I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, numbered or come to think of it, named.

Dave: a name used to much comedic affect. So perhaps that’s a reason why, when asked for it by an unfamiliar barista, I took umbrage. But it’s not the only one.

Pope Dave, President Dave, Trigger from Only Fools and Horses, Papa Lazarou, and my own particular childhood cross to bare, Dave who could do anything but he couldn’t swim: all great examples of how Dave has been used to raise a laugh. There’s even a TV channel aimed at stereotypical blokes named Dave. And whenever the press want to belittle the PM, Dave becomes the default setting.

I was David between 0–10, pretty much Dave (to friends not family) from 11–30, and a mix of both, but mainly David again thereafter. So when asked for my name by an unfamiliar barista, I stumbled gingerly somewhere between the two. Perhaps this was because of my deep-seated uneasiness about my name, or more likely, I was thrown totally off-guard by a stranger’s unabashed desire to get to know me on a first name basis.

I was of course, in Starbucks. I’m not usually a customer and I would usually prefer to search out an independently run coffee shop, but while in an unfamiliar town it seemed like a good opportunity to catch up on emails before a presentation. I had heard of this rather grating name-calling company directive, I just didn’t appreciate just how unsettling a name request could make me – and it would appear others – feel.

My indecisive and guarded response was lost amongst the grinding of coffee. So when asked for a second time, I decided to take evasive action: “Do we have to do this? We both know you’ve been directed to do this. You know that people don’t always give you their real name don’t you?” I’m not usually this confrontational and it was delivered in a pleasant fashion, but to be fair, the unfamiliar barista seemed totally surprised at the news that people would go to the lengths of changing their name. However, she did concede that she was aware of Facebook pages dedicated to examples of misspellings and mispronunciations. After a little digging, it turns out that people are even being encouraged to pretend they’ve forgotten their names. An article from Andrew Tuck, the editor of Monocle, reveals a brilliantly elaborate name change: Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius; father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife.

Starbucks have been operating this name-asking/name-calling principal for years in the US, but in the UK it smacks of being fake. When we moved into our West Didsbury office, it took two weeks for the burley Mancunian in the bakery opposite, to genuinely stretch out his hand – appreciating that I’d popped in everyday – and ask my name; and offer his. You see, Mark is a cornerstone of the Burton Road community. He knows how I have my coffee, and he knows how the rest of the road does too. He doesn’t need to daub my name on the side of a cup and neither do his staff. Sure he knows that friendship will be good for trade, but there’s a sincerity in his actions.

There are obvious practical reasons for taking names. It’s perhaps a little easier to ascertain who’s drink is who’s if their name is on it, rather than a shout of “Grande two shot cappuccino?”. Unless your name is something like, say, Dave. The only failsafe way to accurately attribute drinks to customers would be issue a supermarket deli, numbered ticket. Horrible I know. But seeing coffee through numbered goggles may be no bad thing.

Barraclough Associates met Phil and Tom – two guys with a dream to leave their corporate lives behind and embark on a longterm dream of launching a third wave coffee venture, initially from a 3-wheel Piaggio Ape van.

Discussion uncovered that Phil and Tom were working for big accountancy firms. They were clearly passionate about proper coffee and recounted a multitude of facts and figures about their passion. They’d not long left our offices when I called them with an observation:  “You know what you are don’t you? You’re bean counters – always have been, always will be.” Fortunately they didn’t put the phone down as they saw exactly where I was coming from.

Phil and Tom had a great brand story. They just didn’t realise it. We helped them define and tell that story, using it to create lots of great little ideas to give their company a distinct personality.

Firstly, we told them to ditch their suggested company name in favour of Coffee Eight Hundred – coffee has around 800 unique flavour characteristics, whereas wine only has 400. We created a bespoke typeface inspired by the 3 wheels on their van. Shots became measured in bean counts – there’s 42 beans in a single shot. We even went to the lengths of counting the sugar crystals in a packet.

The brand story, of precision and love, not only tells the back story and tidies up their brand – potentially saving on future marketing costs – but most importantly, it’s a powerful business tool that connects customers and company, inspiring future initiatives and ambition.

You can read the case study here.

A final word on Starbucks.

I get the Starbucks insight that people are all too often seen as passwords and IP addresses, and taking the numerical approach of Coffee Eight Hundred isn’t for every brand. There’s essentially nothing wrong with a company initiative centred around a personal touch. At heart, asking someone’s name is a nice gesture, but there’s something a little conspicuous about asking Doris, aged 88, for her name in exactly the same fashion as Callum, aged 16. And by all accounts, the powers that be at Starbucks are policing this consistency with an iron hand. What perhaps Starbucks fail to do is bend with the situation, respecting customers’ desires, individual circumstances and in some cases, the wish to remain a free man or woman by not giving a name.

