Why is the definition of ‘brand’ so nuanced, so emotive, and let’s be honest — inconsistent and chaotic?
Brand is the creative discipline that lives between design and commerce. Half art, half business. It can sketch an idea with one hand while measuring market share with the other.
And this tension attracts a mix of guardians: CEOs, entrepreneurs, strategists, designers, advertising execs, marketing directors. All convinced they know best.
They might have a hot debate, but ultimately they want the same outcome:
“Brand. Go out there and make us billions.”
The problem, and perhaps the charm, is that there’s no singular manual or definition. In law, the statute book tells us what’s what. In engineering, the maths either works or it doesn’t. In brand, there’s no referee and no rulebook. Ask an engineer to define a bridge and you’ll get one neat answer. Ask people to define brand and you’ll often get a pause, a TED Talk, or a bloated Venn diagram on LinkedIn.
Everyone’s got their own gospel. One swears by archetypes. One will die on the hill of Net Promoter Scores. Another calls it pure science. And they’re all right, in their own way — because as a brand evolves, it’s often fluid, with no hard edges.
Here’s where it gets more interesting: the moment you launch and your brand goes public, you start to lose control. You can hire the best designers, perfect your mission statement, and launch a stunning campaign, but once it’s out there, people graft their own meaning onto it. To one person, it’s warm and familiar. To another, it’s as irritating as a nettle sting. To someone else, it stirs up old emotions and associations you never planned for.
All of them are right.
Because here’s the thing: your brand doesn’t live in your guidelines. It lives in people’s heads. And in there, it’s rarely filed neatly under Logo, Tone of Voice, or Colour Palette. It’s a mess of experiences, memories, and impressions.
Brand is:
- the day they laughed at your tweet, set against the day your website crashed.
- the thank-you note from a delighted customer, next to the email that says your service stinks.
- felt in emotional ergonomics. The comforting sound of that car door closing
Every touchpoint and brand experience adds to the picture. Some add strength, some weaken it. Over time, the balance compounds, until people will cross town to buy from you, even when you’re more expensive.
The problem? Impatience.
Too many brand managers pull up the roots to check if the tree is growing. Some marketing directors rebrand every time the wind changes. CEOs can chase trends and meddle with the established formula.
This kind of brand guardianship smacks of short-termism, ego, and panic.
It disconnects the very people you’re trying to win over.
Brand is a dance between intention and perception. You lead, they follow — sometimes smoothly, sometimes not. Lead with clarity and conviction, and they’ll stay with you even when the rhythm shifts.
You’ll never have full control, and you shouldn’t want it. The magic happens in co-authorship: half you, half them. That friction and disagreement isn’t a flaw — it’s the point.
If every brand professional agreed, the work would be tidy, efficient, but dead (dead!) boring.
The discussions, the late-night arguments, the heated posts on LinkedIn — that’s the oxygen.
Brand guardians need to keep building the theatre of perception.
Keep the performance alive long enough, and people forget where your act ends and they begin.
(next up: the difference between brand and branding).
