The Psychology Behind Sticky Brands

Not long ago, a strong idea could carry a brand. Under Armour sold performance. Stone Brewing rebelled against bland beer. Airbnb promised a new way to travel. A clear point of view was often enough to break through.

Today brands live inside feeds, algorithms, virtual try-ons, one-click checkouts, and endless AI content. We swipe, scroll, compare, and move on. What’s missing isn’t functionality—it’s human connection. Even the best UI can't replace a conversation, a shared table, or the feeling of something tangible in your hands.

Many agencies respond with brand pillars—values, tone and messaging frameworks. These tools help with consistency, but they often stop short. They explain what a brand says, not why someone chooses it.

Real connection starts with people. When you observe behavior the way an anthropologist would—listening closely, watching what sparks emotion—you begin to see what actually draws people in.

The strongest insights come from universal experiences: feelings that signify capability, inspiration, serenity, or control. These human drivers existed long before ads, apps, or Agentic AI.

Brands that tap into these experiences don’t just earn attention—they earn trust. When Ben & Jerry's emotes “Peace, Love and Ice Cream,” it’s encouraging participation in progressive values. When Subaru says “Go Anywhere,” it speaks to identity, not horsepower.

In a world of endless messages, the brands that get to the top and stay there are the ones that understand people first. And the last time I checked, customers were still people.

Sources:
Ackerman, Courtney E. “What Is Positive Psychology and Why Is It Important?” PositivePsychology.com.

Breschi, Raffaele. “The Ever-Changing Store.” McKinsey & Company.

Aaker, David. Building Strong Brands.

How Climbing Shapes My Approach to Marketing

There’s something about rock climbing that flips a switch in me. Each move requires focus, patience, and the ability to read the wall like a puzzle—testing possibilities until the right path reveals itself.

Marketing feels much the same. Every client challenge is its own route: different holds, different obstacles, different ways up. The work demands presence, curiosity, and the willingness to try, adjust, and try again.

Climbing reminds me that progress rarely comes from forcing a move—it comes from understanding the terrain. The same is true in marketing. When you listen closely, study the landscape, and trust the process, the path forward tends to appear.

That rhythm—challenge, insight, movement—is what keeps both the climb and the work meaningful.

Why Bass Players Make Great Brand Strategists

Playing bass is a retreat into rhythm and structure. When I pick up my bass, the vibration of the strings and the repetition of a groove pull me into a different headspace—one where everything starts to click into place.

Branding works the same way. A great brand, like a great bass line, holds everything together. It creates the underlying rhythm that lets the rest of the story—design, messaging, campaigns—move with confidence and clarity.

When I improvise on the bass, I’m exploring patterns, structure, and flow. Branding is no different. It’s about listening closely, finding the right groove, and building a foundation strong enough for creativity to move on top of it.

In music and in branding, the magic rarely comes from being the loudest voice in the room. It comes from setting the rhythm that everyone else can follow.

Design Journeys or Design Destinations

In a recent lecture by UK designer and educator Paul McNeil, the contention that ideas might not be as crucial as we believe them to be took center stage. McNeil posited that systems, process, and intention hold far more weight in design practice. While initially resistant to this concept, as I am a loyal advocate of the "big idea first" school, I couldn't help but find myself intrigued by McNeil's argument. And as it turns out, I was impressed with the merit of McNeil's argument.

McNeil's emphasis on process highlights the importance of deliberate approaches to design. By prioritizing the journey over the destination, designers can cultivate a deeper understanding of design nuances, refined outcomes, and even make chance discoveries along the way. Similarly, his emphasis on intention illustrates the significance of a purpose-driven design approach.

While I remain rooted in the belief ideas are the catalysts for successful story building, many valuable insights can emerge from empirical design observations, shedding light on patterns and motifs that may have gone unnoticed. In embracing a more holistic approach to design that utilizes ideas and processes, we stand to unveil new workflows elevating both design quality and outcomes.

