He starts his pitch with well seasoned ease and the verbal agility of his silver platted tongue, “Hellooo. You can call me Brando, Marlon Brando. I couldn’t help but notice you’re all alone in this ‘marketplace’. You’ve got a real niche here baby and I can help you to capitalize on those assets of yours; I mean, you’re spilling over with brand equity”.

It’s too late now, the iceberg has struck, the Titanic is sinking, the lifeboats are long gone. Don’t bother to speak, he’s got you in his sights, you’re in it for the long haul. Mr. Brando takes a seat, making sure to flash the expensive Rolodex on his arm, showing you he has worked with the biggest and the best. He’s good, real good.

“As I was saying baby, I picked up on you. You know why? Cause I can see that you’ve got potential, but it takes a guy like me to help you explore your brand definition. I can really help with your brand recognition, I know all the right brand positions”.

It’s no secret that our good friend Brando is smooth as silk, but don’t let him get near your drink; you might wake up in the morning regretting your new found brand identity and he’ll be long gone, off to his next ‘client’.

Is branding a dirty word? It shouldn’t be. But beware the Marlon Brandos of the world. Industry jargon, vernacular, slang and ’shop speak’ aren’t necessarily bad things. A good mechanic might throw around some terms you don’t understand, they have to speak a little Latin to you. But a good mechanic, like a good branding firm, will also translate for you; show you the parts that need to be fixed, define why they don’t work anymore and explain how the new ones will get the job done.

Branding Companies – Its Services

Branding Companies – Should You Hire One?

To see where it all began, see Magnifying Connections: creating an installation, episode 1!

UPDATE: Here’s another video for all of you! Me, drilling holes in styrofoam balls!

from Patrick Davis Partners, the six priorities for the post-agency market:

1. Find your voice.
2. Engage with the semantic marketplace.
3. Return to humanist marketing.
4. Live the renaissance.
5. Champion social agenda marketing.
6. Build brand integrity.

And if I were to add a seventh priority, it would be to simply cultivate each of the previous six.  Finding, engaging, returning, living, championing, and building are wonderful starting points, ideas to help shift a brand in the right direction, but without cultivation, care, attention, and sustainability ideas can and will die.  So, hold true to the future of a more honest, more conscious, more open environment for us all.  Cultivate that ideal.  We can make it prosper.

I remember, very clearly, my reaction of defiance when three of my favorite co-workers and friends suggested that I should pick up the Twilight book series. The thought of becoming engrossed in a high school vampire saga sounded simply ridiculous. I made my opinions known, and still, somehow, ended up with my friend Matt’s copy in hand. It was after reading the first few pages that I remembered having picked up a copy a few months earlier, on a trip home to New York. I recall the massive Barnes & Noble windows at Union Square where I sat, drenched in sunlight and not entirely captivated by a rather slow introduction to the book. I believe I initially only read about half of the first chapter, and decidedly did not leave the store with a copy to accompany me home. Twilight was not love at first read for me, but sometimes, life has a way of bringing things back full circle. This would not be the first time I had become deeply engrossed in the adventures of young adults and the supernatural.

I must admit, I faced little trepidation in religiously buying multiple copies of Harry Potter for my brother, sister and anyone else who needed a good read. I was not alone wrapped up in wizardly rapture. The books have sold more than 400 million copies and have been translated into 67 languages. To date J.K Rowling is the only billionaire author and there are rumors that she may be richer than Queen Elizabeth II. The books J.K. Rowling’s publisher wanted to market toward 9-11 year olds, became the modern dark fairytales, firmly gripped in the hands of parents, teenagers, children, professors, doctors, lawyers, and Wall Street analysts alike. The books are all being made into Movies, video games and Universal and Warner Bros. have teamed up to launch a Harry Potter theme park in Orlando Florida in 2009.

Stephanie Meyers, a 34 year old, mother of three, and author of the Twilight series credits J. K Rowling with having paved the way of young adult books reaching pages numbers well into the five hundreds. These thick books read like flowing water, and pass between the hands of all ages.

I devour books. I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in one day, only stopping to occasionally nibble on something, and hydrate. Tears and all, I called New York in the early morning hours to discuss the outcome with my siblings. We had each grown attached to the characters, and the lure associated with great works of writing, capable of maneuvering the feat of speeding up and slowing down the human heart with mere words.

I began reading Twilight on a Monday afternoon, and finished reading Braking Dawn, the last, and in my opinion, the best of the four books in the series, a week later. Filter in work, internship and school, and it may just spell devotion. I was fortunate enough to come down with a throat infection toward the end of my workweek, and in between not being able to eat solid foods for two days, and doping up on antibiotics, I spent a whole Saturday in bed, reading as if my life depended on it.

