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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Alright, let’s be honest:

If you’re only planning to read one book this year... you’re probably either lying, burned out, or watching too many Instagram reels about books without actually opening one.

And hey, no judgment, we’ve all been there.

But if you are going to read one book this year? Make it Shoe Dog. Seriously. That book is a masterpiece. I’ll carry Phil Knight’s sneakers to thank him for writing it.

Now... if you decide to read two books this year?

A funny thing happens every time a brand does something bold: social media loses its mind.

Take the recent Cracker Barrel situation. They make a simple logo change, and the comment section fills with people swearing they’ll never set foot in a Cracker Barrel again, and our beloved LinkedIn becomes well, I don't know how to describe it. From the reaction it got you would think they added plant-based sausage to the menu or told the world that the old guy in the logo is named Hershel and may be Jewish. Sales tank and then spike as new audiences discover them, and eventually the brand cements its relevance (again). The truth is this: no matter what you do, social media will scream. That’s its job, so make sure they are busy.

In the last month, I’ve written two full-blown marketing plans for clients and I’m diving into a third one this weekend for a very hands on project. Both were very different projects. Opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to target customers, budgets, and expectations. But here’s the funny part: both plans, unique as they were, netted out at exactly 45 pages each.

That wasn’t by design. I didn’t have a template I was plugging things into. It happened because that’s how much it takes to capture the real meat of a marketing plan when you’re not padding it with fluff.

I’ve been in marketing long enough to watch it morph from a business built on instinct, creativity, and a little showmanship… into something that looks like a NASA control center for consumer behavior. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-data. Data’s amazing. It tells you who’s worth talking to, where they are, what they care about, and sometimes even the color of socks they’re wearing when they buy toothpaste.

But here’s the thing: data can tell you where to aim the arrow, it can’t make anyone care that you shot it.

My two biggest business influences have been the same since day one: my Dad and Bill Gaines, the founder of MAD Magazine. This post is the first in what may be an ongoing series, “Business Lessons from My Idols,” and this one is very personal one for me. If you grew up reading MAD you probably remember the goofy Alfred E. Neuman and the magazine’s parodies, but you might not know the man behind the magazine. Bill Gaines was MAD’s longtime publisher (over 40 years) and the architect of a work culture so unique and fun, it arguably set the template for the modern “creative office.”

Let’s talk about Ryan Reynolds.

Actor? Yes. Charming? Sure. Canadian? Absolutely. But marketing genius? Pump the brakes, ADWEEK .

Once again, the advertising world is tripping over itself to praise the man like he’s the second coming of David Ogilvy, all because of a shiny little PR diversion masquerading as a brand campaign. If you missed it, Ryan Reynolds' agency (Maximum Effort — ironic name for what amounts to TikTok-level commitment) recently dropped an ad for a tech company featuring Coldplay’s “X&Y” era emotions and, get this, the Coldplay singer's ex-wife Gwyneth Paltrow is in the creative. That’s right, they used a connected celebrity as a smokescreen to rewrite the headlines and change the public narrative on the CEO cheating scandal.

And everyone’s clapping like trained seals at SeaWorld.

There’s something I need to say, and I hope it reaches the right people.

It’s OK to come back. Really. No guilt. No shame. No awkward silences required.

Earlier this year, my company lost three projects to “AI.” That’s not code for another agency, it’s literal. The clients decided they could do what we do in-house using AI tools instead of a team of human creatives.

I’m real close to taking on a new project, a brand that’s been around for 20 years, and I’m speaking about it like it’s already in the bag because, frankly, it’s just a matter of time. (I’m a big believer in speaking things into existence.)

Modernizing a brand that’s been operating for two decades is no small task.

I decided to ride the wave of video and talk my way through this thought I had, but am going to transcribe it below as well for those who don't think I am very handsome.

Captions are auto generated

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In a world where Artificial Intelligence is becoming the go-to solution for everything from customer service to creative design, it’s easy to get swept up in the idea that data is the answer to all your marketing problems. Impressions, clicks, engagement rates, ROAs, these are all stats that get a lot of attention, and for good reason. In fact, by 2025, we’re expected to generate and consume a staggering 180 zettabytes of data, according to the IDC Global Datasphere.

But here’s the thing: AI doesn't buy anything. People do.

Let me start by being brutally honest (seems to be my new thing): I don’t think anything I’ve done has ever gone crazy viral. You know, like Justine Sacco “#hashtagging her career into oblivion” viral. But what I have done is create stuff, both in writing and with stunts, that people still remember 10 years later. And that’s exactly the kind of content I’d take over viral any day.

I keep Google Alerts for a handful of things: my name (obviously), my book title, a few brands I admire (or envy), and the term “experiential marketing.”

That last one used to be my favourite alert.

Every few days, I’d get a little gem in my inbox, a recap of a jaw-dropping installation in Tokyo, a campaign that took over an NYC subway station, or some mind-bending immersive stunt in London that made people stop in their tracks and feel something.