But if Starbucks is guilty of one big crime, it’s advertising this initiative.

If there’s one company that should know the power of not advertising, it’s Starbucks. Until relatively recently, Starbucks was a great example of a company that shunned advertising, and arguably built its brand faster as a result. The cardboard signs used to announce new products became their cultural currency. A story to tell the next time they see their coffee loving friends, because they knew their friends wouldn’t be hearing about it via the television.

I made this point to the unfamiliar barista, who conceded that marketing may have worked better in the pre-advertising days, but she suggested that the name-calling initiative had probably generated as much chat – good and bad – as any former company initiative. She was firmly of the ‘there’s no such thing as bad news’ persuasion.

While I didn’t agree with her, by now she wasn’t quite so unfamiliar, in fact we’d struck up quite a rapport. Whether that was down to her asking my name or me piping-up is there for debate. But as I shuffled my belongings together to leave, I heard the now more familiar barista in conversation with a customer:

Barista: OK, that’s one tall Americano for, err, sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.
Customer: It’s Brian.
Barista: Are you sure?
Customer: Yes.
Barista: But last week, didn’t you say your name was Dave?

(Cue snigger from the customer – not to mention from one other smug Dave David.)

How much information is too much information? When it comes to design and branding, perhaps it’s time to start crediting the audience with a little intelligence.

It can be the pressures of committees, or the increasing weight of economic strife (and therefore costs) that can tend to favour brand communications in terms of the explicit and the unambiguous. It’s often a similar situation in advertising, where the attempts to best fit a brand into the often conflicting needs, desires, attitudes and aspirations of several different cultures, can lead to the ‘message can’t fail to be understood’ route. But by attempting to appeal to everyone, making points in terms of statistics, results and conclusions, or by designing brands and marks without subtlety or suggestion, perhaps you don’t truly grab anyone.

Given that this week is the anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth – and the abundance of Shakespeare related programmes on the BBC – perhaps the person we can learn the most from is The Bard himself.

It was a Shakespeare and Columbo related article (yes, you did read that correctly – you’ll have to read it) by Robert Butler in The Economist’s Intelligent Life that got me thinking. While Butler’s piece panned the green movement for overstating the point, it had a lot of parallels with some design, branding and advertising.

His point was this: Shakespeare’s plays were originally performed in daylight without scenery. Towards the end of the first scene of Hamlet, which takes place on the battlements at nighttime, Horatio sees that the dawn is breaking:

But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o’er the dew of you high eastward hill.

It’s the absence of scenery and lighting effects that necessitates the knockout line. The lesson: his plays takes place in the theatre of the mind, and it is the other person who completes the thought.

Crediting the audience with intelligence and the ability to understand gives them the opportunity to satisfy the basic human urge to complete something. This necessary act of completion draws them into the conversation, so that you find that you are sharing the same thoughts.

Interactivity may be a word immediately associated with all things digital these days, but on a more primal level we have a basic, deep-seated desire to get involved. If we consider communication as a journey from A to B, by taking the audience directly to B – as you would with a straight piece of communication – it meets with a passive recipient; they don’t need to go anywhere.

But if we take people on a mental journey from A to almost B, it’s the completion of the final stage of the journey in their mind’s eye that makes for a more powerful experience. The skill is, of course, knowing just how far from B to leave them – enticing the audience into willing and constructive collaboration.

Today’s brands can be increasingly open-ended. As yet undiscovered tribes in the heart of the Peruvian jungle will be able to tell you, storytelling is at the centre of enduring brands. Without a good story, marketing becomes an all together more expensive affair. If people know your story – and better still, are able to step into it – they can interact with it and share the experience through blogs, email, online communities, or simply telling their friends; saving you the trouble.

Whether written or visual, there’s something involuntarily attractive about the incomplete. Don’t underestimate the theatre of the mind.

A word of warning: it’s our job to clarify, not confuse. Avoid the baffling and impenetrable for this will only promote feelings of failure and inadequacy. Ask enough, but not too much. The result will be great work that sticks in peoples’ minds.

To almost B, not B. That is the answer.

While driving over to Leicestershire last Friday I found myself station surfing. I eventually settled on Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs, where Kirsty Young’s castaway was the veteran American comedian – and ‘ultimate Jew’ – Jackie Mason.

