From a mojito in Havana to Made in Italy in the age of artificial intelligence.
For a mojito, I would cross the street. At most.
Sonny Crockett crosses the sea.
In Miami Vice, Michael Mann’s 2006 film, there is a scene that has stayed with me. Crockett, played by Colin Farrell, asks Isabella, played by Gong Li, where she would like to go. She asks him what he likes to drink.
Mojitos.
Isabella knows a place that makes the best ones: La Bodeguita del Medio.
Crockett assumes she means the Florida Keys. A reasonable destination, considering they are already in Miami.
Isabella has other ideas.
Havana.
Before long, they are on a speedboat racing across the sea at a ridiculous speed, with a soundtrack that turns a rather questionable crossing into one of cinema’s most seductive journeys.
All for a cocktail.
Of course, it is not really about the cocktail. You can find rum, lime, sugar, and mint in Florida, too. There is no need to challenge geography, diplomacy, and a few border regulations to mix them in a glass.
It is something else.
How far are you willing to go to reach what you consider the authentic source of something?
How far?
The scene takes a question to cinematic extremes that, when you think about it, concerns a surprisingly important part of the economy.
The value of an address
A mojito at La Bodeguita is not necessarily worth more than another because it contains better ingredients.
It has a different kind of value because it is associated with a place, a history, a tradition. For Crockett and Isabella, getting there is part of the experience.
The point is not that La Bodeguita is necessarily where the mojito was invented. It is that the place represents a promise.
And promises, when they convince us, have economic value.
Made in Italy draws on this, too.
We do not just buy objects, food, or services. We buy skills, places, production traditions, and reputations built over time. And sometimes we simply buy the image we have formed of all those things.
The difference is less innocent than it seems.
What is the word “Italy” worth?
In 2021, a study published in Frontiers in Psychology analyzed how Italian origin and Italian Sounding influence the way people evaluate food products.
In the U.S. portion of the study, 237 consumers evaluated different packages of pasta.
The results on stated willingness to pay were interesting.
For a generic package, about $1.50.
For an Italian Sounding package, about $1.65.
For a Made in Italy package, about $2.
In other words, about 30% more than for the generic product.
A word of caution: these were evaluations collected in 2016, not actual purchases. They do not show that any Italian product can command a 30% premium. Nor that simply stating its origin is enough to obtain one.
But they suggest something important.
Perceived Italianness can help generate value. And some of that value comes through the product’s reputation.
The problem is that Italian Sounding can benefit from it, too.
An Italian name, evocative packaging, a familiar image. All can suggest a connection to Italy, even when the nature of that connection remains unclear.
Not every cultural reference is counterfeiting. And not every Italian-inspired product claims to have been manufactured in Italy.
But if Italianness creates value, it becomes important to distinguish what is being evoked from what can be documented.
When the story meets a machine
Until now, a substantial part of marketing has worked by building associations.
A Tuscan landscape. A family around a table. An artisan’s workshop. A few Italian words, preferably delivered with a convincing accent.
Nothing necessarily wrong with that. Stories help communicate value.
The trouble begins when the story becomes more precise than the available facts.
And today, a new intermediary may make that gap even more interesting: artificial intelligence.
Imagine an American consumer asking a digital assistant to find an extra virgin olive oil produced in Italy, compare a few olive mills, and explain what information supports the stated origin.
They are no longer simply looking for a brand that reminds them of Italy.
They are asking to connect a promise to verifiable information.
Of course, the assistant can get things wrong. It can confuse sources, repeat unsupported claims, or draw conclusions the documents do not support.
And it cannot replace a supply chain inspection.
But it can search and compare publicly available information, if that information exists and is understandable.
This is where the question changes.
It is not enough for a business to have an authentic story. We also need to understand whether that story can be pieced together accurately by someone who does not already know the business.
Human or machine.
The possible dividend of verifiability
Imagine two equally reputable producers, both with a real connection to Italy.
The first tells a generic story of family tradition and shows beautiful photographs of rolling hills.
The second tells the same story, but also makes clear where it designs, where it produces, where its raw materials come from, and which documents support its claims.
We have not demonstrated that the second will sell more.
And it would be rather naive to think an algorithm automatically rewards those who have their paperwork in order.
But the second has made something possible that the first has not yet done: distinguishing the narrative from its factual basis.
This could become a form of competitive advantage.
Not a new universal certification. Not a seal invented to reassure a chatbot.
Rather, the ability to make existing value accessible and understandable.
With one essential precaution: what is not publicly documented is not necessarily false. And what is documented does not automatically become true simply because an AI system can read it.
Verifiability is not a substitute for reality.
It is a way to let others examine it.
Back to Havana
There is one last detail about the Miami Vice scene that I find irresistible.
To recreate Havana, Michael Mann also filmed in Uruguay.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with that. Cinema has to convince us we are somewhere, not prove that the crew was actually there.
But it is a small reminder of how powerful a well-crafted representation can be.
We can recognize a place without ever having visited it. We can associate a story with a product without knowing exactly where it comes from.
And we can pay for that story.
The question, then, is not whether storytelling has value. It always has, and probably always will.
The question is what happens when the person making a choice starts asking for evidence, too.
Perhaps the real leap is not about taking every American consumer to visit Italian producers.
It is about making the reverse journey possible: bringing them not just the promise of authenticity, but also the information they need to assess it.
Sonny Crockett needed a speedboat.
In our case, perhaps we could start with the facts.