Types of Brand Manifestos

We're for dogs. Some people are for the whales. Some are for the trees. We're for dogs. The big ones and the little ones. The guardians and the comedians. The pure breeds and the mutts. We're for walks, runs and romps. Digging, scratching, sniffing and fetching. We're for dog parks, dog doors and dog days. If there were an international holiday for dogs, on which all dogs were universally recognized for their contribution to the quality of life on earth, we'd be for that to. Because we're for dogs. And we've spent the last 60 years working to make them as happy as they've made us. Dogs rule.

Only a large-scale decline in American manhood can account for the near disappearance of Miller High Life Beer. High Life is part of a brighter, bolder world that, through laziness, fear, and salad worship, we've forgotten. Let us help men be men again, that this brand can once again be great. To live the High Life is to be a man. To return to simple, manly virtues; to a time when men didn't take themselves too seriously; when a man worked hard to create a better world for himself, his family, and his neighbor, and knew the proper reward for his efforts: Miller High Life Time. To live the High Life is to exercise the manly principles that built a nation, kept Boris in his place, and set several land-speed records. Pursue the High Life and you put a man on the moon. Turn your back on it, and a cheap thermal-tile glue grounds your whole space program. Pursue the High Life and your oversized Cadillac consumes the road like a many-finned shark. Turn your back on the High Life? Have a nice K-car. When a once proud man loses his taste for the High Life, even his taste for football-the sport of Dick Butkus, Knute Rockne, and Jim Thorpe-wanes. How else do we explain the new, sad popularity of a so-called sport like soccer? America, is that you? We have gotten soft. Lost. Confused, we are slowly realizing that our chosen religions—Convenience, Aerobic Fitness, Yogurt—leave us feeling hollow in the way a good steak never would. The world cries out for men to walk the Higher Path. Coffee boutiques consume retail space that might better be used by hardware merchants. John Tesh is able to have a career. Richard Simmons is allowed to live. Fitness industry stocks pay better dividends than aerospace exploration. Isn't it time for a man to reclaim control of his own destiny; to pursue the High Life in the manner our founding fathers had intended; to embrace the High Life to which each of us, by nature's grace, is born? We will throw away our self-lighting charcoal. We will question the leather interiors and automatic transmissions of the sports utility vehicles we dare call "trucks? We will stare down every shameful modern manifestation of male impersonation and say: you cannot kill our beer. You cannot take away the High Life to which we are entitled. Try as you might, you cannot keep a High Life man down. Let us then assert manliness in all its simple glory. Let us revisit a time when elbow grease and bacon grease, like High Life, are never in short supply. Bound by honor to our brave social contract, we accept it as our duty to give the world some much-needed lessons in how to lead this High Life.

This is what we believe. Technology alone is not enough. Faster. Thinner. Lighter. Those are all good things. But when technology gets out of the way, everything becomes more delightful. Even magical. That’s when you leap forward. That’s when you end up with something like this.

All things being equal, they are not. As first world consumers, we have tremendous power. What we collectively choose to buy, or not to buy, can change the course of life and history on this planet. (RED) is that simple an idea, and that powerful. Now, you have a choice. There are (RED) credit cards. (RED) phones, (RED) shoes, (RED) fashion brands. And no, this does not mean they are all red in color, although some are. If you buy a (RED) product or sign up for a (RED) service, at no cost to you, a (RED) company will give some of its profits to buy and distribute anti-retroviral medicine to our brothers and sisters dying of AIDS in Africa. We believe that when consumers are offered this choice, and the products meet their needs, they will choose (RED), and when they choose (RED) over non-(RED), then more brands will choose to become (RED) because it will make good business sense to do so. And more lives will be saved. (RED) is not a charity. It is simply a business model. You buy (RED) stuff, we get the money, buy the pills and distribute them. They take the pills, stay alive, and continue to take care of their families and contribute socially and economically in their communities. If they don't get the pills, they die. We don't want them to die. We want to give them the pills. And we can. And you can. And it's easy. All you have to do is upgrade your choice.

