You’ve probably noticed something about my posts.

I’m constantly name-dropping. Not celebrities. Not influencers. Cousins. Colleagues. Random friends. That guy Steve Hoechester who said one thing at lunch that hijacked my brain for a week.

Here’s why: I genuinely believe that credit is a form of currency, and I like to be rich in the stuff that actually matters.

Yes, I can come up with ideas on my own. Hell, I’m good at it. (Like, "could monetize it in my sleep" good.) But the truth is, something special happens when you let other people into the process. A conversation. A book. A line in a podcast. It’s not just inspiration, it’s ignition. These interactions don’t just give me ideas. They accelerate them. Sharpen them. Sometimes they slap me in the face and say, "Hey dummy, go this way."

Every once in a while, someone drops a sentence so simple, so unpolished, so delightfully obvious that it hits you straight in the soul like a folding chair in a WWE match.

For me, it happened last week.

I was talking with my cousin. She’s cool. She’s fun. She’s wildly successful in that effortless “Oh, I didn’t realize you were on that board” kind of way. We were bouncing around ideas about travel and food and all the things that make life feel like more than just a to-do list.

Then she said this.

“Do you know why they call things better? Because better is better. That’s why they call it better.”

I swear to you, time froze for a second.

Every once in a while, someone drops a sentence so simple, so unpolished, so delightfully obvious that it hits you straight in the soul like a folding chair in a WWE match.

For me, it happened last week.

I’m uninspired.

Not creatively blocked. Not out of ideas. Not “searching for my muse.” I’m just worn down. Pneumonia has been riding me like a rented mule, and on top of that, someone I love, a family member, is reaching the end of his life. It’s a double-header you don’t train for. And yes, I know I’m the guy known for having energy that borders on cartoon physics… but even Wile E. Coyote hits the canyon floor sometimes.

And when life starts to wobble like this, my mind does what it always does. It goes straight to my dad.

Let’s just say it: Most digital marketing metrics are bullshit.

Impressions? Clicks? Views? Cute.

They look great in a deck and make everyone feel productive, but when it comes to answering the only question that actually matters, "Did this move the needle?" those metrics are basically confetti in a hurricane.

Enter the hero we don’t talk about enough: Incrementality.

Let’s clear something up: “word-of-mouth marketing” isn’t a hashtag, a tactic, or a growth hack.

It’s not “post three times a week” and it’s definitely not “hope this goes viral.”

Most marketers think they’re building word-of-mouth when really they’re building noise. And noise doesn’t spread. Noise gets ignored.

Real word-of-mouth, the kind that travels across group chats, dinner tables, Slack channels, and bar stools, starts with people, not platforms.

For me, it happened last week.

I was talking with my cousin. She’s cool. She’s fun. She’s wildly successful in that effortless “Oh, I didn’t realize you were on that board” kind of way. We were bouncing around ideas about travel and food and all the things that make life feel like more than just a to-do list.

Then she said this.

“Do you know why they call things better? Because better is better. That’s why they call it better.”

I swear to you, time froze for a second.

I saw a post today from Stephanie Agresta talking about SXSW and how they have reimagined the footprint of the festival. The post caught my eye because SXSW is a big part of my career.

I’ve been to SXSW eight times and seven of those were in a row, mostly with FreshBooks , but also tagging along with two other startups hellbent on making noise. And every damn year we managed to stir things up so well that we’d get a polite (but clearly annoyed) email from the organizers: "You got us this time, but we’re closing that loophole for next year."

For me, it happened last week.

I was talking with my cousin. She’s cool. She’s fun. She’s wildly successful in that effortless “Oh, I didn’t realize you were on that board” kind of way. We were bouncing around ideas about travel and food and all the things that make life feel like more than just a to-do list.

Then she said this.

“Do you know why they call things better? Because better is better. That’s why they call it better.”

I swear to you, time froze for a second.

Here’s the rule I live by: If your idea doesn’t make someone nervous, it’s probably not good enough.

The best marketing ideas don’t live in the middle of the road, that’s where roadkill happens. They live on the edge. They make people feel something. They make people talk.

The next few posts are going to be me talking about my book, not because I’m obsessed with myself (well, maybe a little), but because I think you’ll actually get something out of it. You knew I wrote a book, right?

Let’s be honest: the word creative doesn’t mean much anymore.

Every company says they’re creative. Every marketing deck has a section called “Big Ideas.” Every brainstorm starts with someone saying, “No idea is a bad idea!” before immediately shooting down the first one.