His one-man shows have been pulling in the audiences for over fifty years. Training initially as a rabbi, he quickly acquired a reputation for being very funny. So he quit the day job and became a full-time comedian.

Mason’s approach is one of reductive reasoning – trying to get to the core essence of things; trying to separate lies from truth, much like a brand consultancy or ad agency (upon the latter, I’ve never really bought the argument that our close cousins in the ad industry peddle half truths and lies. Or at least the best ones don’t).

Young described Mason’s audience as a “constant rolling body of laughter” and Mason’s ultimate goal is simple: to keep this going – to get people to identify with what he’s saying, let their guard down and enjoy the laughs without thinking about it too much. His method is one of knowing what’s going on in the world and the study of people. Even the simple act of going for a walk is an exercise in people watching and the dissection thereof for Mason. His comedy is the comedy of philosophy and observation – the observation of life.

Good branding and communication hinges on similarly sharp observations and the study of people; or at least it should do. We need to spend the same obsessive time watching people that Jackie Mason does – remaining constantly curious about them and not just the latest typefaces and colour schemes.

It’s all too easy for a designer or brand consultant to assume their insights are right and true – being welcomed by the equivalent of the ‘rolling laugh.’ But unlike standup, we’re rarely at the sharp end. Sure, we’ve all had the tricky client meeting or troublesome research group, but certainly nothing so intense as a deadly hush from a comedy audience.

You see it all too often amongst creative professionals: great solution for the wrong problem. Standup is far less forgiving. Perhaps we should remind ourselves of this whenever we think we’ve nailed a sharp observation or come up with a clever innovation.

I didn’t particularly take to Mr Mason, but the discussion between him and Young was (at times) amusing, fascinating, cantankerous, provocative and controversial. As for his musical choices? Susan Boyle – are you having a laugh?

Have you heard the tale about how there has only ever been seven basic story plots? Fact or fiction, it got me thinking about big ideas in brand storytelling.

It’s been a frantic week in the Barraclough household. As any parent will know, today is World Book Day – the annual event celebrated in nurseries and schools the length and breadth of the land. But as any parent will also know, with WBD comes ‘the letter’ – one that every parent dreads. Not the nits one (we’ve not had one of these I hasten to add) but the ‘dress your child up as a character from a book’ letter.

This single letter can throw the most ordered of households into blind panic, particularly if you’re on your seventh consecutive WBD. Worse still, if you have multiple children. My tips are:

1. Think of an outfit personally – then sell it in.
2. Under no circumstances give your little darlings a choice.
3. Don’t leave it until the night before. We’ve done this: the brown T-shirt, brown trousers with brown plaited wool crudely attached to the back, and a print out of the first ‘wolf face’ image we could find on Google, just didn’t cut the mustard – leaving our eldest the victim of peer ridicule (not to mention bemusement).

In all the annual costume furore, it’s easy to lose sight that WBD is a great idea to encourage the love of books and reading. It usually finds me with a back to basics approach, insisting that the children appreciate what the day stands for not the finer details of their costumes. Well it was worth a shot this morning, but I think my 4 year old was a little bemused when I started prattling on about how there has only ever been seven basic story plots.

What was the last book you read? Was it a revelation in storytelling or did it conform to one of these basic plot lines?

1. Tragedy hero with a fatal flaw meets tragic end. Macbeth or Madame Bovary.
2. Comedy not necessary laugh-out-loud, but always with a happy ending, typically of romantic fulfilment, as in Jane Austen.
3. Overcoming the Monster as in Frankenstein or ‘Jaws’. Its psychological appeal is obvious and eternal.
4. Voyage and Return Alice in Wonderland and HG Wells’ The Time Machine and Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner follow the same archetypal structure of personal development through leaving, then returning home.
5. Quest whether the quest is for a holy grail, a whale, or a kidnapped child it is the plot that links a lot of the most popular fiction. The quest plot links Lord of the Rings with Moby Dick and a thousand others in between.
6. Rags to Riches the riches in question can be literal or metaphoric. See Cinderella, David Copperfield, Pygmalion.
7. Rebirth the ‘rebirth’ plot – where a central character suddenly finds a new reason for living – can be seen in A Christmas Carol, It’s a Wonderful Life, Crime and Punishment and Peer Gynt.

The preceding list was taken from The Seven Stories That Rule the World by Matt Haig in agreement with an argument tabled by literary critic Christopher Booker, that there aren’t any new stories, just new ways to tell them.

So if there are no new stories in the literary world, what about the world of branding?

