Had someone whispered in my ear back in 2021 that I would be here, scribbling emotions about the El Padrino Restaurant logo, I would have chuckled, “Yeah right.” But as Samson Mshelia put it once, “A logo isn’t something, you change every five years.” Yet, the winds of 2023 have brought us back to the drawing board.
The logo I enthusiastically spoke of in 2021 was more than mere graphics for me; it was a piece of my soul. Absorbed in its creation, I unknowingly crafted an emblem that sang to my heart. And in that serenade, I mistook personal affection for universal acceptance. But success, with its intoxicating highs, often blinds us to subtle lows. As Bill Gates puts it, “Success is a lousy teacher.”
The gentle murmurs began like a far-off tune, “What is this logo about?” At first, I brushed it off as a quirk — something that made us stand out. But with time, as those murmurs grew louder, I had to confront a haunting question: Was our logo a mirror, reflecting only to those who already knew its essence?
Enter a titan of the African restaurant scene. A man whose insights came from years of experience. He laid our logo bare, with a bombardment of unsettling questions. But it wasn’t just about an emblem, it was about our identity. What did El Padrino stand for, and why wasn’t our soul inscribed in our brand?
Our aspirations for Lagos were expansive, but the mainland remained tricky. The quest was clear: We needed to introduce ourselves anew. A brand not bound by explanations or tales, but one that sang its song loud and clear.
Conversations with the team unveiled a truth I’d been blind to. Our beloved avocado, our symbol, was buried in ambiguity. I mistook the logo’s pitch for its essence.
Amidst iterations, an idea took shape — a man, a guitar, a sombrero. Charming, but was it us? El Padrino was more than a caricature; it was an ode to rich Mexican traditions, married beautifully with Nigerian flavors.
The avocado was still our heart. In Mexico, it’s more than just a fruit; it’s an emblem of identity, so deeply entrenched that cartels vie for its control. Nigeria might not have the cartels, but it had avocados that rivaled the world’s best. This green gold still represented our core.
Now, our emblem stands rejuvenated, a reflection of our semi-ripe state, with dreams and ambitions budding, ready to bloom. And as we turn the pages to a new chapter in Ogba, Ikeja, I invite you, Padrinos, to join us in sowing the seeds of our shared dreams.
