A Lesson in Brand Equity (and how Christians should pay attention)

As I’m finishing up a web advertisement campaign, a few thoughts on how the broader culture has used web advertisement and how Christians should pay attention.

As I’m surfing through sites, I’ve been more keen in noticing how these small pieces of web real estate look, feel, and react. There are some that are Flashed based and will animate. There are some that are static, but full of dynamism via color. Still others that are stoic, empty and pale. Each trying to differentiate themselves from the page that they live on.

From what I can deduce, I believe that each piece is trying to achieve one of two things;

1. Communicating a message about the company in which it is advertising and
2. Trying to establish a feel and look of the company (brand equity).

As I was browsing through Brand New’s website, I notice towards to top of the page a placeholder for ads. I kept refreshing the page to see the various types of ads and what each one looked like.

Case Study #1: Mail Chimp

MailChimp is a website for companies and individuals to send out very uniquely designed (and well made) email newsletters.

Notice that in the banner ads the word “email” does not exist. Nor does “subscriptions” or “easy to use”. It’s my own theory that the designers over at Mail Chimp understand that this ad was to be placed on a logo rebranding blog, and that the target audience would be designers, illustrators, artists, marketing personnel, etc. And by knowing this information they tailor made this ad to

1. Communicate to designers that they too can be creative and
2. by showcasing that they are design savvy, they, too, belong in the discussion of good design.

By understanding the context, MailChimp was able to craft an advertisement that capitalized on both message and brand equity, and they did it, seemingly, without much effort.

This brings to me next point, Christian web advertisement.

Most of the time, When I hear “Christian” and “Design”, I think of this:

Stock photography, book covers that seem to glow, one word descriptions of a book that is suppose to shock me. These ads communicate their message, albiet crudely, but do nothing to create brand equity.

Sadly, this is the type of stuff out there that scream “Christian” Which, thankfully, many Christians (CFCC, Collide Magazine, Already Been Chewed, etc.) are currently trying to eradicate. I’m of the persuasion that sacred and secular has no boundaries, they are one and the same. We are not yet perfected, continually growing from one degree of glory to another. I believe that Christians, specifically Christian graphic designers can produce amazing work. We can utilize the techniques illustrated above. Adam and Eve were put on this earth to cultivate it, let’s pick up our shovels (in this case, our tablet pens) and continue doing the work, until Christ calls us home.

Oh and btw, there are some great Christian web ads out there, albeit these too also don’t contribute to the secondary purpose of web advertisments (*Sigh). Like this one (found on Justin Taylor’s Blog):

*Disclaimer: I offer negative remarks solely for the purpose of constructive criticism. If you are the designer or the person responsible for those ads, I apologize if I have offended you in any way, I mean no personal damage to you.

Cafeteria

Orange plastic trays. Mine’s wet. At least I know it’s clean.

“I’ll take a turkey burger with fries please.” I politely told the lunch lady. Holding out my recently rinsed tray, the plate landed with a thud. “Next!”

Exiting the food line, the adventure of looking for a seat begins. My eyes scan from left to right. I feel my body hunkering down and my neck extending, like a submarine in water, with its periscope sticking out as to avoid being seen.

Jocks sit in the northwest corner. Cheerleaders right next to them. Glee club partially sits and dances in the southwest. Band geeks near the middle. Orch Dorks next to them, but loosely affiliated.  Nerds are congregated in a circle around a strange twelve sided dice in the southeast. In the far off distance of the far east, the Asians sit in a shroud of exotic smells and interesting eating utensils. In the north are those weird Christians who bow their heads and hold hands before every meal. Excessive smiling all around.

My fingers start to get a little worn from carrying the burden of lunch. They start to fidget and get clammy.

“I don’t belong.” My mind starts to race.

“Just sit down somewhere, my hands are starting to hurt.” Another thought.

“What if they don’t accept me?”

Right foot forward. Left foot forward.

Repeat.

Within minutes I find my place. Outside. Alone. I don’t fit into any of those groups, my circles are too overlapping – an exhaustive venn diagram.

*Disclaimer: I like Christians. I am one. I like Asians. I am one too. This piece is not intentionally bashing these groups. The point of this piece is just to simply articulate my feelings of disjointedness I feel from time to time. I’m the type of person who can’t just check one box, but ends up checking a whole lot of them. For better or for ill, this is me. God created me this way and, honestly, I am very receptive to that notion. This is my internal dialog with this present suffering of living in a finite world, in a finite body, with a finite capacity of knowledge.

A Moment Tender

As the sun falls beneath the concrete skyline that is Dallas, I find myself alone in my office. Something about the hour before nightfall causes me to think back on days past. Somewhere within the construct of memories, one bubbles to the top. Edge Water Park in Cleveland, Ohio. In front of me is my middle sister leaping from rock to rock. To the side, the littlest one hand clenched with my mom. And behind me is my father. With a booming voice he asks, “Anybody want to put a bet on what time the sun will set tonight?”

“Eight forty-five” came out of my mouth.

“Nine oh-four!” Miss Skippy offered.

Without much noise, a “Nine oh-nine” came from the hand-holder.

A bold and confident “Nine twenty-five” came from my mother.

Looking at his watch, father said, “Okay, let’s see who wins.”

Assuming the role of scout, I walked a little faster to find a suitable area to sit down and observe this contest. A few feet from the water’s edge, and underneath the canopy of a tree, we sat and waited.

“What’s the time?” I excitedly asked.

“Eight thirty.” My father answered back.

“Oh I’m going to win!” Noting that the sun was not remotely close to the horizon, the middle one jeered.

As we continued to pester father for the current time, the sun followed its orbit around the Earth. Eighty-fifty passed. Then came nine-ten. As all the children realized their reality of missing the mark, mom whispered into the little one’s ear.

“Mom switched times with me! I still have a chance!” She couldn’t contain herself.

“That’s not fair! She can’t do that!” Skippy protested.

“Nine twenty-five!” Father proclaimed the winner. With the final trip around the clock face, the orange ball of fire fell quiet among the tidal waves of the lake.

This would be one of the last memories of a connected father to his children. The next time this game was to be played, it would be in Los Angeles, many years later on a visit, by the children, to see their working father. A moment tender. A moment preserved. A moment yearned for, in an empty office as the light of day is being sucked away. Into the night, a moment tender.