Building a Bridge: The Road to Shodan

Test time brings a whirlwind of thoughts, especially for those who have faced the sting of failure before. Beyond assessing skills, the real question lies in measuring one's determination and the intensity of the inner fire. This was my contemplation as I embarked on the 1st kyu Aikido test.

Spread over three nights, the format brought physical demands but alleviated the mental pressure of a single chance. My strategy was to maintain a steady pace, relying on a positive mental attitude. However, after a strong start, doubts surfaced on the second night, testing my resolve.

The third night saw a resurgence. Facing challenges with knife defense and staff attacks, I aimed for internal calm. The unexpected twist came during the results – not 1st kyu, but Shodan. A 14-year journey of dedication unfolded, bringing pride and a sense of belonging to something bigger than myself.

Yet, post-goal blues and a mild sense of shame followed. Shodan, meaning "beginning degree," signaled a new phase. Beyond technical exploration, it urged weaving Aikido into daily life and walking a spiritual path. The journey, dedicated to my wise mentors, continues, and I’m walking lighter with each new step.

Originally penned in 2013, this essay captures a transformative chapter in my martial arts odyssey.

“When one is under sound attack one must die, and yet live, from moment to moment. It is in momentary living that one is free from distraction…” 

–– Thomas M. White

Another State of Mind

I miss New York. I miss the every day adventures and that life is a cross between an odd treasure hunt and simultaneous evolution of the olfactory, visual, and auditory senses. Sometimes heavenly, sometimes objectionable, but always decisively different.

And around every corner is either the most unexpected and bizarre thing you ever saw or the most sedate urban facade eclipsed by a dance battle or art installation that somehow infers nothing and everything.

I miss East Village bookstores with tag lines like 18 miles of books(Strand Bookstore for the initiated). I miss the musicians playing casually on the subway platforms. And I miss the condensed arts and culture experiences that no other city I’ve been to replicates. There are approximately 1,400 art galleries in New York City.

I miss stumbling into those unexpected green spaces in the middle of the city that provide a perfect respite from the concrete jungle. I miss the winter sun casting long shadows, warming my hands with a cup of coffee from the corner Bodega, and imagining what I will create next. New York City is the place where you can create whatever version of yourself you want to as long as you’re willing to do it with 8 million other people.

The Attitude of Gratitude

I met a lady in Portland, Oregon, who had an indescribable zen quality that words just won’t accurately capture. Hidden under the serene composure of a weekend tourist were the emotional and physical scars that were gathered but not sought after.

She slowly began to tell me her life story or a part of it anyway. She had been a severe addict binging on a cocktail stew of crack and methamphetamine. Years earlier, her life hit such a low point she would do sexual favors in exchange for the thing she needed most: her next fix.

I tried not to judge her brittle past because I knew intuitively we are all more alike than not. We have all been addicted to something in our lives and for everyone it’s different. It could be cars, money, status, gambling, wine, sex, caffeine, doughnuts, or chocolate.

She relayed how she finally gained the determination she was no longer willing to play the victim. Transforming her life from a street tweaker to a life of decency was no easy feat. Anybody who can turn their life around from those brutal circumstances should be applauded.

It was a bright sunny day overlooking a small lake in the Lan Su Garden. “You’ll get everything you want when you want everything you have”. I really tried to grasp a definitive answer. I said I understood but I later realized I didn’t fully understand her point. My takeaway was to embrace life on the spectrum wherever you are.

Now I get it. You’ll get everything you appreciate when you appreciate everything you have. Appreciate both the sweetness and the bitterness. We can learn from everything in our path. Stumbling blocks can be turned into stepping stones leading to higher ground. Note to self. Be present. And be thankful.

Perception & the Reset Moment

Being forced into isolation can feel like a punishment—as if we’re paying some collective karmic debt for the way we’ve treated the planet. But maybe it’s also an opportunity. A chance to slow down, to notice our breath, and perhaps more importantly, to notice our thoughts.

