Campfire Stories: Episode Four with Melissa Minihan

Here’s a counter-intuitive idea: Great business to business brands know something essential about story that many B2C brands could benefit from learning.

I know. I know. Conventional wisdom is that B2B and story are like oil and vinegar. They don’t mix. B2B buyers aren’t swayed by emotion—they’re not like a consumer audience. They’re not motivated by branding. They’re more rational. So, B2B brands don’t do story.

The fact is that while many B2Bs may not focus on high-profile storytelling, the best understand something essential that can be easy to miss if you are distracted by the idea that brand story is only about advertising. I wish I could claim that insight, but it’s not mine.

“Story isn’t just about what you’re going to say—what commercial you’re going to make—it’s about influencing your strategy, your business, and your culture,” says Melissa Minihan, Head of Digital Commerce and Marketing at Veritiv Corporation. “Story is about defining how you make decisions differently than your competitors in a way that results in benefits for your clients. It’s not just a marketing template. It’s not just about what you are going to say to people to get them to buy from you.”

Melissa shared that idea with me in a recent conversation about her experiences using story in B2B versus B2C. She has a deep understanding of the topic, having led marketing and management at both very large B2C and B2B brands, including The Home Depot, Rubbermaid, STAINMASTER, Antron, Dacron, Lycra, and now Veritiv. If you are unfamiliar with the Veritiv Corporation, you are not alone. It’s one of the biggest B2B companies most people have never heard of, selling packaging, facility solutions, and print to everyone from Lululemon to Boeing.

“To me, a story framework actually works more to your advantage in a B2B business because you’re not creating commercials, you’re creating strategies—business and sales strategies—that frame what you are great at,” Melissa tells me. “And you are giving that to your inside sales team, your digital commerce team, or your actual ‘feet on the street’ sellers and they’re going out and telling that story so you’re getting more margin, or more share, or more of the things that they care about for their compensation, and we care about for our business metrics.”

From Melissa’s perspective, story in B2B provides a coherent way to answer the essential questions that define a B2B brand and how it matters to everyone, outside and inside the organization:

  • What do we offer and why?
  • What kind of people are we?
  • What do we value?
  • Why are we better than a competitor—especially one that offers the same, or similar goods or services?

“That’s what we’re trying to arm our salespeople with. Not just price, not just talking about supply chain,” Melissa tells me. In B2B, story isn’t about telling. It’s about articulating and showing the beliefs that define the organization in order to ensure that the story comes through in everything the business is and does.

You can watch the full conversation and get more insights and tips from Melissa in Character’s Fourth Campfire Story: B2B, Brand Story, and the Bottom Line. I’d also love to hear your experience or thoughts on the role of story in B2B.

Campfire Stories: Episode Three with Greg Hughes

The best story in the world won’t help your brand for long if you don’t offer something great that your audience needs. So, am I saying that quality is all you need then? If you offer a great product, service, or experience, isn’t that enough? I’ve certainly encountered plenty of businesspeople who question the value of story on those grounds and paraphrase Ralph Waldo Emmerson to remind me, “If you build a better mousetrap the world will beat a path to your door.”

Greg Hughes, the President and CEO of Suntory Global Spirits, recently discussed with me the role of quality versus story when it comes to branding. “If all you really do is make the best products, but you don’t connect that to consumers in some way that is relevant to their life through story, well then nobody engages, and you don’t deliver an experience that allows the craftsmanship to get out into the world,” Greg told me.

“There are some core philosophies and values of Suntory,” he explained, “one of which is a Japanese word called monozukuri which basically translates into a relentless commitment to quality from seed to sip. But that’s paired with a Japanese word that we also talk a lot about called monogatari, which literally means story. And what we’re trying to do in all of our brands is join what we view to be our competitive difference with the story that makes that craftsmanship relevant.” In this age of choice paralysis and the over-abundance of high-quality goods and services, he warned, it’s more important than ever to connect with audiences in ways that motivate and engage them.

Greg offered three great tips for ensuring you embrace both monozukuri/quality and monogatari/story in your branding.