At work, I snuck in pages every chance I had to be in the office. On the bus, and even walking down the street, if there was enough light still left, my feet moved but my eyes remained glued to the pages. I read during my class breaks. I called my brother to tell him of this addiction that had taken hold of me, and he informed me that I was acting like a thirteen-year-old girl. I didn’t feel the need to defend myself, he may very well be right. I had been wrapped up in these books, in a manner similar to housewives being enslaved by soap operas.

I can’t call the Twilight series a great literary read, but I can tell you that they are engrossing. By the time I had finished the first book and made my way into Borders on my lunch break to acquire the other three books, the first one was already sold out. Everywhere I turn, someone is either reading the books, or trying to figure out exactly why everyone else is reading them. While the idea for the books surfaced in a dream for Meyers, the ease with which the reader is able to attach themselves to the characters is not surreal. Everything inside you, is found willing a happily-ever-after ending with each turn of the page.

To some, the Twilight books are simply horror plots rewritten by Meyers as a love story. Yes, vampires are monstrous and sensual legends found surfacing and resurfacing in many cultures throughout time. The vampire genre has built classical characters like Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Anne Rice’s legacy of beautiful immortals. What could seventeen-year-olds add to this already rich tableau? Bella and Edward, the main characters in Twilight, remind us all, young and old, what love feels like. Love in its blinding brilliance, the act of being drawn to someone across space and time, the millions of scattered pieces of what remains of us when love leaves, and the unequaled magnitude in knowing that nothing in this life or beyond, will ever compare.

Meyers’ golden-eyed, supernaturally gifted vampires choose not to take human life, and choice becomes a central theme throughout the books. It is the ability to recognize and reject the enslavement to our natures, to become better than what we imagined we could be, that these books seem to ask of us. This aspect made more sense to me after I read a little about Stephanie Meyers.

In over 2000 pages, Meyers never leads her readers into a full sex scene. Yes, I realize this is a young adult novel but my one frustration with the book lies in its lack of a descriptive sexual encounter. Even a chapter, only to released on line for those select few (perhaps not so few actually, after conferring with friends who all agree) who would like to know the details would fulfill the need to know. There is a great deal of emphasis placed on the erotics of abstinence, and resisting temptation. Here is where Stephanie Meyers’ life begins to illuminate the motives of her characters. Meyers is a Mormon, never drinks, not even coffee, and has never seen an R-rated movie.

I must admit, at times, the main characters fall into the distinctly stereotypical displays of the overprotective male, and a histrionic female. Still, we the masses of readers, bear with them through the sighs, fainting and dizzy spells, and continuous self sacrificing, because while it may makes us feel a little queasy a times, we yearn for something as all encompassing and consuming as this type of love. Genetically we respond to passion, even when reason might make us think twice.

Just so that there are no misunderstandings regarding my current devotion, I have bought seven tickets to watch the Twilight movie Saturday night. One ticket is mine, and the other six are for my own personal army of friends equally enamored with the books. I imagine that we are not the only ones making this into an event.

Around 3pm this afternoon, a friend of mine text me that her boyfriend could not make it to the screening of Twilight tonight. I quickly type back an affirmative response and spend the rest of the day in anticipation. A minute ago, my brother in New York, text to tell me that he’s being “a major looser” because he is going to see Twilight tonight. What a surprise, so is his sister.

At the moment, I am part of the Twilight fad, and only time will tell if Twilight becomes part of world libraries, or a faded monument of 2008. If it becomes a trend, expect it to follow in the footsteps of Harry Potter, billions and all.

The customizable, personalized iGoogle pages have had themes for a while now, so extending Google’s already masterful grasp on theming to Gmail appears to be nothing short of a logical progression.  And, as all things Google usually are, Gmail themes are really, really great!  But that’s not what is most interesting about this fresh Gmail experience.

Google has, arguably, one of the strongest brands worldwide.  Its name and colorfully lettered logo both conjure connotations of reliability, ease, and a quirky fun.  Google, although treating their products and solutions very seriously, has never taken itself too seriously.  It’s evident during every holiday or special occasion worldwide when Google alters their logo slightly to express the occassion visually.

There’s no rigidity with Google’s brand, even though there is a strength and it is consistently one of the most recognizalble.  Google’s brand, instead of demanding a rigid look and feel, relies moreso on its personality.  That personality, that emotional connection, the confidence in their brand are major reasons why they have such a strong presence and outstanding level of success.

And the fun-loving Google continues to extend that confidence with the release of Gmail themes, where a handful of the themes created haven’t just added to the Gmail logo, but have completely changed it entirely.  In what some may consider a risky branding move (losing a certain amount of brand identity), Google sees as a further extension of their core brand personality.  It’s this levity, this laid back confidence that empowers Google’s brand personality.  Simply put — Google is fun, Gmail is fun.. so have some fun with a fresh Gmail experience.