You are a good person. You spend time with your family. You work out at the gym. You conserve water while showering. You like nice clothes. You give to charity. You recycle. You drive a Prius but you use your bike when you can. You enjoy the occasional distraction at work and you always send a card on Mother's day. Always. But there's a part of you that tells yourself that you are not so good; that you could be doing more; that the world is falling apart at the seams and all you’ve been doing is yoga. One day you see that the rainforest is being destroyed at a staggering rate of 32 million acres a year. That's the equivalent of one football field every 78 seconds. You feel bad, angry, guilty. You've been apathetic for too long. You want to do something about it. You must do something about it. Well this is what you're not going to do. You're not going to quit your job, leave your family, get on the next flight to Nicaragua, take a bus to the edge of the jungle, then hoof it across rivers, lakes and streams on a quest to the very heart of the rainforest. You're not going to ingratiate yourself with the local tribesmen, go to great lengths to earn their respect and trust. It is around now that you realize you are living out the cliche gringo fantasy of becoming an honorary native and leading the resistance forces. But screw it. If they can do it, so can you. You're not going to coordinate an Occupy the Rainforest movement, realize it's hopeless, summon the power of the gods, lead a revolution against the deforesters and their multinational employers in an apocalyptic, only to awaken two days later in an El Salvadorian hospital with two toes missing on your left foot, hobble out of Central America, up through Mexico, across the Sierra Madre, where you break down, have your first cigarette in four years, accidentally start a wildfire killing off the endangered species that once served as your occupational distraction, finally make it back home only to find you've been replaced at work by a guy named TJ and that things at home are not what they used to be. You're not going to do any of these things. But what you can do is follow the frog. Buying Rainforest Alliance Certified products ensures the future of our rainforests so that you don't have to do the things you shouldn't do anyway. Just follow the frog.

We have a situation on our hands. And the clock is ticking. When a girl turns 12 and lives in poverty her future is out of her control. In the eyes of many, she’s a woman now. No, really she is. She faces the reality of being married by the age of 14. Pregnant by the time she’s 15. And if she survives childbirth she might have to sell her body to support her family. Which puts her at risk for contracting and spreading HIV. Not the life you imagined for a 12-year-old, right? But the good news is, there is a solution. Let’s rewind to her at 12. Happy and healthy. She visits a doctor regularly. She stays in school. Where she’s safe. She uses her education to earn a living. Now, she’s calling the shots. And it looks something like this: She can avoid HIV. She can marry and have children when she’s ready. And her children are healthy like she is. Now imagine this continuing for generation after generation. You get the picture, right? 50 million 12-year-old-girls in poverty. Equal 50 million solutions. This is the power of the Grirl Effect. That starts with a 12-year old girl. And impacts the world. The clock is ticking.

Hey bartender. You assume that I cannot drink a margarita. So you don’t serve me a margarita. So I don’t drink a margarita. Your assumption becomes reality. And parents. You assume that I cannot live on my own. So you don’t encourage me to live on my own. So I don’t live on my own. Coach. You assume that I cannot hit harder. So you don’t train me to hit harder. So I don’t hit harder. And teacher. You assume that I cannot learn Shakespeare. So you don’t teach me Shakespeare. So I don’t learn Shakespeare. But hey If all your assumptions become reality Then assume that I can drink a margarita. So you serve me a margarita. So I drink a margarita. Assume that I can live on my own. So I live on my own. Assume that I can hit harder. So I hit harder. Assume that I can learn Shakespeare. So I learn fucking Shakespeare. You assumed I couldn’t swear, right? Assume that I can do that job. That I can go to parties. That I can have sex. That I can be on stage. Assume that I can. So maybe I will.

Hey, piper! Shut it! Here’s a true story about a young lad named John. Just a local farm boy, but there was something special about the lad, a glint in his eye, a fire in his belly, a spring in his step. And one day he went for a walk. Now, this walk began when his father died. The year was 1819 and he was just 14 years old. Bereavement counseling? Well, these were the days when young boys sent into the fields, the mills, the mines, tough times. But young John was smart enough to be lucky. His father’s farm, where he was born and raised, was sold and the proceeds used to open a grocer’s. Big responsibility for the wee lad. His own shop in Kilmarnock, with his name on the door: John Walker. Or Johnnie, as the world now knows him. Back then, all grocers stocked a range of local single malts, but they could be a wee bit inconsistent. For John, that wasn’t good enough. He began blending different malts together as a way of offering his customers a consistent, unique product. Now, this back-room art quickly developed into a commercial proposition and a very profitable one. And because there’s nothing like a commercial proposition to stir Scottish heart, it grew quickly into an industry filled with ambitious entrepreneur distillers. John thrived in this environment, and so too soon would his sons, Robert and Alexander, who joined him on his journey. The Walkers became the biggest name in a rapidly growing industry. They were unstoppable. In one bolt bit of 19th-century corporate raiding, they bought the famed distillery at Cardhu, lock, stock and… ensuring their supply of this silky single malt, and guaranteeing, more importantly, that none of the other big blenders could get their hands on it. But young Alexander wasn’t content with being Scotland’s biggest blender. Not ambitious enough for him. No, no. He convinced the ships’ captains of Glasgow to act as agents for him, and drove the whisky bearing his father’s name across the globe. By 1860, he had developed the square bottle, now with a label at an angle of precisely 24 degrees. No big deal, you might think, but you’d be wrong. The square bottle meant less breakages and more bottles per shipment. The diagonal label meant larger type and together that meant Johnnie Walker had unmistakable presence on any shelf in the world. The bottle became an icon, and the rich liquid it contained sought after and consumed across the globe. Quite a character, Alexander Walker. Master of the blender’s art, ambitious, uncompromising, Mr. Walker. It was John’s grandsons, George and Alexander II’s turn to join him on his journey. They led the brand into the 20th century. By 1909, they had developed the iconic Red Label and Black Label, and persuaded Tom Browne, the best young illustrator of the day, to sketch a striding man on a napkin during a business lunch. In the stroke of a pen, the Victorian grocer was transformed into an Edwardian dandy. By 1920, Johnnie’s walk had taken him through 120 countries, and he continued walking through the brand’s advertising over the next 50 years, into the fabric of global culture, deep into the dark hearts of several wars, to the pleasure palaces of the aristocracy, immortalized by screen legends, celebrated by filmmakers, singers, songwriters, novelists, shoulder-to-shoulder with the great sportsmen of the age, winning countless international awards for quality and even being awarded the Royal Warrant by King George V. No going back after that. No that going back would even have occurred to Johnnie or any of his family. By the end of the 20th century, the familiar Red Label and Black Label were joined by the Green Label, the Gold Label and, the grandest of them all, Johnnie Walker Blue Label. By the beginning of the 21st century, Johnnie Walker wasn’t just the world’s biggest whisky brand, but an international symbol of progress, the brand’s ‘Keep Walking’ mantra adopted by pro-democracy protestors and parliamentary speech writers. What would the farm-born Victorian grocer have thought of all of this? He’d have loved it. A Victorian farm-born grocer he might have been, but he, and the family that followed him, were possessed by a fiery ambition, with the skill and intelligence to match. Two hundred years later and Johnnie Walker’s still walking. And he’s not showing any signs of stopping.