  • Don’t be too literal. Functional benefits are important but, as Greg points out, “If you don’t stay relevant in terms of meaning, there are very easy ways for people to find the same functional benefit from your category with a different brand.”
  • Make sure you really understand the truth underlying your brand. Brands are complex, especially spirits brands, but complexity is confusing. That’s why it’s essential to articulate the heart of what your brand is about and push through to a simple statement of its meaning. “If you get the core right and put the effort into the simplicity,” Greg elaborated, “it becomes much easier to know how to tell your story in multiple different contexts. If you don’t know that, then you just come off as complicated and confusing, and people don’t engage.”
  • Don’t build brands by committee. “You can’t tell a good story or develop a good story by committee, and if you’re too safe or vanilla in your marketing, people are just going to ignore it.”

You can watch the full conversation and hear more great tips and watchouts from Greg in Character’s third Campfire Story: Monozukuri and Monogatari. And if you’ve ever had an experience with a product or service that was clearly superior to its competition but didn’t seem able to break through, or had a great story to tell but for a product or service that didn’t fully live up to it, I’d love to get your perspective.

Campfire Stories: Episode Two with Lee Susen

One of the difficulties in telling an ongoing story, whether for a brand, a long-running TV series, or movie franchise, is keeping things interesting, relevant, and engaging without betraying the fundamental story the audience was drawn to. If the places you take the story stay too familiar, the show can start to feel formulaic. Sorry, Jack Bauer and ‘24’. If you explore territory too far afield it can seem like you’re just making things up as you go. Sorry Jack Shephard and ‘Lost’. If you do both, it just gets confusing and annoying. Sorry Jack Sparrow and the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ films.

Lee Susen, Chief Sales and Marketing Officer at Mcllhenny Company, maker of TABASCO® Brand Sauce, was kind enough to sit down with me to talk about the challenges of marketing a brand that’s been a leader in its category for more than 150 years.

“The necessity of breaking through in a meaningful way is more important now than it’s ever been,” Lee told me.

Lee says that, as part of an exercise to write a 100-year plan for the brand, he and other TABASCO® Brand leaders asked themselves, “How do you leverage, honor, and be inspired by where you’ve come from as you endeavor to continue to grow into the future?” According to Lee, it’s easy to get trapped in unprovable speculation about what consumers will be thinking, or hung up on current product forms and their uses, when what’s really central to answering long terms questions about relevance is meaning.

“That’s what allowed us to have a conversation about the next 100 years,” Lee explained. “The problems we were trying to solve became secondary to the fundamental truth of well, who are we? And why do we do what we do as an organization? Where are we going?” With those questions answered, “Everything else falls into place,” he notes.

You can watch the full conversation and see more insights and advice from Lee in Character’s second Campfire Story: Writing for the 156th season of the TABASCO® Show.

Campfire Stories: Episode One with Douwe Bergsma

We’re launching a new thing today that we’re calling Character Campfire stories. For almost 25 years now, we’ve been running Character Camps to help brand leaders and their teams better understand and work with the key principles that underlie great storytelling. In the course of that work, we’ve had the pleasure of connecting with some fantastic people who’ve done an excellent job of using story to build their brands and drive their brand strategy. I don’t know why it took so long, but it finally occurred to us that it might be valuable to talk with some of these folks on camera so that we could share a bit of their experience and insight with a wider audience. Today we’re happy to present the first of those conversations.

Our inaugural guest is a Character Camp alumnus 8 times over, Douwe Bergsma. We first met and worked with Douwe when he was the brand manager of Pringles at Procter and Gamble. After that, he became the first CMO ever at Georgia Pacific, holding that position for 9 years. These days he is the CMO of Piedmont Healthcare, overseeing the marketing, communications, and physician outreach for their 23 hospitals and 44 thousand care givers. In addition to that work, Douwe is the Dean for the Cannes Lions’ Brand Marketers Academy, a founding member of the CMO Collaborative, and serves on the board of directors of the Association of National Advertisers, among other accomplishments.

Douwe took on his position at Piedmont Healthcare a mere four weeks before the beginning of the COVID pandemic. We’ve titled this first Campfire Story after something Douwe said when I asked him how he felt about that momentous coincidence: “When the world is on fire, why not work for the fire department?” A typical sentiment from an extraordinary person.

