Even in Wal-Mart world, local identity runs deep

WASHINGTON -- The announcement last week of Procter & Gamble's agreement to take over Gillette provoked a rush of disappointment in Boston over the loss of another emblem of local identity. But it also highlighted one of the most intriguing paradoxes of recent decades: At a time when ''signature" companies in almost every part of the country are merging into nationwide conglomerates, regional identity only grows stronger.

The names and logos on Main Streets everywhere -- or, more likely, suburban access roads everywhere -- look the same, but people see differences nonetheless. Thus, while one set of academics studies the homogenization of American culture, another explores the depths of divisions between ''red states," ''blue states," and those in between.

The reality seems to be that even if everyone buys nine-packs of toilet paper at Wal-Mart, gets fancy clothes at a department store owned by the May Co., and saves money in Bank of America, they still live quite different lives in different parts of the country.

In fact, the same increase in mobility that makes the United States seem smaller and leads to a blending of consumer brands may also be helping to create sharper differences between areas of the country. Since everybody can move around easily and live where they choose, and companies can locate plants wherever they feel is most suitable, each community assumes its own distinct character and appeal. The lines between places are more distinct.

A century ago, Gillette came to be based in Massachusetts not because it was easier to make razor blades in South Boston, but because traveling salesman King Gillette joined forces with an MIT graduate named William Nickerson to come up with a process for manufacturing the safety razor. Local investors embraced the product, the labor market adjusted to meet the needs of the big employer, and Gillette settled in for a long, profitable run. But if the company were being invented again today, chances are great that it would be in a part of the country where labor is cheaper and taxes are lower.

Of course, labor costs and taxes are not the only determinants of where to locate businesses. Industries that rely on educated employees often gravitate toward higher-cost states, which tend to have more highly skilled workers. That is why biotechnology is booming in Boston, and razor manufacturing is just holding on.

The industries that choose to locate in a particular place are rooted more organically than their predecessors: They feed off what is there and grow bigger and stronger. The mere act of choosing between cities and states serves to sharpen definitions of places, and the choices then serve to reinforce those definitions.

Regional scientist Richard Florida's 2002 book ''The Rise of the Creative Class" emphasized that the highest-paying jobs migrate to places with the best combination of talent and quality of life, including a culture of tolerance and acceptance. Vanity Fair columnist James Wolcott recently suggested that Massachusetts' granting of gay marriages might be an economic asset, since high-salary jobs migrate to places that are most amenable to a range of lifestyles. Under that scenario, the workers who come to Massachusetts would only reinforce the existing definition, making Massachusetts even more liberal and tolerant; the same pattern might occur in reverse in some other cities and states.

Meanwhile, workers in most industries can make their own choices about where to live; a high-tech engineer might choose between playing Frisbee in Palo Alto, Calif., horseback riding in Austin, Texas, and ice skating on Boston Common. Typically, they engage in a rigorous matching of their own interests and characteristics and what each city offers. When they finally decide, they are likely to feel a deep connection to the place they have chosen.

Fifty years ago, people in the Boston area might have spent their vacations on Cape Cod because it was the closest beach resort, in the same way that Washingtonians headed to Ocean City, Md., and tobacco executives in Raleigh decamped for the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Now, people come to Boston especially because they want to spend summers on Cape Cod -- not any beach resort, but the one they felt especially fit their dream of a getaway.

Thus, Jordan Marsh can become Macy's, John Hancock can become part of Manulife, and the Globe can become part of The New York Times Co. without any danger of Massachusetts residents getting lost in the national and even international sprawl.

Yesterday's markers of local identity were actually quite superficial: Hamburger was hamburger whether it was sold at a supermarket called Piggly Wiggly, Giant Foods, or Star. Workers making razors were doing the same thing whether their checks were signed by Gillette or Norelco.

Today's largely invisible markers of identity -- forged out of thousands of individual choices about lifestyle, community values, and sense of place -- are much more firmly held, with grips so strong that they make yesterday's attachments seem merely quaint and sentimental.

Peter S. Canellos is the Globe's Washington bureau chief. National Perspective is his weekly analysis of events in the capital and beyond.