"I got a great gimmick. Let's tell the truth.” —N.M.Orhbach. Doyle Dane Bernbach was given this advice 22 years ago by our first client, and we still like it. It's a gimmick that has some fantastic advantages. In the first place you go to heaven. In the second place other people can't lay a glove on you. And in the third place, telling the truth is the best known way of moving merchandise. Of course, telling the truth isn't always easy. After the fact some of DDB's problems don't look so tough. But at the time, it took a lot of stamina to use our gimmick. Take that automobile we do the advertising for. Back in the beginning that car was strange looking creature. At least to Detroit-conditioned eyes. In fact, it looked like a beetle. So we called it a beetle. We sold cars. Or take that rental car company we called "number two.” That was practically un-American. The consumer wasn't supposed to be impressed unless you called yourself the biggest, or the fattest or the most important. Something. We took a chance on truth. We rented cars. We have a bank client who asked us to advertise mortgage loans. Instead of advertising low-cost mortgage loans we prepared a 1400 word, 240 line ad describing all of the terrible shocks and blows you are subjected to at a mortgage closing. That was doubly ridiculous in as much as nobody reads copy. Right? They read copy when you're telling them something. Not only did the bank's mortgage business shoot up, they were able to spread their name all over town because of some 100,000 reprint requests. Another word for truth is information. Supplying information to potential customers is where advertising started. And it is still the most important job. Done believably, memorably, entertainingly sometimes, but done. That's why at Doyle Dane Bernbach, we pay as much attention to print today as we ever did (including this ad). Print is neither "hot" nor "cold"? It's honest. Inherently. You're out there on the page, naked, without so much as a guitar. Just your product and the word. And you're out there with that ordinary man in the street, who turned into a consumerist skeptic and who has learned to spot a hedge three columns away. And with print he can take a long, slow, devastating look. We've got a confession to make. It's got nothing to do with heaven. People are as smart as we are. That's why we tell the truth.

I got a question for you. What does this city know about luxury, hm? What does a town that's been to hell and back know about the finer things in life? Well I'll tell you. More than most. You see, it's the hottest fires that make the hardest steel. Add hard work and conviction. And a know how that runs generations deep in every last one of us. That's who we are. That's our story. Now it's probably not the one you've been reading in the papers. The one being written by folks who have never even been here. Don't know what we're capable of. Because when it comes to luxury, it's as much about where it's from as who it's for. Now we're from America, but this isn't New York City. Or the Windy City. Or Sin City. And we're certainly no one's Emerald City. This is the Motor City. And this is what we do. SUPER: The Chrysler 200 has arrived. SUPER: Imported from Detroit

Y’know, people come up to me all the time and say, “What makes Aviation Gin so delicious?” Most of the time, I run away because non-celebrities frighten me. But here is the answer. It begins each morning at 4am. The distillers of Aviation Gin rise to great the new day with four hours of silent meditation. From there, it’s a quick scoot down to the grove. The citrus fruits are misted only with the tears of Aviation’s owner. Me, Ryan Reynolds. All of our botanicals are humanely caught. Cage-free and grain-fed. The reason some people don’t drink gin is that strong juniper taste. So, after apologizing to each berry individually. We beat the living hell out of them. Creating a smoother, more refined finish. To ensure that heavenly taste, every bottle of Aviation is Ordained by the Unitarian Church of Fresno California. And then, before it departs home, serenaded with the healing music of Sarah McLachlan. Some might call this overkill. But the next time you visit your local mixologist and you murder that silky-smooth Aviation martini, well who’s the killer now, asshole. SUPER: Aviation. An American original. Now owned by a Canadian.