Later in the conversation, Douwe lists the top four challenges he believes stand in the way of activating story for brands. I’m interested to know if there are other challenges you would add to the list. And, of course, I’d love to know what you think of our first ever Campfire Story!

Busted Noses, Black Belts, and Branding

We were helping a brand team work through how to use their story framework on the final day of Character Camp.

“Using the conflict is going to be key to restoring engagement,” their CMO said. “Our focus for the last few years has just been showing happy people enjoying the product. That hasn’t been moving the needle, but it’s really comfortable for us. If we’re going to fix our net promoter score, we’ve got to start showing the conflict, but I think that won’t be easy.”

“Naming it is half the battle,” my colleague Sara told her. “A big part of getting energy out of your story is just recognizing the conflict and embracing it.”

“That’s what the meaning of your brand story is all about,” I added. “The meaning is your brand’s point of view about how to thrive in a conflict when you can’t give up on either side. It’s like the instruction set about how to deal with the conflict.”

“Because this approach to conflict is so different, it can feel awkward and uncomfortable until you get good at it,” Sara encouraged. “It’s like learning—”

“Learning a martial art,” the client finished for her. “You guys have said that about a dozen times. What we’re all wondering is when do we get our blackbelts?”

Everybody laughed, but Sara shot me a look.

***

Have you met Sara? She’s the account director at Character—responsible for making sure everything is in order and under control. It was literally eleven years ago last month that she came in to work with a black eye and bruises around her neck. Before Wayne and I even managed to jump up from our chairs in alarm, she cut us off.

“Don’t freak out. I started doing Jiu-jitsu about a week ago, and I had a rough match last night.”

“Jiu-jitsu?” Wayne frowned. Do you know Wayne? He’s our business development director. And he’s got a black belt in Karate.

“Yeah. I guess I was expecting they would go easy on me because I’m a newcomer, but instead they went super hard.”

“Are you ok?” I asked.

“I’m sore, but fine. I think my pride is bruised worse than my face.”

“So…you’re going to stop, right?” I asked, flabbergasted. My blackbelt is in lying around reading books and eating pizza.

“Nah. I mean, it’s a little scary, but maybe that’s what I need right now? I’m not going to do any competitive matches or anything. It’s just that things were starting to feel boring. So, I guess I’m doing this instead of having a midlife crisis.”

***

Over the next few years, infusing more passion into her life resulted in plenty of busted lips, ugly bruises, and black eyes. And then there was the night she had to go to the hospital and was out for days because of a concussion and the need for stitches.

“So…you’re going to stop, right?” I asked when she came back to work.

“Maybe,” she said. But within a few days she’d changed her tune. “I feel like I have to keep at it. If I step away, it’s like I let fear win. Instead, I’ve decided to step up my game. I’m going to start training for my first competitive bouts at the next World Championship Tournament. It’s still a long way off, so I’ve got some time to prepare.”

“You’re totally going to win,” we encouraged. “We know it!”

***

She lost.

“It was weird,” she explained when she got back from the trip. “I’ve got the moves down in training, but as soon as the match started, my adrenaline took over. You know how they talk about seeing red? It was like I went into brawling-mode and I just attacked with everything I had. I guess I got too caught up in the excitement.”

“Isn’t that why you started doing this?” I asked. “To feel that rush? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not if it gets my butt kicked.”

“Well, you’ll win the next one,” we encouraged.

To ensure that, she put off her next competition while she trained relentlessly. Belts don’t come quick in Jiu-jitsu, but she graduated from her blue to purple belt. And then we got another call from the hospital. This time, it was a broken nose. and she was out for a full week.

“The guy was sloppy. He didn’t know what he was doing,” she explained when she was back in the office, her nose still swollen, purple around both eyes.

“Do I need to ask?” I asked.

“I’m not quitting,” she said. “I’ve booked my next World Championship Tournament.”

“You’re totally going to win,” we said. “We know it!”

***

“I got my butt kicked,” she told us when she got back.

“You did the brawling thing again?” I asked.

“No,” she laughed. “The opposite this time. I was too in my head, too focused on maintaining control. Being careful. I was tentative and my opponent took advantage of it.”

