Authenticity in Marketing: Staying Afloat in an Ocean of Noise
A Mythical Heritage
For at least a millennium, until it was lost to history in the third century A.D., a magnificent ship made its home in Athens’ harbor. Forty-eight weeks out of the year, the ship sat crewless, meticulously repaired and tended-to, in preparation for a sacred, annual voyage.
Legend held that this ship belonged to the Greek hero Theseus, slayer of the minotaur and founder of Athens. In remembrance of his deeds, his home city-state kept Theseus’ beloved vessel pristine, replacing its crumbling sails and brine-rotted wood with fresh linen and timber after each yearly excursion. Centuries of maintenance later, so much of the ship was visibly new that philosophers began to wonder — was it strange to still call it by its name?
The Ship of Theseus is a compelling paradox. Never losing its cultural relevance, it crops up in discussions of controversial medical breakthroughs and ethical debates about digitizing consciousness. We may never reach a philosophical consensus on the topic, but the practical moral of the story is clear: it’s one brilliant piece of branding.
Straying from the Course
Anyone can recognize the hallmarks of disingenuous marketing: a growing company, vying for attention, relevance, and fatter profit margins, jumps on the trend du jour, redesigning their website to imitate the aesthetic of a successful rival and spinning copy that sparkles. This gimmick works for a fiscal quarter or two, after which marketing ROI dips, and everyone from customers to the company itself is left struggling to differentiate the brand from a sea of rivals — many of whom followed the same strategy.
It’s hard to peg a better poster child for this blind pursuit of novelty and flash than Facebook. While their litany of short-sighted maneuvers eventually caught up with them, for years, Facebook invested in impressive, potentially dangerous technology like facial recognition, while employing half-hearted privacy measures for their nine-to-ten-digit user base. Rather than address simmering criticism and concerns when red flags began piling up in the early 2010s, the company plowed ahead into bold ventures like the 2012 acquisition of Instagram, seemingly distilling their mission statement to “hey, look at this.” Today, their growth is stalling, and trust in the Facebook brand has never been lower.
With thousands of companies launching daily into the attention-seeking fray, crafting an identity that reaches beyond “virality,” beyond the balance sheet, into the realm of truth and emotion can seem like some lost, naive art. The measure of success has become so twisted and impersonal that it verges on heartbreaking; at its root, marketing is, and will always be, a bid for personal connection.
A Change for the Better
The effort that generations of Athenians poured into the restoration of one wooden vessel came from a deep admiration for what it symbolized. Though it must’ve changed significantly over time, incorporating advancements in craftsmanship and technology, the ship remained the embodiment of peace, tradition, and humility. Such a natural, almost imperceptible evolution is the holy grail of brand identity.
In Southern California, in the late 1960s, Yvon Chouinard was on the hunt for reusable pitons, a type of rock climbing hardware that, until then, was designed to be permanently driven into cliff faces. As a conservationist and disciple of Henry David Thoreau, Yvon did his best to live by the maxim of “leave no trace.” One summer, enlisting the help of his father, he converted the family chicken coop into a blacksmithing operation. Within a year, Yvon was skilled enough to start selling the small metal spikes he produced. As his business took off, Chouinard — driven by that magical cocktail of curiosity and necessity — tackled another under-served niche of the climbing sport: clothing. One life-changing South American climbing expedition later, he had the perfect name for his fledgling company: Patagonia.
Chouinard’s story is inspiring and romantic, but the true genius of his brand lies in his passion project, Worn Wear: a marketplace for refurbished Patagonia gear. For customers who choose not to take advantage of Patagonia’s lifetime, no-questions-asked, free repair policy, Worn Wear offers store credit for trade-ins. Even the company’s limited print ads openly decry consumerism. All this to say, Patagonia should be courting bankruptcy. Instead, by living their values and fostering trust in their customers, the 1500-person company continues to post staggering annual revenues in excess of $800 million.
Inspiring a Partnership
Realistically, most brands will continue taking the proverbial low road, peppering audiences with breadcrumbs of dopamine, in hopes of luring them into a conversion. These distraction tactics can work, but the minute they let up, investment in the brand rapidly decays. In stark contrast, campaigns like this one, from Dove, have mastered the lasting impression. It doesn’t sell the product, it sells a lesson: we’re our own worst critics, and we’re wildly unfair. As we empathize with the insecurities of the volunteers, we instantly marry the message — being kinder to ourselves — to Dove. Before we’ve even made a purchase, they have our gratitude and our trust.
If you’re still not sure how to build your brand identity, you’re right where you should be; authenticity is not obvious, or effortless. Luckily, marketing that stirs pride, hope, and awe provides us with precious clues. It’s not victories or cleverness that move us, it’s being invited to join a meaningful mission. Framing content with your values and respecting your audience is a legacy worth adopting. Start with a visit to your shipyard. Reflect on why you docked your vessel there, and remember where it came from. Plan your next, essential voyage. Then, pick up your tools and repair a single plank.
Timelapse is a strategic creative agency with offices in San Francisco and Denver. See our work at teamtimelapse.com
