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Brand. Algorithms. Influencer. Viral. These words make me cringe every time I hear them.
The concept of "brand" imposed itself on me recently. In an effort to promote my substack page, "Howard's Hues," I paid a consultant (a real person) a couple hundred bucks for a half-hour live video session. It seemed like a good investment if I was to ever reach a wider audience and make some money from my writing. The woman seemed very knowledgeable regarding the marketing process, and, having skimmed through a couple of my essays, she appeared enthusiastic about Howard's Hues and its potential for growth.
However, she kept asking me to describe my "brand." I was at a loss, unable to understand her line of questioning. So I tried to explain to her that what I write is sometimes humorous, sometimes personal, sometimes political, sometimes philosophical or spiritual. After a while, the conversation sputtered, then drifted away toward how she could improve the optics of my page -- how she could make it alluring and distinctive. It all ended abruptly when she said it would cost $1,500 for the service, which would begin as soon as I filled out a three-page questionnaire that would determine what my 'Brand' is. Needless to say, I failed the test.
As a longtime musician, I've run into a similar conflict of expectations. A kind of Jack-of-all-trades (and, as they say, master of none), I have played multiple styles of music and instruments over the years. I'll never forget being stalked by a blues music devotee a couple decades ago. I had seen him in clubs a few times, and couldn't help but notice him with his black leather jacket, long hair and doo-rag. He always appeared to sneer at me. Finally, after a show that featured some jazz-rock and original music he approached me. "Who the hell are you anyway? You're not a real blues player."
I suppose it's my own fault that I can't claim an identifiable niche in any of my chosen vocations. I'm a victim of circumstances that I created, or that I couldn't control. I might blame it on an inherently short attention span and impetuous nature, or on the lack of will power that would have deterred me from chronic wanderlust characterized by desultory cross-country travels, disillusionary alternative mindscapes, and ill-fated romances. Regardless, the choices I made have delivered me to this place of reflection, a separate room lit by candles and surrounded by doors, some half open, others half closed.
To accept a brand would mean reducing myself to the status of cattle -- to become the property of someone or something, and to be corralled by cattle ranchers who look like Mr. Smith from the Matrix. It would mean the loss of the freedom to express myself as a unique individual.
Of course consumer branding is nothing new. Marketers know that consumers like to form bonds with products, and to identify themselves in connection to a product. In the 60's it was the Marlboro man v. Old Gold, Coke v. Pepsi. Chevy v. Ford. In middle school, we learned about ad strategies such as bandwagon (everyone is doing it, so should you), celebrity appeal, patriotism, strong man, straw man, common man, popular man, fear factor, etc. This was important, as it provided us with the means to be able to think critically about who was trying to influence us and what they were selling.
It seems that kind of learning is no longer emphasized in schools, and kids are less aware of how they are being manipulated. The normalization of the use of algorithms to cull and analyze our personal choices has made all of us, especially young people, victims of an invasion of privacy previously unimaginable. What makes it all even worse is the emergence of this army of "Influencers" who parade across the internet.
Influencers are social media quasi-celebrities have a knack for self-promotion, and they love seeing themselves writ large as a brand leader. Based on their knowledge of a particular hot topic, their outrageous moxie, their or some other rhetorical talent, they have established credibility. Yet it is more than the old celebrity appeal in that it goes beyond the selling of products. Influencers may use their platforms to sell political ideology through brand association.
With all this happening in the virtual world, it is natural for skeptical folks to stay on the sidelines and ignore the talking heads. I have no rooster in whatever fight they promote. I'd rather stay in my room watching Brit Box mysteries, drinking chardonnay, recollecting old doorways that led to different places. And writing, of course, none of which, I guarantee, will ever go viral.
Pete Howard is the author of Rosebud Dreamworld, a novel for young and not-so-young adults.