“So, you’re going to stop doing matches now?” I suggested.

“Nope,” she said.

“Sara’s no quitter,” Wayne noted.

“Instead, I signed up to be an ambassador for the Girls in Gis program. It’s all about bringing more girls and women into the sport. It’s super male-dominated right now.”

More years went by.

***

Sara fought in her most recent Championship Tournament at the beginning of last month. This one was in Vegas. The Christmas Cowboy Convention was in town at the same time.

“I took the gold!” she told us over our next video conference call.

“We knew it!” Wayne said.

“Apart from being completely wrong the first two times,” I joked. “So, what was different this time?”

“I embraced the conflict,” she said. “When I first started Jiu-jitsu, I think I was all passion. I’d just go at it with everything and forget my training. Just brawl. But after losing and then that last big injury, I think I overcorrected. I tried to restrain the passion, be super controlled. I got too ‘in my head’ instead of being there on the mat. But that’s the secret. You’ve got to be there, in the moment, on the mat. You can’t give up one side or the other—you have to smash the passion and the control together, and the only way to do that is to have learned the technique so completely that it’s there for you reflexively and you’re free to dive into the adrenalin and use that, too.”

“If you had an articulation of purpose, you’d have a full story framework there,” I told her.

“I do have a purpose,” she reminded me. “It’s to feel empowered and to share that sense of empowerment with others through Jiu-jitsu. That’s why I’m an ambassador for Girls in Gis.”

“Wow,” Wayne said.

“Impressive,” I agreed.

“One more thing,” Sara told us. “I just found out that I’m being awarded my black belt this month. And it only took eleven years.”

***

Although none of our clients noticed it at camp, all of that was what Sara meant when she shot me her look.

Here’s a link to Sara’s LinkedIn post about her black belt ceremony.

It’s easy, in the middle of a story, to resist the conflicting forces pushing and pulling you or your brand. Focused on winning, it almost always feels like one side or the other has to be repressed or defeated to get to a solution. But all of the power of story comes from diving into the conflict and finding a way to embrace it in order to harness its power. That’s hard, but it’s always rewarding. And if you keep at it, you eventually get your black belt.

Know Your Gifts: Nike or Adidas

“If you’re done digesting, it’s time to start thinking about Christmas presents,” Maria announced Friday morning, as I was making coffee.

“Again?” I whined. “Already?”

“Same time every year,” she told me, getting eggs out of the fridge. “And, once again, we’re starting late. If we were smart, we would have finished a month ago. At least.”

I aggressively ran the coffee-bean grinder to show my displeasure before I deigned to answer. “Fine. But it’s no fun now that the kids are big and we can’t just get them cool toys.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “You can put the cool toys on your list.”

“Can’t we just give them money? They like money.”

“No.” She was firm. “The thought and effort is more valuable than the money.”

“Is it though? I mean…is it to them?” She was unmoved, so I changed tactics. “Who knows what they even want these days? I’m not paying for any piercings.”

“I was leaning toward some nice running shoes. Maybe Nike…Or Adidas.”

“You say that like they’re the same thing,” I said, theatrically aghast.

“Stop clutching your pearls,” Maria scolded. “They are the same thing. They’re just gym shoes.”

Of course, I should have let that go. But you know, hindsight.

“Yes, both companies make athletic wear,” I told her in full-on brand-splaining mode, “but from a story perspective, they’re totally different in terms of conflict and meaning.”

“What?” she asked, all innocence.

“Yes, the products overlap in terms of use and the audience overlaps in terms of need, but Nike and Adidas aren’t even in the same category, metaphorically,” I scoffed. “They’re so much more than just gym shoes. I mean—”

She held up a finger. “You’re not going to say that because the Nike brand is built on the struggle between individual achievement and teamwork its identity is rooted in the category conflict of sports, while Adidas, wrestling between form and function, more often draws its essential notes from the category conflict of fashion, are you? And then you weren’t going to point out how those different stories shape the voice, tone, feel, personality, and actions of each brand, including their most successful and most problematic communications and endorsement relationships with athletes and celebrities, were you? Like the different ways they approach Olympic advertising? Or like Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and Lance Armstrong for Nike versus Pharrell, Bad Bunny, and Yeezy for Adidas? And then you weren’t going to finish by suggesting that the competitive expression inherent in Nike makes the brand more resonant for Eleanor, while the creative expression inherent in Adidas makes it more attractive to Clara, were you? Because it could come across as really condescending if you were going to assume I hadn’t already thought of all that when considering gifts for my daughters.” Then she cracked an egg. Kind of ominously.

