Everybody knows what the conservative brand stands for, because the conservative leadership has spent four decades nurturing a consistent brand identity for themselves. Back in the early '70s, the fathers of the modern right wing distilled down to its essence what it means to be their kind of American. And, being businessmen, they did what business has done for the past century. They hired a cadre of advertising, p.r., and marketing experts who knew how to manufacture a brand, build it up in the public imagination, create loyalty, extend its value, and guard it like the family jewels. Corporations know that a trusted, well-established brand is priceless, because it sets up a loyalty bond with consumers that ensures the customers will keep coming back for more of anything sold under that name.

Over time, the movement's leadership turned conservatism into a full-on lifestyle brand, the kind tribal affiliation around which people shape their entire identities−like being a Harley owner, or a lifelong Apple dweeb.* Republicans have been willing to invest tens of millions of dollars a year, year after year, to create an identity that's consistent and clear−just like the corporate identities of Coke or Ford or McDonald's are consistent and clear. Having made that investment, they respect it. They don't mess with the formula unless they're convinced the change will make the brand even better. They understand that the brand itself has an inherent value that outstrips anybody's personal ambitions, and must never be compromised. They don't tolerate people who deviate from the brand far enough to threaten it.

Making brand maintenance such a central priority explains why almost every communication coming out of the right wing explicitly reinforces the same deep values. If they're talking about education, they'll always tie it back to protecting traditional families. If it involves money, we're always reminded that conservatives are all about small government and low taxes. And so on. The narrative is so uniform because every conservative who's headed for any job over the level of small-city mayor gets extensive training in how to communicate those core values−along with plenty of inducements stay on message.

The most obvious of those inducements, of course, is access to deep-pocketed right-wing donors. But there's another perk that's at least as powerful. Candidates who toe the party line are awarded what's effectively a local franchise on that powerful national brand. Being the Official Conservative Candidate allows you to bask in its reflected glow−which, in turn, gives you all kinds of automatic credibility with the voters. Even if people don't know your name and are unfamiliar with your record, they're strongly inclined to trust you because you represent a brand they're deeply invested in. You don't have to waste valuable time or energy explaining your policies or values (which are already understood), hiring brilliant and expensive strategists (because the voters are already on board), or even selling yourself very hard to the electorate (because they already trust the brand you're affiliated with: they'd even vote for Bonzo, as long he was a conservative). With all that elaborate cognitive infrastructure already in place, running your campaign is as simple as standing up and repeating the familiar conservative tropes, knowing that your voters are already emotionally hard-wired to respond.