Storytelling has been the branding buzz word for a number of years now. Whether it’s the founder’s story or the brand’s reason for being, they remain a cornerstone of strong brands: good branding is, after all, simply about stories – ones with personality worth spreading. Stories that makes sense – a great plot if you like – are a brilliant way to connect with people and create relationships, and they’re very often the shorthand consumers use to understand a brand. In a world where brands are becoming increasingly open-ended, the fact that consumers can step into the story and interact with it is a powerful thing. The sharing of these through blogs, email, online communities and word of mouth creates huge awareness and emotional connections.

The question is: are we limited by the plot lines in brand storytelling too?

My initial reaction was one of quick dismissal at my own hypothesis, but if the ways in which we summarise a brand’s plot could be grouped into broad areas of approach, then where would that leave us? We hold great stead in devising original plot lines, or big ideas as they’re more commonly known, for the brands we work with.

If true, what would this mean for creative or strategic folk when we preach the mantra of originality as the very reason for our existence? But if every literary story has already been told, that doesn’t necessarily mean that a novel, play or a film can’t be truly original. It’s just originality doesn’t come through plot but through style, voice and the imagination that brings language and people and places to life. In the same way, I believe that designers are best placed to bring brand plots to life through intuitive fluency and the ability to manipulate form in a way that can genuinely move people.

There are many people vying for the role of chief storyteller: brand consultants, management consultants and ad agencies, but designers have a unique ability to give a visual face and personality to a brand, one that we often dismiss as a little fluffy or empty-headed, but one that creates more depth than perhaps we give ourselves credit for at times. The act of prettification is commonly seen as a character flaw amongst designers, but just making something look nicer can often be the difference that turns something into that must have item.

Brand storytelling is only partly written or verbal: it isn’t always explicit and literal, but it can be suggestive and subtle. Seemingly simple decisions, like the choice of colour, typeface or the size and ordering of visual elements can suddenly give clarity and life to the elements of a brand’s plot. The visual triggers we create (and the better design companies also do it verbally by the way) turn strategic thoughts into tangible outputs and cement brands in the mind’s eye. Better still is when design isn’t subservient to strategy but an intertwined cocktail of the two, where the development is organic rather than linear, and the strategy is flexible enough to accommodate new ideas.

Even if we were to assume that the broad plots in brand storytelling are simply top-line with an inevitable overlap, such as ‘brand leader’ or ‘challenger brand’, which could then be broken down into further clarified distinctions (as the talented Eat Big Fish has done here); and that the real opportunity for strategic originality comes through the more detailed identification of the brand essence, personality, values, unique propositions, missions and visions (delete or insert the latest faddy buzz word to suit), it is still hard to rival identities held together by a simple memorable idea well executed, through the enduring aesthetic qualities of design.

It’s hard to imagine a novelist penning a classic from a series of filled-out wheels, pyramid charts or TM’d processes; likewise, great brands work when they’re allowed to freewheel a little. Where true originality comes from carrying these (potentially universal) plots into reality through well designed identities. Less process, more simplicity. Just as chapter headings will never flesh out the finer intricacies of characters and places in a book, slide after slide of strategy won’t breathe true life into a brand.

It’s perhaps a little out of character for me to place such an emphasis on the precise placement of type, image and logos when we’re fairly and squarely of the problem solving persuasion, but there’s something I like about getting back to basics – just about every designer gets into design, not because they see themselves as a strategic mastermind but they like to make things look good. I enjoy the tension between how much big thinking we need and how much time we spend on the craft, and that every job will require a different balance. Don’t get me wrong, we’ll continue to look for the memorable plots and threads that give substance to brands, but in these challenging times, War and Peace style strategy documents seem a little hard to digest. Perhaps something in length more akin to Japanese Haiku might be more apt. The real difference will come when we knit theory and practice together.

We’re lucky enough to work strategically, visually and verbally, so hopefully we are well placed to fuse left and right-brain thinking. We’re fortunate in that we also collaborate with some great planning brains too, who appreciate that design has an increasingly important part to play in the story. It was a discussion with a planner and their enthusiasm for design that inspired this post.

Let me be clear: developing a great brand requires more than great design, but a great brand definitely requires more than just a great PowerPoint strategy document, even if it’s the size of a small novel. Perhaps that’s when the clarity of good design is needed even more?