“If you’d let me finish,” I said, trying to sound appropriately injured, “I mean…that you’re brilliant as usual and obviously on top of the whole gift-giving thing. Duh.”

Clearly, the holidays have got me thinking about gifts! I’ve always felt that, like people, brands are born with inherent gifts—strengths, talents, and notes of personality—that help define them when they’re at their best. Here’s an Adidas ad from the London Olympics, and here’s a Nike ad from the London Olympics. I’d love to hear your perspective on the difference between Nike and Adidas, if you’ve got one, or your thoughts on other brands that appear to make products that are similar to each other but clearly live in different story spaces. Happy Holidays to you!

Uneasy Sunday: Brand Values Aren’t Meant to Be Easy

So much has already been said about the Bud Light issue I’d decided I wasn’t going to write about it. But then I was watching a show with my oldest daughter, the one who’s been obsessed with horses since she was four, and this ad came on.

“Wow,” she said. “Do they think they can pretend nothing happened?”

“Looks like it,” I nodded.

“Both kinds of my horse friends are mad at them now,” she said.

“Both kinds?”

“The country-music, cowboy-hat, Western kind, and the indie-rock, equestrian-helmet, English kind,” she clarified. “But for opposite reasons.”

“Yeah.”

“Bud Light’s never going to get it, are they?” she asked, shaking her head. “I guess it’s hard to get back in the saddle if you can’t admit you got thrown.”

I’m so proud of that kid.

One of the enduring advantages I’ve seen when a brand has an internal consensus on its story framework—the foundational elements that make its story go—is that it makes it easier to own when you get thrown. Having an agreement on the heart of your story is like having a new set of eyes through which to view the brand—a different perspective than what you might get through a competitive or science lens. Knowing your story helps you define and agree on your brand’s values in a way that helps the audience understand who you really are.

I’ve seen lots of brand values statements over the last twenty years that list the same generically positive descriptors anyone would like, and nobody would object to. That’s not the kind of values I’m talking about. When you think about a brand from a story perspective—like it’s a character in the story of its category—then you realize that its values are supposed to define it by embodying what it believes in. Your brand values should make it clear what the brand stands for, will sacrifice for, is willing to fight for. And not just for the edification of your consumers, but as an instruction set for those who bring your brand to life. Values aren’t supposed to be generic and easy. They’re supposed to be defining and meaningful, which can make them difficult to live by and live up to.

Having a foundation built on hard values not only helps you decide what to do and not do, it helps you own your decisions and understand the difference between “making a mistake” and “taking a stand”. Coming at branding from a competitive or science perspective, it can be hard to justify any move that would result in conflict. That tends to push brands toward bland and generically positive values. In story though, conflict is an asset—it’s the engine that makes your story go. It engages audiences and defines who a character really is. Anybody can pretend to be awesome when things are going well. We learn who characters, people, and brands really are when we see how they react in the moments when things go wrong—when they get thrown. Consequently, a solid consensus on your brand’s authentic story can give it the ability to own the energy of its struggles, harness it, and ride its conflicts. That allows you to keep steering the identity of the brand for your audience instead of handing the reins off to your critics.

Unfortunately, without a consensus on their story and a handle on their authentic values, many brands wind up afraid of their conflicts and living in denial of their flaws and vulnerabilities. They can’t own their conflicts and internal struggles, so they ignore them, pretend they don’t exist, or act like there’s no problem.

I thought this earlier Bud Light ad hit that nail right on the head. Pouring down rain on our big outdoor festival? No problem! It’s actually awesome! Unfortunately, instead of making a brand’s problems go away, denying or ignoring a conflict the audience is aware of tends to come across like hand-waving to distract them. Denying or ignoring the problem almost always makes things worse and deepens negative perceptions of the brand.