Meanwhile, everything looks the same. The same fonts. The same slogans. The same video that opens with “It starts with a spark…”

Let’s just call it like it is: being nice is boring. Especially in marketing. Especially when you’re trying to get noticed in a world where everyone’s yelling, but no one’s actually saying anything worth listening to. If you want attention, you need conflict. You need drama. You need a rival.

And not just any rival. You need someone to feud with in public. Think Nike vs. Adidas, McDonald’s vs. Burger King, Coke vs. Pepsi. These aren’t just brand wars, they’re modern-day myths. And they work like hell.

Strap in kids, cause I’m going to lay it out plain and loud: community is the only growth strategy worth your brand’s sweat and sleepless nights. And I should know, after speaking at over 300 conferences in the past 20 years, crafting a new 70‑minute keynote every single year (yes, even while sleeping half‑dead in airports), and starting with a slightly eyebrow‑raising talk titled Making Love To Your Customers (yes, that’s what it was called), I’ve come to this truth: all the flashy “growth hacks” will fade, but a fiercely loyal tribe will endure.

Let’s get this out of the way first, the Bugonia stunt could’ve been legendary. The kind of PR moment that earns front-page headlines, floods TikTok feeds, and gets whispered about in marketing Slack channels for years.

But instead of legendary, it became lukewarm.

AI isn’t coming for the future. It’s already here. It’s rewriting how we search, how we work (Amazon annouced a 30k layoff the other day, directly related to AI), how we communicate, and yes, how we market, sell, and build brands. We’re not waiting for disruption anymore. We’re living inside it.

But in all the noise, all the shiny tools, the GPTs, the copilots, the endless parade of "content at scale," something essential is quietly slipping through our fingers.

Trust.

When I founded The Idea Integration Co., it was just me, a lot of cream soda, and a healthy appetite for McDonald's. I started this thing with nothing but the confidence that I could eat like a raccoon out of garbage bins if I had to, and I’ve done it more than once. Because when you’re building something from scratch, survival is part of the budget.

And yeah, I took massive risks. The kind of risks that make people either whisper "that guy’s unhinged" or ask for my card. Like when I bought a billboard that said, "Need a Traci Lords Idea?"

Let me hit you with a truth bomb: if your branding principles are holding back your creativity, your branding sucks.

Branding isn’t supposed to fence you in. It’s supposed to fuel you. It’s not a cage, it’s a springboard. The best branding doesn’t limit ideas, it sharpens them. It gives your creativity edges, so when it hits the audience, it leaves a mark

I was at the grocery store today, and I heard a guy actually say, “fuck Doritos.” Not quietly, not muttered under his breath, this was a declaration. He told four people in the aisle. Then he called someone to keep the rant going. I have no idea what triggered him, a price hike, a stale bag, an existential crisis over Cool Ranch, but the man was on a mission.

Your brand doesn’t need safe. Safe is boring. Safe is invisible. Safe is the default path to irrelevance.

When your instinct is to issue a press release, apologize, retreat, “clarify the intent,” and tone everything down, that’s the moment your brand is getting eaten alive. What you really need is conviction, nerve, and a willingness to absorb backlash that isn’t aimed at your customers.

My last post got the least number of views I’ve ever received. Lesson learned: don’t post a half-naked photo of yourself, apparently the algorithm doesn’t love dad bod chic.

So to make it up to the internet (and boost my numbers), I’m taking a page from the Unabomber (not the bombing part, just the manifesto part) and writing one of my own.

This one isn’t about tearing down society. It’s about why you should buy my book: The Only Creative Process That Matters.

Let’s get this out of the way: the phrase "executive branding" feels gross. It sounds like something your niece does on TikTok. Something with ring lights and hashtags. But here’s the truth, and it took me two decades online to realize it: Posting a lot and kinda sharing a lot of stuff isn’t about ego. It’s about access.

Here’s the thing: anti-woke marketing works… until it doesn’t.

It’s the marketing equivalent of eating nothing but candy, sure, it gives you a quick sugar rush, maybe a stock bump, maybe even a bunch of free media coverage — but it leaves you queasy and doesn’t build a healthy brand. We’ve seen this play out with Bud Light, Target, and most recently Cracker Barrel. The data is undeniable: when anti-woke consumers get angry, they vote with their wallets, and it moves markets.

I have said similar things in previous posts but with more layoffs in the creative industry recently, it is worth reinforcing the fact that if we keep pretending that AI is “freeing creatives to be more creative,” we won’t have an ad industry in two years.

What we will have is an efficiency machine pumping out an endless scroll of generic, soulless content wallpaper that nobody wants to look at. Creativity, the messy, human, culture-making kind that built this industry, is being gutted under the polite fiction of “progress.”

And we’re letting it happen.