Here’s some further thinking on design and strategy:

Down with Innovation by Rick Poynor

You’re so Intelligent by Michael Bierut

Branding. Where next? by Michael Johnson

Joël Penkman’s brilliant paintings exude childhood nostalgia. Jif Lemon – egg tempera on gesso board

In perhaps a rather limited research poll, it turns out that young children aren’t aware that today is Jif Lemon Day. And while I am a Catholic atheist, I was saddened and astounded when they didn’t appreciate that it is Shrove Tuesday. “But it is Pancake Day Daddy” replied my middle child. (There’s always one ready to pipe up in a research group isn’t there!) I swear she is more excited at the prospect of gorging herself on refined flour and sugar that she was on Christmas Day.

So given that my youngest is not even 10 months old and she couldn’t actively participate in my focus group, the responses from my 4 and 10 year old perhaps shouldn’t have come as a big surprise, given that our store cupboard ingredients don’t include that brilliantly designed Jif Lemon squeezy bottle.

This sent daddy into a nostalgic rambling about how as a child of the 70s/80s, Pancake Day had always involved Jif Lemon. In the days where our knowledge of processed foods and preservatives perhaps isn’t what it is today, a pancake wouldn’t be British without a squirt of the battery acid-like liquid from the fun little bottle. Quite why anyone would favour a processed alternative to simply cutting a fresh lemon in half is a mystery to me. I’m pleased to say that (in a particularly irritating middle class foodie way) when my focus group was questioned about where we get lemon juice from, the reply was an exasperated: “From a lemon Daddy.” No quick fix short cuts in my ‘all fresh’ kitchen. Yes, daddy extracts juice from a lemon by the method popularised by chirpie Essex geezer, tray-baker and general do gooder, Jamie Oliver: (1) cut lemon in half (potentially rolled on the kitchen work surface beforehand to get the juices flowing); (2) cup hand below one half of lemon; (3) squeeze lemon half, catching (some of) the pips while letting the juice trickle through fingers; (4) repeat with other half.

Rather strangely, I’m half tempted to buy a vibrant little bottle of Jif Lemon today. Not to use it you understand, but simply to marvel at its innovative marriage of form and function. The instantly recognisable, well branded and highly visible bottle, with more that just a little sense of fun, has been knocking about since the 1956 and I’ve always loved it.

Supermarket isles are jam packed with indentikit bottles, tins and jars (with stick-on labels)but Jif Lemon provides a perfect testimony to creative and brilliantly simply thinking. Where drawing inspiration from nature’s own packaging, results in a pack that perfectly communicates what’s held inside. You can almost imagine Edward Hack’s epiphany when he more than likely asked himself: ‘Where does lemon juice come from? From squeezing lemons of course!”

Not only is Jif Lemon one of my favourite packs, I was equally impressed with the advertising strapline: Don’t forget the pancakes on Jif Lemon Day.

Rather than focus – as many brands do – on widening their appeal, Jif Lemon narrowed its sights on claiming just one day of the year: Pancake Day. In doing so they’ve become synonymous with this day, and I’d wager that in doing so, they sell more little yellow bottles on the run up to this day than if they tried to take on fresh lemons all year round.

Perhaps the Barraclough household isn’t nostalgic enough to replace the fresh unwaxed lemons with a processed alternative, but I wouldn’t be surprised if plenty of other families default to this alternative just once a year – passing this tradition onto the next generation, meaning that there’s a fair old chance that it’ll still be around in another 50 odd years.

I wonder whether if Jif Lemon hadn’t been designed until today, whether it would even make it to the supermarket shelves? Not simply because of our increased knowledge of the benefits of fresh food and the drawbacks of processed, but because the idea of a non-flat bottomed product rolling off retailers’ shelves would never make it through the research focus groups.

There are many who believe that systematic, careful research can arrive at a creative conclusion that will be successful in the market place (paraphrasing Wally Olins). But research is only useful in telling you what people currently think and feel – not what the best original creative idea is. I don’t even buy the argument that focus groups may not tell you what will work, but they’ll definitely tell you what won’t. Most people are initially conservative and don’t like anything new. So an artificial situation where a few people are paid a little money to sit in a room with strangers, and talk about something they potentially know very little about, is invariably going to result in conservative thinking so that they don’t appear foolish.

It’s a familiar scenario: the formal research group dominated by what Alex Bogusky describes as the ‘Alpha Asshole’ – the person most comfortable being opinionated among a group of strangers. Who in their right mind is going to argue with this person?

Sensible research has its place but it shouldn’t be a substitute for creative decision making. Don’t be fooled into thinking that it can identify the right creative route and that what the research says goes. Interpretation, judgement and gut instinct are critical.

I don’t know whether any Jif Lemon (or Realemon as it was originally known) research groups were commissioned in 1956, but to me, the resulting pack looks like a triumph in relying on creative instinct rather than research.

