That didn’t stop me from giving it the old college try. I saw her at a party, alone, surveying the room. I moved in and quickly said hello. Within seconds, I could tell my forced small talk was going nowhere. I could feel her faint interest waning. I knew I had to convince her I was a fun guy, and fast.

“I’m a fun guy, I really am,” I blurted.

Ugh. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. I was powerless to stop the breathy, uneasy nerd-giggle leaving my mouth. Worse, I could see her surveying the room again in the hope of rescue. I’m pretty sure that was the last time we ever spoke. I learned a valuable lesson that day — one that extends naturally to the world of advertising and branding: Don’t tell me about yourself as if you have me cornered at a party.

There’s a saying that expresses it best: “Are you going to tell me you’re funny? Or are you going to make me laugh?”

As advertisers and marketers, we make that mistake every day. We tell customers who we are rather than aspire to be those things. To me, it’s the fundamental difference between advertising and propaganda. Because at the end of the day, your brand isn’t what you say it is. Your brand is what your customers say it is.

A kiosk explains how Soldier Ride has transformed a warrior's life at the WWP Sacrifice Center.

One of my favorite things about doing what I do is I get to wrap my head around a lot of different things. Occasionally a client or an assignment can come along that is so unique that it still manages to be thoroughly refreshing.

In the case of a recent task from Wounded Warrior Project, it’s both the client and the assignment. The WWP is a not-for-profit, non-partisan organization whose sole mission is to honor and empower America’s warriors injured in Iraq and Afghanistan. I like working with them because I believe in their cause. And I like working with them because they’re pretty terrific people.

Recently they asked me to write a series of wall graphics as well as a script for an official tour of their new Sacrifice Center in Jacksonville, Florida. Environmental design falls wayyyy outside the realm of websites, annual reports and ad campaigns I’m accustomed to writing. Many of the graphics incorporate the real life stories of warriors and their families—remarkable, real-life experiences of our warriors. Often heartbreaking. Always inspiring. I was proud to contribute and I’m more than happy to see the graphics go up on the walls in Jacksonville.

The Wounded Warrior Project began by providing bedside backpacks to wounded warriors. Today they also provide advocacy on Capitol Hill, continuing education opportunities, benefits counseling, Warriors to Work, Soldier Ride and other worthwhile programs. To learn more, or to donate, visit http://www.woundedwarriorproject.com. 

By definition, luxury means habitual indulgence in or enjoyment of comforts and pleasures in addition to necessities. Just don’t tell advertisers.

The lingering effects of a recession have made luxury a dirty word. So much so that advertisers are trying to convince us luxury doesn’t really mean luxury at all. Suddenly luxury means living a purposeful life. Or it means green. Or it’s new luxury, not to be confused with clunky old self-indulgent luxury and buying things simply because we could.

Nowhere is this more true than automotive advertising. It came to a head for me when I watched this beautifully written and completely implausible spot for Buick.

In my opinion Audi was a bit more skillful with their update of the classic “Goodnight Moon.” But goodnight old luxury? Performance is the new luxury? Meh. Take a look at the $78,000-plus sticker of the beautiful A8, and if you used words like opulent, indulgent and exclusive I would forgive you. Heck, I might even believe you.

When I was a cub I took a piece of copy to an art director to flow into a layout. He stared at it for a minute or two and I could tell something was wrong.  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

He looked up and said, “this is we, we copy.” I took offense, thinking he had just called my work wee-wee. “Excuse me?” I said.

“It’s all ‘we this’ and ‘we that,’” he added. “It’s chest-pounding—it’s propaganda. Try less we and more you.”

If he had called my work wee-wee, he would have been right. It was great advice and a good rule of thumb for anyone who works in marketing.