Toniq

The problem isn’t that brands are talking about change. The problem is that they’re all using the same tired signals to do it, so much so that the language of innovation has collapsed into a kind of corporate white noise.

Tone is the emotional undercurrent of your brand’s language. It’s not just what you say, but how you make someone feel while you’re saying it.

Today, differentiation has collapsed under the weight of its own ubiquity. Everyone is claiming to be faster, smarter, simpler, cheaper, cleaner, more advanced, more sustainable, more thoughtful, more inclusive.

But personas aren’t people. They’re shortcuts. And more often than not, they’re a performance—a mask we make so we can pretend we’re connecting.

For years, branding has focused on the path to purchase. Funnels, awareness campaigns, consideration stages—all roads leading to the golden moment of conversion. But here’s the truth: the buy isn’t the end of the story. It’s the beginning of the relationship.

For decades, “positioning” was the holy grail of branding. Coined by Ries and Trout in the 1980s, the idea was revolutionary: own a place in the customer’s mind, carve out a mental niche, and hammer it home with consistency.

Turns out, brands have a fridge too. It's not stainless steel, but it does hum along in the background—full of things we thought we’d use, ideas we once loved, and leftover campaigns we keep telling ourselves might still be good if we just heat them up the right way.

There was a time when advertising didn’t fear silence, space, or storytelling. When headlines invited curiosity, and body copy had the room to build something more than a call to action, it could build a world.

Morale isn’t the same as motivation. Motivation can be sparked by deadlines, bonuses, ambition, or the fear of failure. But morale is deeper. It’s emotional. It’s cultural.

Romance in branding doesn’t mean red roses and candlelight. It’s not about grand overtures or dripping sentimentality. Instead, it’s about the emotional architecture of a brand—how it makes people feel, what ideals it evokes, and how deeply it connects on a human level.

But then—sometimes—you get a glimpse of a brand making an unexpected leap, one that has you saying, Wait, what? Why would anyone think that’s a good idea?

To him, truth wasn’t about reciting facts or adopting the right opinions. It was about committing to something so deeply that it reordered your life. It was messy, terrifying, and often inconvenient. But it was yours.

Now, marketing isn’t the villain here. In fact, when it’s done right, it can help good stories reach the right people. But marketing has goals, and nuance isn’t always one of them.

Sometimes a new logo or updated color palette is all you need to feel fresh again—a quick polish to show the world you're still paying attention. But other times, the problem runs deeper.

 Long before companies were using the term “brand” as we understand it today, Spalding intuitively understood that a product wasn’t just a product—it was a story.