Brand Platform V.13 could be where repositioning fits. Forty-three slides. Beautifully laid out. And all the other things we already know are a must.
My repositioning doesn’t begin with a brand platform. Mine begins somewhere else.
What I’m willing to swallow and what I’m not. What I put my name to and what I don’t. How I handle my authorship. What scope I accept. What value I put on the table. What place I occupy when no one has reserved one for me or put my name on the list.
—What name was the reservation under, miss?
Your position isn’t a line written beneath a logo. It’s starting to speak from an altitude you recognise as your own. In your own accent.
And holding that position when someone invites you to come down.
—Ooh, look at her, getting above herself.
—Ooh, who does she think she is?
Meanwhile, in your head:
—Will they think I’m money-grabbing if I charge them for the favour after sending this quote? Will they think…?
And when the answer we get doesn’t suit us, that what will they think? becomes what if I am?
—What if I am? Ooh, better be careful.
What a trap.
I don’t spend that much time thinking about what you might think. I think about who I am.
I am this.
I am, and I remain. Even if you think me into something else.
That is positioning.
The rest is a beautifully laid-out document.
Knight takes bishop.
Strategy is like chess. A game in which you place a new variable on the table: your position. And watch what changes. Who becomes uncomfortable. Who adjusts. Who gets it. Who stays. Who leaves.
That is what interests me about positioning yourself.
The pattern it reveals in the other person. And the pattern you recognise in yourself.
The Count of Monte Cristo is the book that has taught me the most about strategy.
Not Sun Tzu. Not whoever wrote that book you carefully position on the shelf, so it shows in the background of your calls.
No.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
Watch. Wait. Learn what each person wants. Move one piece. See what changes.
Then you see. And you move.
And you look at the next move.
Sometimes sparks fly. Pew pew.
Sometimes there is silence.
Some people get scared. Others are surprised. Some look in the mirror and adjust. Others attack.
The ones who matter respect you.
If you pay attention during that game, you begin to recognise patterns: first in that particular game. Then in that client. Then in that kind of client.
Client. Partner. Whoever.
There’s the one who takes and gives nothing back. Your time. Your energy. Like that friend who is always telling you about her boyfriend and never asks about yours. Extraction.
There’s the nice one. Or the shrewd one. They see that you’re available and translate it into: what can I get from you? Prospecting.
And then there’s symmetry. The one who, when you ask for authorship, says, “I’ll do you one better.” And does. The one who, when you close the scope, says, “Bill me for all of it.” And keeps asking you to work with them. The one who can hear something uncomfortable without falling apart.
My favourite. In case there was still any doubt.
And now, back to me.
Because I had a pattern too.
Give. Wait to be seen. Instead of making myself visible. Give too much and wait quietly for someone to notice the value. As if making myself visible were asking for too much. As if there were some merit in giving without claiming space.
That was the trap.
That is what I’ve spent years breaking.
Now I make myself visible.
Not with red lipstick. Though that too.
With presence. With a gaze that doesn’t shrink when things get tight.
My legs still tremble sometimes. My gaze doesn’t.
That is sovereignty. A sovereign position.
A position you choose and then hold.
Because you don’t inherit your place. It doesn’t arrive tied up with a bow. No one gives it to you.
You give yourself your place.
Knight takes bishop.
Lines Aja
Brand Strategist & Verbal Identity Consultant — Las Musas®
cultooruido.com