extreme creative and strategic self-seriousness. Eurovision gets this better than anyone – perhaps the most serious practitioners in the art of unseriousness out there. For a continent that feels deathly serious most of the time – economically, politically, socially – it might just offer a little dose of genuine mischief we can all relate to. Josh Dickins is head of consulting at Modern Citizens, a modular agency built to solve modern brand problems.