The Sound of Silence: 107 Minutes Debating Blue

I am staring at the carotid artery in the Creative Director’s neck. It is pulsing at what I estimate to be 67 beats per minute, a rhythmic thrum that is currently the only thing keeping me tethered to the physical world. My chest feels tight, a remnant of the involuntary spasm that just racked my diaphragm for the seventh time this hour. I have the hiccups. Not the cute, cartoonish ‘hic’ of a drunk in a sitcom, but the violent, soul-shaking variety that makes your ribcage feel like a birdhouse in a hurricane. I just let one out during a particularly solemn silence regarding the ’emotional resonance’ of a sans-serif ‘g,’ and the shame is still radiating off my skin in 37 distinct waves of heat.

We are currently 107 minutes into our 17th meeting regarding the ‘Visual Identity Refresh.’ On the 77-inch OLED screen at the front of the room, two shades of blue are side-by-side. To the naked, sane eye, they are identical. To the seven executives sitting around this mahogany table, they represent two vastly different futures for our organization. One is ‘Strategic Azure,’ which apparently suggests a legacy of trust and forward-leaning momentum. The other is ‘Visionary Cobalt,’ which, according to the consultant who is being paid $7,777 a day, evokes a sense of ‘unapologetic transparency.’

The Industrial Hygienist’s View

June E.S., our lead industrial hygienist, is sitting to my left. She is the only person in this room who deals with things that actually exist. Her job involves measuring the invisible threats that can kill a person: silica dust, lead vapors, the decibel levels of a failing turbine. She has her notebook open to a page filled with calculations about air exchange rates in the fabrication plant. She looks at the screen, then at the Creative Director, then back at her notes. Her expression is one of profound, clinical exhaustion. She knows, as I know, that we are currently participating in a high-stakes performance of productivity theater. We are polishing the silver on a ship that has no engine.

Pixels as Physical Objects

There is a specific kind of madness that takes hold in these sessions. We start to see things that aren’t there. A Vice President of something called ‘Synergy Logistics’ claims that Version B makes him feel ‘more agile.’ Another executive argues that Version A has a ‘sturdier footprint.’ They are talking about pixels as if they are physical objects with mass and velocity. It is a mass hallucination funded by a marketing budget that could have paid for 177 new respirators for the floor staff.

This obsession with the trivial is a distraction from the tangible, real-world experience of the person who actually uses our product. A brand isn’t a logo. A brand is how the box feels when it arrives. It’s the fact that the instructions are actually legible. It’s the way the customer service agent actually listens instead of reading from a script.

In a world where we spend 377 hours debating the curvature of a ‘C’, there is something profoundly honest about a physical product that simply is what it says it is. It’s like the clarity you get from a simple, bold brand like

Canned Pineapple-it doesn’t need to explain its ‘synergy’ because the value is right there in the tin. You open it, and there is fruit. There are no hex codes to debate when you are hungry.

The Tiny Image and the Real Work

My hiccups are finally subsiding, leaving a dull ache in my midsection. The meeting is now entering its third hour. We have moved on to the ‘iconography’ of the favicon. This is the tiny image that appears in a browser tab, a square of roughly 16×16 pixels. We are treating it with the gravity of a constitutional amendment. The Creative Director is arguing that the current icon is ‘too aggressive’ for the mobile user.

I remember a time, maybe 7 years ago, when we actually built things. I remember a meeting where we argued about the durability of the casing, not the logo on top of it. But building things is hard. Building things involves physical risk and the possibility of mechanical failure. Branding, on the other hand, is safe. You can iterate a logo 177 times and never have to worry about a structural collapse. It is the ultimate haven for the risk-averse. It is corporate hibernation. We are sleeping through our own decline, wrapped in a blanket of high-definition mockups.

The Cost of Tangibility (Versus Pixels)

The Final Nod

As the meeting finally breaks, the CMO turns to me. ‘You seemed… agitated today,’ she says, her eyes flicking to my still-twitching diaphragm. ‘I hope you’re as passionate about the new brand direction as your outbursts suggested.’ I look at her, then at the screen where ‘Visionary Cobalt’ is still glowing like a radioactive bruise. I think about June’s CO2 sensor. I think about the 7,777 ways I could tell her that a logo won’t save a company that has forgotten how to speak to its own people.

I walk out into the hallway, following June E.S. as she heads toward the factory floor. She doesn’t look back. She has real work to do. I look at my reflection in the glass of the lobby-a slightly distorted figure standing in front of a wall that will, in 7 weeks, be repainted in a color that someone, somewhere, thinks is ‘brave.’ I hiccup one last time, a small, lonely sound in a very expensive hallway.