We hear so much, particularly in the business world about “branding”. That for which one is known and, presumably respected. That upon which one’s reputation and standing are built, giving one’s life meaning and definition. So, as I renewed my website experience for another year so as to dispense invaluable wisdom and insight, this seems to be an appropriate time to see what my “brand” really is.
Am I more on the Toyota end of things – reliably safe year after year? I like to think more like a Mercedes – elegantly polished. Maybe somewhere in the middle – I’m the Volvo of bloggers. My daughter would say that my brand is essentially midway between “grumpy old man” and the ravings of a semi-deranged person. And, ok, I’ll admit it. I do have periodic episodes of frustration that are even occasionally visible to the casual observer. Like the other day in the grocery store. The bagger was an older gentleman. Very pleasant. I noticed that he was putting all of my purchases in one of the reusable bags I’d brought. Yes, I’m environmentally conscious – at least to the extent of using reusable bags for groceries. So, as he was loading up, I mentioned that I’d brought in three bags, so that he wouldn’t have to put everything in one and thus, throw out my back as I brought it into the house. Thus, he explained his “system”. He’d put the other two bags on the floor and forgot about them. But, as he explained, he did it because it gave him “room to spread out” the groceries as they came down the chute. He could then bag with painstaking, one might almost say excruciating precision. I, being my usual observant and helpful self, suggested that a “new” system might be to keep all of the bags in view so a) he’d remember he had them, and b) he could evenly bag the purchases. He stared at me in disbelief, so I moved on with my usual calm dignity – one bag overflowing, another with a bottle of seltzer, and the third empty.
That is as I seem my “brand”. Reason and insight in the midst of societal chaos and dysfunction, or as we are now coming to call it, the Trump era. Giving people the benefit of my disinterested perspectives is my role. And I have to say, in all honesty, it hasn’t always been received warmly or fully appreciated. Yes, I know – the faithful readers that have stood by me over the years will also be surprised. For example, the other night Her Ladyship and I decided to get take-away because the pumpkin soup I’d made turned out to be inedible. I placed my order and was standing calmly waiting for the order to come up. A young lady employee whose facial expressions appeared to reveal a lifetime of tortured existence, slung our order on the counter as though it was roadkill, and mumbled my number incomprehensibly. I checked to make sure it was our order, and while I was doing that, I asked if she was always that enthusiastic. Many of you know already that, as a former band director, sarcasm is my second language. The young lady gave me a look that truly confirmed her unhappy outlook, mixed with a touch of outrage that I’d pointed it out. And yet, that is my “brand”.
Some years back, I wrote about becoming an “influencer”. That seems to be the logical extension of my brand. Gently and humorously pointing out the foibles of others while guiding them to the light of my valuable experiences. I’m not really sure how to get started, but I fully embrace the concept that I would somehow be able to influence the thoughts, habits, and improving the daily lives of millions of people, and more importantly, getting paid truck-loads of cash in the process. This came to my attention as I saw that one celebrity’s daughter is an “Instagram Influencer”. I hadn’t really understood how that works, and full disclosure, I still don’t. People actually pay to hear what she has to say? Like a subscription to a streaming service, which I don’t fully understand either. Is that like the Kardashians, who don’t have any appreciably marketable skills yet still end up on television all the time, usually having their jewelry stolen from a luxury hotel someplace? The famous daughter was, at the time, about 19? And she got a crew scholarship to a prestigious university in California, despite not having ever been on anything less than a forty-foot sailboat. How cool is that? I can just see her asking “What do these big paddles do?” at the first practice, or informing the coach that “riding backwards makes me nauseous”. At that time, she expressed dismay at her parents’ efforts to buy her way into college, because she’d didn’t need it. She was a successful “influencer”.
It seems that, to become a true “influencer” to promote my brand far and wide, I need a much larger audience. One area in which I could be a definite force for change is arranging things. I could be an “Organizational Influencer.” As I’ve written before about those hapless on House Hunters and Escape to the Country, many people just don’t know how to “stage” their homes for sale. They’re stuffed full of oversized furniture, and have unspeakable collections of crap on the walls. “I found this wagon wheel in a barn in Waco and thought it would make a great chandelier.” No, it should have stayed in the barn. Somebody makes birdhouses, so they are featured in every room. They’ve taken the concept of “accent wall” to the extreme, painting entire rooms in colors for which the paint manufacturers should be publicly humiliated. They watched some “expert” redoing an old bureau in teal and go berserk, repainting everything in the house glaringly ugly colors. As an “influencer”, I definitely have a place. I’m going to call my show, “Tone It Down, People”. My first working title was, “Dear God, What Were You Thinking?” That seemed a bit too critical, and I’m not sure the folks at HGTV would buy it. But I’d show people how to buy furniture that actually fits into their rooms, or when their children’s toys have reached the saturation point. Forget those, twenty-person sectionals. Do they really need a dining room set that looks like it came from Downton Abby? Many of these folks aren’t as popular as they think they are. They’re also the ones that need a “chef’s kitchen”, only for us to see them later struggling to put together a vegetable platter. So, I can help them decorate, downsize, unclutter, and rearrange. I’ve done this quite a bit over the years for our family, where I’m sometimes labelled “the great tucker”, with just a slight edge to their vocal inflections. Of course, it’s situational – usually when we can’t find something that I’d put away some time prior to its being needed.
Working in tandem with the news outlets, I could well extend my brand to what I call the “Neighborhoods of Disaster”. Helping those people within a stone’s throw of a shooting or a tornedo. A flood that washed away the street. Faced with tragedy, the neighbors being interviewed need a coach and mentor, and I stand ready to fill that void. I would go into neighborhoods and train them to respond appropriately when something bad happens. Why do the neighbors always look like something out of Swamp People? There was one the other night, eyeballs popping out and hair flying. I thought for a moment he was the perpetrator, but no, just the neighbor from two houses down. Look dignified, people. Speak slowly and clearly. Stop blubbering and mumbling. You’ll get through this, even though your house is two miles downstream or a pile of debris. Pretend that someone from FEMA just handed you a large check and you lined up a contractor an hour ago. Don’t stand next to trash bags full of . . . . well, in truth we don’t want to know. Dress respectably in whatever you have left, always remembering that spandex is seldom flattering. If your neighbor has been holding hostages, don’t pretend that “he seemed so nice if a bit quiet. He even showed me his rifle collection just last week.” Indicate sagely that you knew something like this would happen.
Those are just a few options, but I think the possibilities speak for themselves. My brand is ripe for the bigtime. A global presence. Maybe jump into the social media mainstream. Or maybe it’s better if I just stick with my small-market, grumpy old man brand. Less like a sleek Porsche and more a cranky old Model T. There’s always the possibility that my valuable work in the grocery store checkout line may not be done.
I'm Thinking...No! 