Bud Light is in a bad place. It has stirred up a giant controversy and doesn’t seem to have a north star to follow to find its way out of the resulting firestorm. Instead of owning the conflict and taking a stand one way or the other, it’s trying hard to pretend nothing is wrong and hoping it will all just go away. That’s making some otherwise pretty solid commercials—communications that might have felt moving and authentic under a different set of circumstances—look clumsily manipulative and disingenuous.

It’s interesting to contrast how Bud Light reacted with what Nike did in a very similar situation. At approximately the same time as Bud Light (April of 2023), Nike also associated itself with the same influencer and, likewise, stirred up considerable controversy. However, when critics challenged that relationship, instead of backing down, Nike doubled down. It challenged its audience to, “be kind, be inclusive, and encourage each other.” This response seems to flow directly out of Nike’s values regarding equity and teamwork. Nike made a stand consistent with the brand identity, and by and large, that took a lot of the wind out of the opposition. Bud Light, on the other hand, has backpedaled furiously—not to take a stand, but to avoid taking one. And, to date, its $15K influencer promotion has cost the brand its long-standing position as the world’s best-selling beer, close to $400 million in sales, and by some estimates, nearly $27 Billion in shareholder value. It’s tough to say if Bud Light will ever be able to admit it got thrown, quit pretending everything is fine, and do something really hard—dust off, stand up for something it believes in, and get back in the saddle. In the meantime, it will continue to look like the only things the brand really values are popularity, money, and easy choices.

Carrots, Candy, and Category Conflict

Conflict is an engagement engine.

I’m not saying people like conflict. Most don’t. But it does capture and compel our attention.

That’s why conflict is the fuel that drives stories. Stories start when something goes wrong—the world falls out of balance—and they keep going until the conflict is resolved—the end. As long as the conflict is going, so is the story.

Conflict should be one of every brand’s primary tools. If you want to fuel engagement for your brand, show conflict.

Knowing that, it can be tempting to just pick a good conflict and run with it. Unfortunately, if you pick a conflict that’s not authentically part of the experience of your brand, you’re likely to create an engaging story that audiences don’t connect to your brand. Have you ever seen a really funny commercial but had a hard time remembering which brand it was for? Or worse, an emotionally moving commercial that shoots itself in the foot at the end by revealing a brand connection that leaves you scoffing? That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. The conflict has pulled you in, but the connection to the brand just isn’t there or doesn’t feel authentic.

Identifying authentic conflict in your brand can feel like a struggle because most of the current tools of brand building were designed to ignore or minimize conflict. Your brand is supposed to offer a perfect solution to a problem for the audience. You’ve fixed it. Now the audience lives happily ever after, The End. That’s not using conflict, that’s denying it.

So, how can you find conflicts that will build your brand? One way to kick-start the process is to begin by looking at your category.

Every brand exists within a category—like transportation, insurance, cosmetics, laundry detergent, or food—and every category has an inherent category conflict. Whether you are aware of it or not, your brand is already connected to that conflict, and you can consciously use it to power your brand story and increase engagement and connection with your audience.

Every category of goods or services is built on a struggle between conflicting needs that people are trying to address through their use of those goods or services. For example, food.

When someone puts out a tray of snacks at a meeting that offers both raw veggies and M&M’s, you can watch people struggle as they consider what to choose. Should they pick the wholesome, good-for-them choice, or the indulgent, delicious choice? If they pick the M&M’s, should they only take a few? If they have some carrot wedges and broccoli florets first, can they take a whole handful of M&M’s?

What they’re wrestling with is the food-category conflict—virtue versus pleasure. This conflict captures the struggle people face when choosing between foods as safe, nourishing fuels to keep them healthy and alive versus foods as sensual, pleasurable experiences that satisfy them physically and emotionally.

Often, if not always, these impulses pull in opposite directions, causing people to struggle with their food choices. Healthy, whole foods lean toward the virtue side of the struggle. Delicious, treat-foods lean toward the pleasure side. Most foods fall somewhere along the spectrum between the two poles. All brands within the category, whether they are conscious of it or not, participate in the struggle and have the potential to suggest their distinct perspective or point of view about how to choose. And in the end, that’s mostly what a brand is—the crystallization of a distinct point of view about how to thrive when torn between the positive opposite urges that shape a particular category.