This creative instinct and courage, combined with attention to detail invariably makes for great work. Legend has it that the designer personally examined the entire stock of lemons in Harrods’ food hall to obtain the perfect lemon shape.

Now that’s my kind of research.

It’s interesting to see China Town even more vibrant and colourful than it usually is (see the now obligatory colour dips below).

Onto the Chinese Arts Centre in the heart of Manchester’s Northern Quarter. I’ve long been an admirer of the CAC logo, dating back to my days as a design student at Salford; where I’d point it out to anyone that would listen (or was sober enough to see it). For me, it’s a classic example of design taking the viewer from A to almost B, with some effort required on their part to complete the picture.

So it came as a pleasant surprise when starting at Barraclough, to discover that it was the creation of our very own Creative Director, David, and his team — whilst heading up the design arm of CheethamBellJWT. This iconic mark, created almost ten years ago, has since been applied to numerous bits of collateral by the CAC team and their design agencies:

There were some interesting bits and pieces on show too, with the Chinese New Year honoured in the ‘Wishing Tree’ installation created by Manchester based artists Olivia Glasser and Lu Di. The tradition of the wishing tree, is that people write their wish on a piece of paper, tie it to an orange and throw it up into the branches. It is believed that the wish comes true if the orange does not fall.

The exhibit that held my interest the most, was a series of pieces by Jeremy Hutchison, that seemed to be inspired by the incredible attention to detail that seems to be present in most Chinese manufacture processes. Jeremy created a series of ‘Incorrect Products’ by briefing Chinese factories to create one of their products, but with an error built in that means the product cannot be used for its intended purpose. The error must be created and thought up by the factory employee him or herself. The results were really interesting:

During the Christmas break (which already seems a distant memory) I travelled to Paris for New Year’s Eve whilst squeezing as much culture into five days as possible. I saw and did plenty of interesting stuff, a brief snapshot of which is shown below with some colour dips — as previously discussed on this blog — for good measure. Interesting results as ever.

Happy (belated) 2012.

One I designed in 1995, where the idea of display was the idea

I may have missed something, but surely a prerequisite of a Christmas card is to be able to display it?

We’re either: a) deeply unpopular, or b) the traditional Christmas card is dead. I’m certain that from the rise in ecards we’ve received that it’s the latter (let’s hope so). I’m sure that it won’t come as any surprise that the traditional card has pretty much had its day, or at the very least, the corporate card has. As a consultancy, we’re asked less and less every year to design them for our clients and this year we’ve not designed one for ourselves.

Brazen Christmas card 2006 – a celebratory twist on their logo. You can see more Brazen stuff here

But this makes me a little sad. I totally buy the argument that a Christmas card is not only environmentally unsound but a right pain in the proverbial to write and send out. Add to that actually designing one seems to get harder every year, then is it any wonder that they’re on the decline in these tough times?

While I’m very grateful for the ecards we’ve received, I can’t help thinking that they’re not any kind of replacement for the humble card. Much like the 12” vinyl record sleeve, the traditional Christmas card was an opportunity for a piece of art, a playful thought or a sharp observation. Sure you can still create a clever visual digitally, but there is something a little lost in its execution versus the real life tactile experience, and often smell, of a piece of print.

Traditional cards and ecards share the same ability to carry a pithy goodwill message and a themed visual, but I remain flummoxed as to how an ecard can form any kind of replacement when it fails to deliver on one fundamental prerequisite of the traditional card – the ability to display it.

Sure you can print it out on a piece of 80gsm laser paper, fold it in half and place it on your windowsill but it won’t be there for long. Perhaps if you could automatically download each of your ecards at the touch of a button, save them to a screensaver folder that automatically displayed them as your computer nodded off, then the ecard would be going someway towards being a realistic replacement. As it stands, it’s like asking someone to pick you up a low-fat strawberry yoghurt from the shops and them returning with a pack of six, all butter mince pies. It appears that I’m not alone (#ecardnameandshame).

Advertising and digital agencies seem to be making a better fist of going that stage further and creating Christmas sites and games but I can’t help but think that they’re little more than an exercise in ‘look how clever and digital we are.’ Don’t be fooled that the graphic design community was showboating any less but the card could be a quick and relatively low budget way to wrap up the year in a memorable fashion – the main equipment required being a sharp brain and the ability to twist a printer’s arm for one last seasonal favour.

