In 2018, tech journalist Ian Bogost wrote an article for The Atlantic titled “Brands Are Not Our Friends.” The lede is a remarkable historical artifact, a relic of a time when a uniformed man appearing on your doorstep as a result of your tweets might evoke bemusement rather than terror.
In the eight million eternities since then, much in this world has changed. Many brands (of the for-profit and non-profit varieties) are no longer interested in just being your friend. Now they talk like your therapist. In their view, this is “meeting the moment.”
First: what does that mean? Second: it does not work.
Almost everyone feels that things are off right now. A comms strategy is not going to change that—but it can determine whether your organization is seen as a beacon of sanity in a crazy world, or a smarmy contributor to the current mess.
Some are insipid, others are just kind of obnoxious.
Respecting your audience’s intelligence might be crazy enough to work.
Because the last word is rarely the end of the conversation.
Much like penguins, we enjoy bringing you little gifts to show we care:
Sick of useless AI features, product integrations, and data collection scripts cluttering your browser? A new tool offers blessed relief.
The Central Brooklyn Food Co-op is hiring a Director ($115,000 a year) to help open a retail location serving Black communities in Bed-Sty, Crown Heights, and Central Brooklyn.
If Veronika the 13-year old cow can learn to use a tool, perhaps there’s hope for all of us.
Here’s what one of us is currently reading:
“The coffee served in the coffeehouses wasn't necessarily very good coffee. Because of the way coffee was taxed in Britain (by the gallon), the practice was to brew it in large batches, store it cold in barrels, and reheat it a little at a time for serving. So coffee's appeal in Britain had less to do with being a quality beverage than with being a social lubricant. People went to coffeehouses to meet people of shared interests, gossip, read the latest journals and newspapers—a brand-new word and concept in the 1660s—and exchange information of value to their lives and business. Some took to using coffeehouses as their offices–as, most famously, at Lloyd's Coffee House on Lombard Street, which gradually evolved into Lloyd's insurance market. William Hogarth's father hit on the idea of opening a coffeehouse in which only Latin would be spoken. It failed spectacularly–toto bene, as Mr. Hogarth himself might have said— and he spent years in debtors' prison in unhappy consequence.”
People who like reading about history but get distracted easily by rabbit holes, take note: Bill Bryson may be the writer for you! This book purports to be a history of the home, both as a concept and as a collection of items and structural elements. If that sounds like a lot to cover, don’t worry—it’s actually so much more.
Like an insomniac following a chain of Wikipedia links, Bryson cannot stop himself from following every vaguely relevant trail back to at least one good anecdote or historical tidbit. This book is better for his lack of restraint. From the pepper trade to electricity, tables and chairs to the concept of comfort as a linguistic descriptor, he really covers just about everything in your daily life that you may have ever wondered about.*
*Or not—I could have done without the long aside about the Erie Canal, but I’m not a barge girlie.
Within the home, there’s a lot of history to cover. How is a book like this even possible? Each bit is short and interrelated, really an unending stream of anecdata and research, a few pages or lines given to any one topic. This can get distracting when it serves to gloss over atrocities like the work of the East India Company, or the transatlantic slave trade, which are covered with about the same level of detail as a single train derailment in Pennsylvania.
But it’s a great intro to a million topics, and a good appetizer for a reader trying to choose what they’d like to read next. If they could just shut that last browser tab and focus...