Maybe we’ll come out of this with deeper respect for the people who hold our daily lives together—doctors, nurses, truck drivers, grocery workers, and first responders. Maybe we’ll begin to see healthcare less as a maze of deductibles and copayments and more as a basic human right.

In the constant motion of the grind, we look but we don’t always see. I don’t want to downplay the real loss and hardship of the COVID-19 pandemic—there has been far too much of it. But I do wonder if this moment might also serve as a reset.

A reset that reminds us how deeply connected we really are.

Unexpectedly, I’m seeing more of my family than I have all year. There are more random disagreements, sure—but also more jokes, more laughter. And laughter, in times like this, is cathartic.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to remind us how connected we are—and how much beauty is still quietly waiting to be noticed.

A Blessing for Difficult Times

May you be safe and kind to everyone. May every one you love, be safe and kind to everyone. May everyone THEY love, be safe and kind to everyone, in widening circles all across the universe.
– Dennis Rivers

Fire Story

From the beginning of time, we’ve been drawn to some of the same things. The warmth of a fire, the intrigue of a story and the security of a group. Fire gave us comfort, stories gave us metaphors and being part of a tribe gave us security.

Today’s fire might be in the form of a song, a moment, or a movement. The stories are often communicated through the eyes of a character, a video or a social narrative. And, security is our quest for a more sustainable future.

That future asks us to enter deeply. Deeply enough to see beyond the walls we’ve constructed. Deeply enough to open up dialogues, and far enough, to explore the infinite possibilities we are all worthy of.

Possibilities multiply by building connections between people, passion and purpose. These connections speak to our underlying motivations. Motivations that drive us forward, expand our experiences and answer our biggest challenges.

Build a fire. Tell a story. And, inspire what happens next.

Juniper Branches

I had a desperate calling to reconnect with nature. This is the kind of calling that prioritizes putting your toes in the sand, swimming to the middle of inlets and gazing at water and mountains for hours at a time searching for the truth. 

Within this meditative analog state I could be whole again, complete in a way that computers and digital advances can’t imitate. This is the kind of wholeness I was searching for, the calm abiding peace hidden within us all. A peace that supersedes egos, fears and borders.

As the wind blew through the juniper branches caressing my face I could hear the song of the raven, Its poetic phrasing enlightening my senses and reminding me to be present, perceptive and open.

A Designers Path

I was never obsessed with one subject long enough to be a proper geek. I was more of a Blerd—a Black nerd who wandered widely. Before design found me, I was a skinny punk-rock skateboarder questioning the status quo, listening to bands like Steel Pulse, sketching in battered notebooks, and driving up to the Angeles Crest Mountains to breathe air that wasn’t thick with the weight of Los Angeles smog.

Art was the one thing that stayed with me. Strangely, it made math make sense—especially geometry. Shapes, space, and logic felt less like equations and more like quiet puzzles waiting to be seen. That way of thinking nudged me toward design.

I studied illustration and Spanish literature at California State University, Long Beach, then spent time at Instituto Allende in San Miguel de Allende. Back home, a class with Archie Boston helped me see design not just as craft, but as voice.

At Pratt Institute, I learned that designers are cultural shapers—people who look closely at the world and ask what it might become. A master’s in Communications Design followed, and soon after I joined The Moderns, where modular design and systems thinking sharpened my approach.

Later, as art director at Gregory Mountain Products, I helped shape national campaigns and a full rebrand focused on fit, quality, and durability—work that retailers like REI praised as some of the best point-of-sale marketing in the industry.

Eventually I founded Be True Design, focusing on health and wellness communications. Since then I’ve helped organizations such as Big Brothers Big Sisters Northwest and Kaiser Center for Health Research clarify their stories—because a good brand, like a good trail, should make the path forward easier to see.