It seems apt to point out that in the month where Thomas Heatherwick’s new bus for London was revealed, that this studio, capable of creating design on such a giant red scale, until very recently religiously designed a Christmas card for themselves every year since 1994. Regularly confining their thoughts to the self imposed use of a postage stamp (or stamps) and the post office stamp of London’s Mount Pleasant sorting office, they created tasteful, playful and often incredibly intricate Christmas cards worth talking about. Dare I say, worth displaying. Better than that, I’d wager that anyone who’s ever received one has still got it. You can read more about Heatherwick’s cards here and here.

It’d be impossible to mention Christmas cards and stamps without a shout out for The Chase’s mid 90s classic of a Christmas tree made from stamps; the sum of which making up that of a first class one, and as luck would have it at the time, that was 25 pence. Get it?

It’d be hard to beat that card and it appears that I’m not the only admirer. I saw the strangest thing here! Why would you do this?

The demise of the Christmas card is perhaps the biggest loss for the junior designer, yet to be let loose on a fully blown corporate client. The Christmas card was often a level playing field, a sort of FA cup tie if you like, where the junior had every chance of overthrowing their master.

I’m sure that many design companies worth their salt will still indulge, but the smarter ones will do so with one eye on the environment, as Johnson Banks did here by ram-punching a Christmas tree out of magazines and brochures they found around the office.

One thing is for certain, 2012 will throw a question mark over more than the humble Christmas card. As the general economy, both here and in the Eurozone and beyond continues to teeter on the brink of meltdown (happy thoughts ey?) designers will need to reevaluate every method they use to communicate and find smarter ways in which to do so. In many cases they’ll need to do so in a more humble fashion, but no less effectively. Like Thomas Heatherwick’s self-imposed constraints, sometimes great things can come from working with less. A good idea should thrive no matter what the economic climate.

Merry Christmas!

The barraclough team have used this technique to tailor client presentations and even personalise their email footers. What’s interesting, is that even when images are chosen for emotional rather than colour-theory based reasons, the resulting colour combinations are rarely something you’d place side by side.

My email footer is inspired by Mr Thomas’s Chophouse in Manchester’s city centre. It goes without saying, it was chosen primarily for emotional reasons (plenty of good times have been spent in this excellent public house). Having said that, this fine piece of 19th century Mancunian architecture and one of the oldest pubs in the city, does have some fantastic colours both inside and out. Some internal shots can be seen here. Thanks to ‘Confessions of a Wino’ for kindly letting us show his shots.

David selected David Stewart’s brilliant ‘Mirror Girl’ shot for his. In fact, a visit to David Stewart’s site could easily lead to hours of colour dipping and inspiration from his superb images. Thanks to Mr Stewart for the use of this shot.

So you get the picture. Here are a few more examples you may well recognise.

Finally, no colour post would be complete without a mention of our old friend Joey – it’d be quicker to list the projects she hasn’t been involved in with us, than the ones she has, before deciding to move into her fine art career (which seems to be going rather well). This title of this painting is ‘Blancmange’, and comes from her British Food series. You can see more of her work here. Go on, buy one.

As always, we’ll keep our radars up and more than likely post more of these throughout 2012.

Brands could learn a lot from the seminal TV music show.

Much like myself, the Old Grey Whistle Test has been celebrating its 40th this autumn. I must admit that I’ve missed most of the series that’s been running on BBC Radio 2 – so we’re chipping away at the shows through the iPlayer. It seems a shame that its return has been confined to radio when it was originally a TV programme. I’m sure that the impact it made in the 70s and 80s would not have been nearly as influential had it been a radio show.

Chances are, if you’re any younger than me, that you won’t be familiar with OGWT. The truth is, that I probably only caught the tail end of the seminal show’s run in the mid 80s, but its influence was apparent upon viewing The Tube and can still be detected in Later with Jools Holland.

Catching up with the recent mix of archive and new performances, along with interviews with artists who appeared in the original series has been most enjoyable and enlightening, and even more so for the 29 year old that sits next to me, who had never heard of the show.

It wasn’t just the stories and great music that struck us, but there’s a lot of stuff brands – and perhaps in particular, startups – could learn from OGWT.

Do one thing well
Whereas other music shows focussed on hair, dance routines and chirpy performances of the latest chart singles, OGWT focussed purely on albums, setting a strict criteria for inclusion in the show: if you hadn’t made an album, you weren’t coming on. Follow David Hieatt’s blog and you’ll be more than familiar with the idea of doing one thing well: “We make jeans. We will only make jeans. We will focus our minds on making jeans. It will keep us plenty busy. So no bobble hats. No sweatshirts. No mugs. No perfumes. No distractions from the main thing. The main thing will be the only thing.”

