Identity

When, in life, I find myself perplexed by something, I often fall back on two of my greatest passions to achieve some level of understanding: literature and cooking competition shows. And while these two things may seem disparate, they teach a similar lesson. Namely, that putting constraints upon yourself can be a gift.

On the lit side, there are extreme examples of this, like Oulipo, whose members give themselves intense rules they must follow. For example, ‘pilish,’ in which word lengths must match the consecutive digits in pi (in other words, a 3-letter word, followed by a 1-letter word, followed by a 4-letter word, and so on; I just learned about this and am putting it in my back pocket for the March 14th write-up next year).

But even beyond the experimental, constraints are often necessary. Say, for example, you’re working on a novel, and all of the scenes/chapters fall in the 7- to 12-page range. In such a case, a 20-page chapter might be warranted, especially for a crucial, climactic moment, but a random scene in the middle of the book? One not meant to be any more important than the one before or the one after? Were you to finish a draft and see that it had taken 48 pages to convey, it would be odd, and likely indicate a flaw in the pacing or structure of the writing.

Similarly, on a cooking show, you often see chefs mistake delusion for ambition. They plan a meal with seven components, eager to show their technique, but in the end, put up a dish that displays only a lack of one specific skill: the ability to read a clock set to count down from twenty minutes and plan accordingly. Otherwise, they do a duo or, God forbid, a trio of dishes, basically creating a point of tension on their own plate, because the judge will compare the parts to each other and ultimately like one more than the rest.

In both of these cases (the overlong chapter or the over-zealous twenty-minute appetizer), a little bit of restraint might seem limiting, but it will ultimately result in a better product.

So, what does all this have to do with today’s speaker?

Well, I just think this would be a valuable lesson for the National Tree Company to learn.

From their ‘About Us’ page:

National Tree Company (NTC) has helped people create meaningful holiday memories for more than 60 years by designing artificial Christmas trees and seasonal décor that turn everyday spaces into celebrations.

Cool. Sounds great.

So then why the hell are they selling this big bluetooth speaker that changes colors? It doesn’t make any sense.

Compounding the issue, they refuse to just throw up their hands and say, “Hey, who cares, right?” Instead, they do something much worse; they attempt to shoehorn it into the ‘holiday stuff’ product category using the power of pure marketing. The ‘Big Belly’ is (I think) supposed to be a reference to Santa Claus. And the copy reads:

Place this light-emitting speaker in an indoor or outdoor location to create a festive multicolor glow.

Huh? “Festive”? How?!

The point is, probably someone over there said, “Listen, people love bluetooth speakers! We could probably make a quick buck by slinging some ourselves!” And maybe they did, but they also eroded their customers’ understanding of what their brand even is, which can’t be good in the long run.

But for us, on the other hand, a big round bluetooth makes perfect sense. After all, when you define your company by selling stupid stuff for cheap, well, that’s an erosion-proof identity, friend.

Because you can’t lose credibility you never had!

Or, wait… that doesn’t sound good at all…