Anyone who has been to Character Camp knows that one of my favorite examples of harnessing the virtue-versus-pleasure conflict of the food category to drive engagement is M&Ms. There was about a forty-year period in which the M&M characters denied the conflict of their category and suffered for it. From the 1950s to the mid ‘90s, Red, Yellow and their friends were just pleased as punch to be eaten by fans of the brand and didn’t seem to care about anything other than letting the audience know they were delicious chocolate candies with a thin sugar shell. That got them to a point where virtually everyone knew who they were and no one really cared.

All of that changed in 1995, when the brand introduced conflict in the characters. The new incarnations of Red, Yellow, and the gang were torn between the pleasure of being loved and appreciated versus their desire to stay safe and alive. And overnight, they went from ranking near the bottom of brand-character popularity to literally outperforming Santa Claus and Mickey Mouse—raising the profile and significantly improving the financial performance of the M&Ms brand in the process.

Like M&M’s, your category conflict is waiting to be tapped as a source of connection and engagement for your brand. If you want to make more effective use of story, your category conflict can make an excellent starting point.

The Party’s Over: Conflict and Cookies

“You’re wrong, Jim,” my friend Jim said as he bit the head off of a Santa-shaped and frosted Christmas cookie. Jim is kind of a competitive guy.

“Say more about that, Jim,” I encouraged around a mouthful of my own Santa.

“Jim phrased that kind of harshly, Jim,” my other friend named Jim said, his hand hesitating over the plate of cookies. Jim is more soft-hearted than competitive Jim or I. “But you do always say a commercial needs conflict to make it engaging, and Jim showed me one yesterday that’s pretty good and it doesn’t have any conflict.”

“Watch this,” competitive Jim gloated. Then he pulled out his phone to play this new Amazon ad about the aftermath of the holidays.

“Awww,” soft-hearted Jim said when it was over. “That gets me every time. I just took down the lights at my house.”

“And it gets him without any conflict,” competitive Jim challenged, taking another cookie off the plate. “It gets me, too. So, take that, Jim! And you take a Santa cookie, Jim.”

“I probably shouldn’t,” soft-hearted Jim said. “I’ve had a lot of goodies during the break. Too many goodies.” He patted his stomach.

“But these are yummy,” competitive Jim said, biting into Santa’s legs to prove his point.

“And somebody has to eat them,” I added. “They’re just going to go stale otherwise.” Soft-hearted Jim took one.

“But look,” I continued, “that commercial does have conflict. Plenty of it. Your definition of conflict is just too limited. You’re thinking of conflict like it’s a fight—a fight between a good thing and a bad thing. That’s a kind of conflict. But the best conflicts for driving stories are rarely just between a good thing and a bad thing in which one side wins. Stories like that may be exciting, especially if they have a lot of explosions—”

“Or a Death Star,” soft-hearted Jim interjected. “A Death Star is always good.”

“Or a fighter-jet-dog-fight sequence starring Tom Cruise,” competitive Jim added around a mouthful of cookie. “He’s still got it.”

“Or an unstoppable serial killer in a mask stalking teenagers,” I agreed, “part ten. But those kinds of stories can tend to be one-dimensional if that’s all there is to them. When I say conflict, I’m including the internal kind. The kind where there’s a tension between two good impulses that happen to tug in opposite directions. Like virtue versus pleasure, safety versus freedom, or standing out versus fitting in. We’re all torn between conflicting desires like that. Both sides are good, so there’s no way to win those kinds of struggles. A victory on one side would represent a loss on the other. Great stories are built around those kinds of struggles because everyone has them, everyone can relate to them, and everyone needs some insight about how to navigate them.”

“Oh crap, he’s going to talk about meaning again,” competitive Jim warned.

“Actually, I was going to say that those kinds of conflicts don’t even always look like conflicts,” I objected. “Which brings us back to the Amazon commercial.”

“Which has no conflict,” competitive Jim said smugly.

