Feeling Flush

“I’ve never been so clean.” This is an understatement on the part of my colleague Laura, who like me is standing wrapped in a cushy Kohler robe, dripping water onto the tiles outside our test rooms. I’ve already had three showers today, each with a different configuration of sprays and jets. I’ve dunked in two tubs and a whirlpool; one of those baths involved underwater vibrations and lights that tinted the water a glowing blue. In other words, we’re not just clean, we’re sparkling. But it’s no surprise considering we’re in Kohler, Wisconsin, the Midwestern paradise of plumbing and birthplace of the first modern bathtub, courtesy of John Michael Kohler, who in 1883 decided to enamel a cast-iron pig scalder. (Things have become more advanced since then, as evidenced by my favourite ablution of the day: the DTVII shower stall. This human car wash involves up to eight spray tiles, a chromatherapy panel, a steam function and a stereo that can beam Neil Young from your iPod.)

Kohler, it turns out, is not just a company but also a place that could be described as squeaky clean. Even the lawns are impeccably groomed in this village designed by the Olmsted brothers as one of America’s first planned communities. Most of my bathing was done at the company’s Distribution Center, normally reserved for interior designers who come to test various products. (I’d use the word brainwashing, but the washing is focused on the body.) Still, the company’s tour guides will gleefully take any willing visitor around the Kohler factory next door for an in-depth look at how sinks are made. Mostly retired employees, many of whom have worked for Kohler for 30-plus years, they give the strong impression that they do this for fun. There must be something in the water – or at least the faucets – around here.

Kohler, the town, along with Kohler, the manufacturer, takes the idea of the immersive brand experience to a literal level, turning a village built on plumbing into a vacation destination celebrating a kind of plumbing lifestyle, complete with a luxury hotel (the renovated former dormitory for factory workers), a spa, four premier golf courses, several surprisingly good restaurants and a faux-French chocolate shop called the Craverie where one of the younger Kohlers asked the chocolatiers to create a perfect version of the Turtle.

In more flush times, this is a popular spot for renovation vacationers: Homeowners can visit the elaborate Design Center to scope ideas for their own homes in an Ikea-like setup, only the mock bathrooms are designed by marquee names like Brian Gluckstein and Clodagh. Less-interested spouses can abscond to play Whistling Straits, a PGA Championship venue where Tiger Woods has his own locker. (Warning: The links-style Straits course, set along the shores of Lake Michigan, has bunkers so deep, there are stairs provided to get in and out.) The Blackwolf Run courses, which are like the bunny slope in comparison, have a selection of Scotch in the clubhouse to dull the ache of what-should-we-do-with-the-bathroom debates. Meals in Blackwolf’s dining room can end with a “mini campfire” for the kids complete with graham crackers, chocolate and homemade marshmallows for toasting over a little Sterno-fired cauldron. Having lived through a renovation myself and encountered the blank-eyed stare of a partner faced with choosing a shower door, this sounds like a formula for marital bliss.

Photo: courtesy of Kohler Co.

Sometimes, though, it’s all a bit too much. After my massage in the Kohler Waters Spa, where I am expertly kneaded by a therapist on a heated table until I fall asleep, I am wakened by the sound of chimes not unlike the faint ring of a piece of copper piping. When I nip behind our Kohler-built hotel, the Inn on Woodlake, to have a look at the putting green, I am surrounded by cute bunnies instead of the more pedestrian squirrels (a form of wildlife perhaps deemed too unclean). And in some of the buildings, the bathrooms have curator-type cards by the fixtures with the name of the model, as though they were works of art, just in case you wanted to buy one when you got home.

It was admittedly quiet at the Design Center on the rainy afternoon I was there, what with the current economy perhaps obviating the need for a chromatherapy tub. But this is also a place where even the lowly toilet gets its own monumental treatment, with models stacked high on a wall and displayed in every colour imaginable, like a bunch of mass-produced Duchamps. And heck, at the very least, everyone needs a toilet. You may as well be golfing or getting a facial while you think about which one you want.

Check out more Branded Vacations: Volkswagen’s automotive playground and Viking’s branded cooking school.

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