Sometimes what you don’t do is just as important as what you do.

Make a virtue out of a little
Bands on OGWT often performed their numbers in front of bare studio walls or plain wooden boards, that were actually the backs of set walls from the other programmes filmed in the same studio. This was a matter of money as much as style – the show’s minority appeal dictated that the programme originally be filmed in a humble 10 x 7m studio, meaning that the lack of showbiz glitter only served to reinforce the show’s focus on serious rock. This gave OGWT a visual signature that was arguably stronger than it would’ve been had budgets been bigger than a mere £500 per show.

Humble is often the designer’s blind spot. You don’t always need a lot of money to establish a brand, in fact, having less can often focus your mind on what really matters.

Stop shouting
Probably the shows most renowned presenter was the so called, ‘Whispering’ Bob Harris. His velvety voice, quiet delivery and laconic enthusiasm became synonymous with the show – very different from the “pop-a-doodle do” delivery of Top of the Pops. The concise and considered delivery from the professional journalist meant Bob didn’t have to shout or over state.

Brands need to find an opinion and their voice. Remember that shouting is no longer engaging.

Find the best people who love what they do
Harris was not the only expert on the show: Richard Williams, Annie Nightingale, Andy Kershaw, David Hepworth, Mark Ellen and Richard Skinner all played their part. Mike Appleton, the series producer, had little need to for scripts and verbatim recitals. The professional music journalists brought their knowledge to the show and displayed a genuine passion and bookish knowledge of their subject, meaning that not only were viewers engaged, they knew that they were listening to people like them. They did the job as much for the love, if not more than the money. They were doing something they loved.

Find staff who love what they do. It’s infectious and your internal brand will flourish as a result.

Give people room to express themselves
The programmes format allowed artists to perform whatever they wanted, rather than just peddle their latest single. Let people express themselves and you’ll create an energy that gets people talking. People are still talking about OGWT performances now.

Recognise and acknowledge your mistakes
Annie Nightingale took over as host in 1978 when it was felt that the show was behind the times in its failure to embrace punk. This was acknowledged when punk band, The Adverts, opened Nightingale’s first show with the words: “At last the 1978 show” – a pun on the TV Comedy: At Last the 1948 Show.

Today’s brands need to be more transparent than ever. They also need to be more flexible, while somehow remaining true to the brand’s focus. Just like OGWT, you can make a virtue out of your mistakes, and even open up with them. Be brave, be honest.

Make things that stick in people’s minds
For me, the thing that stuck with me most about OGWT was the title sequence: the animated man, known as the star kicker, accompanied by the distinctive harmonica theme (a track by Nashville band: Area Code 615).

Create a visual, verbal and mnemonic identity for your brand and plant it in people’s minds. Who knows, people may still be celebrating it in 40 years time.

Read the trend
Sergeant Pepper had not long been released and OGWT identified that there was a growing demand for album music, but no one was featuring it on TV. OGWT spotted the gap and filled it.

Brands need to give consumers something they can’t get elsewhere. Dare to be different.

Great stories inspire great names
OGWT was very nearly called: Florence Foster Jenkins’ Musical Emporium – a narrow escape! The show derived its actual name from a Tin Pan Alley phase of old, where the record execs would play the first pressing of a record to the people they called ‘the old greys’: doormen in grey suits. The songs they remembered and were able to whistle having heard just once, had passed ‘the old greys whistle test.’

What I love about the name ‘Old Grey Whistle Test’ is that the story is nonessential, but when you know it you feel a little like you’ve gained entry into an elite club – musical trivia currency to spend next time you’re with your music loving, 40 something plus friends.

All too often, branding consultancies can get caught up on whether names are abstract, descriptive or suggestive, when very often all you need is a natty little story.

Finally, share your thinking with the right people
My favourite lesson from OGWT is based on the very ‘old greys’ story that gave the show its name.

It’s a familiar scenario: the formal research group dominated by what Alex Bogusky describes as the ‘Alpha Asshole’ – the person most comfortable being opinionated among a group of strangers. Who in their right mind is going to argue with this person when all they’re getting is fifty quid, a couple of sausage rolls and a slice of black forest gateaux? Sensible research has its place but it shouldn’t be a substitute for creative decision making.

Get your brand and products in the hands of the right people, in the real world. I’m not suggesting that you totally abandon the formal research groups (or am I?), but find your equivalent of the old greys, let them spend time with it on their terms and see what sticks in their heads.

Listen to them and you’ll soon have plenty of people whistling to your tune.