In its third year, the Junk to Funk fashion show has found a home in Portland. This is by no means a Hollywood, diamond encrusted, red carpet event. It is not a part of fashion week in New York. The designers showcased do not reside in the lap of exclusive fashion houses in Italy. Each piece is a one of a kind homage to recycled materials. Yes, the designers invoke a Galliano and McQueen call to arms for silhouettes, busty ball gowns, and couture feel, minus the lace, silk, chiffon, and taffeta. In their place, you will find bubble wrap, magazine and newspaper pages, bottle caps, old sheets, tires, wire hangers, video tape, balloons, feathers, old couch material, human hair, sticks, tents and a cornucopia of bags.

The pieces are judged upon the percentage of recycled components used, creativity and fit, of course. Imagine the childhood romps through old trunks in the attic, the imagination not stifled by age, but rather magnified through the looking glass of experimental design. At $20 dollars per ticket, no self-proclaimed artist in Portland should ever miss this show. Futuristic aesthetics lead into marvelous ball gowns Marie-Antoinette would have been proud to paint the town red in. It is easy to imagine most of the creations residing behind glass at the Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute. A glimpse into our world, a reflection of the devastation we leave daily in our wake, and the transformation it can undergo with the guidance of artistic vision. It should come as no great surprise that I would find it an honor to wear these walking works of art.

The show invokes images of the past & future united in a realm where power suits are made out of cat food bags, queens hold court in gowns made from vintage Vogue magazines, and Portland’s Major-Elect, Sam Adams, hosted the evening’s festivities dressed in a couture, plastic tuxedo jacket and bowtie.

The atmosphere is at Junk to Funk is playful and fun yet conscious. Everyone in the audience leaves with a tiny nestled scavenger nestled in their chest. On your way home, suddenly, the ordinary becomes transformed into limitless possibility. Garage sales, thrift stores, and the garbage cans of neighbors take on an elemental hue. The world we know becomes transformed into something exotic, trapped in neither the past nor present, but bursting into the future in torrents of paper, metal and plastic. Materials once discarded are turned into wearable works of art. Each piece reflects a time in our history, where we begun to reuse components of daily life to create future awareness.

Portland is the perfect eco friendly city to host such an event. An ode to fashion brought to life through recyclable materials. Portland, Oregon is known as “the City of Roses’ and has been called “the most sustainable city in the US”. It is a city a city dedicated to maintaining over 200 parks, 50 miles of trails, and remains interconnected through an award winning transit system. In 2000, Portland became home to the green Development Resource Center, encouraging and helping residents build, and maintain eco friendly homes. It is here, nestled alongside the green heart of Portland, that sustainability and fashion converge to test and exalt the borders of what we can recycle. Objects of found art are surfacing as jewelry pieces, and recycled couture, creating a stunning display of craftsmanship, innovation and awareness. We are ready to wear what we were.

POW! Campbell’s struck first.  Wanting to position themselves as the healthy, natural option in the canned soup vertical, Campbell’s released a series of television and print ads (seen above) chastising Progresso for including MSG in their soups.  Campbell’s, of course, uses all natural ingredients and TLC (tender love and care).  Damn! No they didn’t!

BLAM! Progresso counters.  In a full page ad in The New York Times, in large, block letters, Progresso asserts, “Campbell’s has 95 soups made with MSG.”  Oh, SNAP! That. Just. Happened! So much for tender love and care, Campbell’s.  Even more so, Progresso announced along with the ad that they have removed MSG from 26 of its soups.  Quite the left hook.

But Campbell’s is resilient.  And it’s going to take more than body shots.  So… KABLOOM! Again, in a full page ad in The New York Times, in large, block letters, Campbell’s strikes back: “Campbell’s proudly offers 124 soups with NO MSG.”  Wassup, Progresso? Get your facts straight, fools! Looks like the haymaker has landed.  And in Campbell’s’ corner, wiping the collective brand’s brow, is the one and only Stephen Colbert.  On last night’s episode (November 17th 2008) of “The Colbert Report” Stephen covered the Soup Wars and was even presented his own Campbell’s Soup, known now as Easy Street.  Seems that without the negative political attack ads that had been consistent on all of our televisions we’re continuing to seek out this negativity.  It just so happens that now, it involves soup.

Have your say!  Are these ads resonating?  Are they too negative?  Do you all even eat soup?! Or, just enjoy Mr. Colbert below!

