I grew up in Guadalajara watching my grandmother run her little mercado like a one-woman circus — loud, colorful, personal, and impossible to ignore. People went to shop, but they really came to see her. That was my first experience with "branding."
By my twenties, I'd traded the mercado for Manhattan and was writing brand strategy for companies with eight-figure budgets and zero personality. And I was damn good at it.
But somewhere between the corporate style guides and the stakeholder decks, I noticed the brands that moved people weren't the biggest ones.
They were the weird ones. The specific ones. The kind with a voice. The ones that knew exactly who they were and refused to apologize for it.
The most important lessons of my career didn't come from a textbook, a lecture, or a licensing exam.
How a frustrated therapist started telling the truth online
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