“Oh, it’s got conflict. It’s right there from the opening shot of the poor, discarded Christmas tree,” I countered. “But you see it clearest in three moments. When the lady putting away her holiday dishes looks at them with a bittersweet expression, when the little girl pulling the snowflake decorations off the window looks sad, and most obviously when the dad and his daughter hug and look like they’re going to cry. All those characters are experiencing that conflict between sentimentality and practicality we all face when the holidays are done and it’s time to move on and get back to work and reality.”

“But even though it’s sad, it’s also ok, because all that great holiday stuff will be waiting in the garage, or the attic, or wherever until next time we need it,” soft-hearted Jim said, gesturing with his Santa. “It’s still there for us.”

“DANG!” Competitive Jim shook his head. “And so is Amazon! Devilishly clever!”

“And that’s how you use conflict to drive a story to connect with people,” I said, trying not to sound smug. “Even if the audience isn’t conscious of the conflict.”

“Don’t sound so smug about it,” competitive Jim complained. I guess it’s harder to self-regulate sounding smug than I thought.

“Ok,” soft-hearted Jim sighed. “But I still don’t love that you have to have conflict to drive a story. It would be nicer if we could just enjoy things without struggling.”

“I guess, in life, you can’t enjoy the Santa cookie without biting Santa’s head off,” competitive Jim said, stuffing the remains of Mr. Kringle into his mouth.

“It’s not his head, but my belly I worry about,” soft-hearted Jim noted. Then he bit the head off his own Santa. “Mmmm. Yummy,” he noted sadly.

The Magic of Holiday Magic

“You’ve noticed what’s going on with Macy’s story?” Sara asked me. You remember Sara. We work together. She does jujitsu. “How they forgot to put the magic of Holiday Magic in their magic this holiday?”

“Hmmmm,” I said, trying to sound like I knew what she was talking about.

“I mean, you’ve seen their new Christmas commercials. They’re funny and engaging, but…where’s the Macy’s magic?” Then she showed me a commercial with a husband feeling nervous about his wife opening her Christmas gift, and another one with a kid worrying about the gift he’s gotten for his uncle.

“They left out the magic,” I agreed.

“Exactly!” she said. “I mean, look at this one from 2010 about all the behind the scenes magic involved in fetching a pair of shoes. They’ve been putting magic at the center of their taglines and their identity for at least fifteen years now, even when it’s not Christmas.”

“That’s a lot of magic,” I nodded.

“It’s just weird for them to leave it out,” she said, “because generally speaking, tons of brands start telling stories about Holiday Magic right around now, even though they have absolutely nothing to do with magic normally.”

“Like how lots of brands kind of put their own stories on hold to tell the generic let’s-all-pull-together story during COVID?” I asked.

“Yes. So many brands feel like they interrupt their own story to tell the Holiday-Magic story. They don’t even frame the holidays in the context of their own brand story. They just sort of substitute Holiday Magic in place of whatever their brand is normally about. But Macy’s has always had Christmas kind of in the bag because they were all about magic, so the Holiday-Magic story was part of their story.”

“In the bag,” I said. “Nice. But yeah, I guess if you haven’t articulated what your brand means—the thing it’s about above and beyond just making money—then it’s pretty easy to wander off your unique brand story and jump on the band wagon of a big, attractive theme.”

“Like Holiday Magic,” Sara offered.

“Like Holiday Magic,” I agreed. “Which muddies the audience’s perception of your brand’s actual story.”

“Or makes them think your brand doesn’t have an actual story,” Sara said. “And that the brand is just saying whatever the latest research suggests people want to hear at the moment.”

“So,” I asked, “do you think Macy’s uncovered some consumer insight that people worry that their loved ones won’t like the gifts they give?”

“Probably,” she sighed. “It’s a great insight. Everybody worries about that. The weird thing is that Macy’s could have easily framed that insight in terms of the ‘magic’ story they’ve been telling. I mean, it is magical when someone really enjoys what you give them, and that emotional note is right there in the diamond necklace commercial. They just didn’t tie it together—didn’t put the ‘magic’ bow on it so it would feel like another episode of the Macy’s show instead of a different show.”

“No bow,” I said. “Nice.”

“It’s like they just forgot to put the magic of Holiday Magic in their magic this holiday,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh well. Good thing Coke remembered.”