A rebrand is a very seductive place to hide.
I say this with affection, because I love a rebrand. I love the mood boards, the typography, the strange emotional intensity of choosing between two nearly identical shades of cream. I love the moment someone says, "It just doesn't feel like me anymore," and everyone nods as though we are gathered around a tiny brand funeral.
[tiny sandwiches, tiny grief]
But sometimes the brand is not the problem… sometimes the business is tired, the offer is unclear, the audience has changed, or the founder is just bored.
Sometimes the founder is becoming someone new and the website is simply the first object in the room brave enough to look outdated.
So before touching the colours, the logo, the copy, or the homepage that has apparently been "haunting" someone for eight months, I like to ask three questions.
The first is: what are people currently misunderstanding?
Not what do you want to say.
Not what do you want it to look like.
What are people getting wrong?
A brand is often less about expression than it is a correction. It corrects the assumptions people are making before you get a chance to explain. If people think you are cheaper than you are, more corporate than you are, more casual than you are, more available than you are, less strategic than you are, or less experienced than you are, your brand has become a very elegant little liar.
[beautiful, but unhelpful]
The second question is: what are you trying to become known for now?
Not forever. Now.
There is a special kind of confusion that happens when a person keeps every past version of themselves alive inside their positioning. The website becomes a museum of former competencies. Every service they have ever offered gets its own little chair. Every audience they have ever served is still technically invited. The whole thing is polite, crowded, and impossible to remember.
[a networking event with no exits]
A strong brand has to disappoint some of your past selves. It has to say, "Thank you for getting us here, but you no longer get to drive."
The third question is: what are you no longer willing to perform?
This is the one that usually makes the room go quiet.
Because most brand problems are not aesthetic problems, they are performance problems.
A founder is performing approachability when they need to be more selective. A coach is performing softness when their work is actually rigorous. A consultant is performing corporate polish when their gift is saying the thing everyone else is politely avoiding. A creator is performing ease when the truth is they care deeply and are exhausted by pretending not to.
The brand starts to feel wrong because the performance has become too expensive.
[and the invoice is emotional]
This is the part a logo cannot fix.
A better font can make you look more current. Better colours can make you feel more aligned. Better copy can make the whole thing easier to understand. These are not small things. I am obviously pro-font. I have lost years of my life to font decisions and, frankly, would do it again.
[no regrets, only kerning]
But the deeper question is not "what should this look like?"
The deeper question is "what truth is trying to come through now?"
A rebrand is useful when it gives that truth a body.
It is not useful when it gives avoidance a nicer outfit.
So before the mood board, before the colour palette, before anyone says "elevated but approachable" and we all pretend those words still have meaning, I want to know what the old brand can no longer carry.
- What is being misunderstood?
- What are you becoming known for?
- What performance are you finally ready to stop maintaining?
Those answers will tell us more than the logo ever could.
The logo can come later.
It usually lands better once the truth has entered the room, anyway.
[rude, but true]