Each person to cross our path has the potential to teach. They offer a glimpse of a different life through their personal looking glass, one shaped by memory. With minds of limitless possibility, we absorb a wealth of insurmountable information, and still we cannot be everywhere, do everything, and know everyone. To truly understand the world we find ourselves in, we have to allow ourselves to see it through the eyes of others. We in turn, must share where we have been, what we have seen, and what we wish to become.

It is a beautiful November morning in West Hollywood. I should and could be at work, or in class, being productive. Instead, I am outside, bathed in a windy sunshine and I feel free for a little while, like I belong only to myself. For a few hours, I will practice kindness to the self and bask in its levity.

I walk a few blocks up the street an into an almost empty nail salon. It is eleven o’clock in the morning and no one else is there, expect Kim, the owner. Kim smiles up at me from behind tiny, rimmed glasses as I come in, and asks if I have time because she is alone today. Yes, I have time.

There are many reasons why I come back here. The first feeling I get when I walk into a space stays with me. My sister and I first discovered this salon a few months ago. It chants silently of warmth, like being invited into someone’s family space. We gone back, it became our place, we brought our brother with us, friends and now, I return alone. The walls are painted a rich orange, soft music plays, sunlight and a breeze rushes in from both the front and the back door. Often, Kim’s niece is there, along with her beautiful 4-year-old granddaughter. Her granddaughter eyes me curiously at first, like a new pet, not quite sure what to make of me, but soon she’s reading me from her notebook and telling me about her favorite colors, and piano lessons. I should try to remember to be this open, always.

It was my sister who taught me the beauty of this simple ritual. It does not come from a place of vanity, but from a need to relax and show stillness, kindness and care to the self. If I take the time to think why I continue to come back, I know it is because of the richness of the interaction. I could do my own nails, and I could go somewhere else, but I choose to come back here.

I’ve walked into other nails salons in the company of friends, and something in my chest constraints and sought to flee. Maybe it was the looks of disinterest painted on the faces of the women who reach newly lacquered claws into handbags that cost more than the women massaging their feet will make in the coming months. Maybe it was the tired looks of the workers who spoke among themselves in a language I could not understand. Guilt washed over me because even when I tried to break the language barrier, they were only able to smile back at me in a muted silence. I look down at my perfectly polished nails reflecting not wealth but a modest indulgence, and hide shame behind my eyes as I glance at the woman’s hands that just cradled mine in her own rough and cracked ones.

Kim and talk about our days, or past, we never loose eye contact. She is kind in her every gesture and strong in her feminine stance. We talked about our signs, and our Chinese horoscopes. She reminds me that Pisces rule the feet and I should take good care of them. Some days, 16 hours pass before I can enjoy the comfort of bare feet on hardwood floors. Kim pats my feet as if I were a little girl after they’ve been scrubbed and the nails painted to look like ripe cherries.

We talk about the economy and the dwindling number of new clients coming in, the regulars who maintain a vigilant loyalty. Kim moved to the US from Vietnam 20 years ago, and she has not gone back since, but others of her family have. She shares a common, repeat nightmare with many political refugees, like my mom. In their terror lulled dreams, they return to their country of birth, and are not allowed to leave. My mom has not gone home in 20 years. I asked her what she misses the most, she smiles, a sad reminiscent look takes over, and she tells me she misses everything, even a particular piece of broken tile on the street.

Kim’s childhood friend owned the salon before her, and Kim took over it 17 years ago. In Vietnam before the bombing leveled her home, she ran her own store. After the communist takeover, her husband was kept in prison for 7 years until coming to the US. Each morning, Kim’s husband drops her off at 8:30 in the morning, and 12 hours later they go home together. The salon isn’t always packed, and it is made to feel like a second home. Kim, her niece, and her friend, the only other employees, brings books to read, they watch TV, they drink tea sent from Vietnam, and share in the lives and the stories of the men and women who walk through their front doors.

We sit across from each other, the sky changes with the clouds, as we watch the neighborhood pass by. Much has changed Kim tells me. In 20 years many of the privately owned shops have closed, locals have relocated because the rents have keep up a steady incline, and real estate developers wage a constant war with the City of West Hollywood in hopes of buying out entire blocks they aim to turn into condominiums.

I spent and hour and a half with Kim today. I would gladly pay to just sit here and watch the stories flutter into existence behind Kim’s brown eyes rimmed with a blue halo. Next week, I will return not because I have to get my nails done, but because I have such a need to understand and feel the world around me, and there are so many things I have not yet done, and places I have only visited in someone else memory. Kim tells me her granddaughter asked about me again. It makes me smile to know she thinks of the woman so earnest in telling her to keep writing. I have the feeling she will. We lend pieces of our lives to those who are open to receive them, in them we will live forever.