If everyone is busy making everything, how can anyone perfect anything? We start to confuse convenience with joy. Abundance with choice. Designing something requires focus. The first thing we ask is: What do we want people to feel? Delight. Surprise. Love. Connection. Then we begin to craft around our intention. It takes time. There are a thousand no’s for every yes. We simplify. We perfect. We start over. Until everything we touch. Enhances each life it touches. Only then do we sign our work: Designed by Apple in California.

Hi, I’m Mike. Founder of dollar shave club dot com. What is dollar shave club dot com? Well, for a dollar a month we send high quality razors right to your door. Yeah, a dollar. Are the blades any good? No. Our blades are fucking great. Each razor has stainless steel blades and aloe vera lubricating strip and a pivot head. It’s so gentle a toddler could use it. And do you like spending 20 dollars a month on brand name razors? And do you think your razor needs a vibrating handle, a flashlight, a back scratcher and 10 blades? Your handsome-ass grandfather had one blade, and polio. Stop paying for shave tech you don't need … and stop forgetting to buy your blades every month and start deciding where you're going to stack all those dollar bills I’m saving you. We are dollar shave club dot com and the party is on. SUPER: Shave time. Shave money.

I’m Jerry Stritzke, the CEO of REI. This Black Friday, we’re closing all 143 of our stores. And we’re paying our employees to get outside. Because we believe a life lived outside is a life well lived. We’d rather be in the mountains than in the aisles. Join us on November 27th and opting outside. Thanks!

Think small. Our little car isn't so much of a novelty any more. A couple of dozen college kids don't try to squeeze inside it. The guy at the gas station doesn't ask where the gas goes. Nobody even stares at our shape. In fact, some people who drive our little flivver don't even think 32 miles to the gallon is going any great guns. Or using five pints of oil instead of five quarts. Or never needing anti-freeze. Or racking up 40,000 miles on a set of tires. That's because once you get used to some of our economies, you don't even think about them any more. Except when you squeeze into a small parking spot. Or renew your small insurance. Or pay a small repair bill. Or trade in your old VW for a new one. Think it over.

Don't do the right thing. God knows, you'll be tempted. The right thing sounds so good in meetings. It looks fantastic in charts. The right thing soothes racing pulses, and settles churning stomachs. Everybody can get on board with the right thing. The right thing is "good enough." But good enough is not enough. Don't do it. Don't do the right thing. Avoid it like the plague. So, what are you supposed to do? The wrong thing? Of course not. Do the brave thing. The thing that troubles your sleep. The thing with a million unknowns. That seems ridiculous one moment, and genius the next. That's the thing you should do. Chase it down. Do the thing that disrupts. That upends. That doesn't just defy the status quo, but reshapes it, forever. You can do that. You have that in you. To do the right thing or not, is a choice. To disrupt or not, is a choice. Let's do the brave thing.

C’mon, a sixpack? Who needs a sixpack when you got the nose. Or a nose when you got the suit. Now you don’t need a suit when you got the moves. Or moves when you got the fire. Or fire when you rock those heels. And heels when you ride those wheels. Looks? Man, who needs looks when you got the books. Or books when you got some balls. And who needs all that when you get the door. When you got the dough. The brains. The touch. The aww. That’s right. Who needs some other thing when you got your thing. Now work on it. SUPER: Find your magic.

If people say your dreams are crazy, if they laugh at what you think you can do — good. Stay that way. Because what non-believers fail to understand is that calling a dream crazy is not an insult. It's a compliment. Don't try to be the fastest runner in your school, or the fastest in the world. Be the fastest ever. Don't picture yourself wearing LBJ's jersey. Picture LBJ wearing yours. Don't settle for homecoming queen or linebacker. Do both. Lose a hundred-twenty pounds then become an Ironman after beating a brain tumor. Don't believe you have to be like anybody to be somebody. If you're born a refugee, don't let it stop you from playing soccer for the national team at age 16. Don't become the best basketball player on the planet. Be bigger than basketball. Believe in something even if it means sacrificing everything. When they talk about the greatest team in the history of the sport, make sure it's your team. If you have only one hand, don't just watch football play it. At the highest level. If you're a girl from Compton, don't just become a tennis player. Become the greatest athlete ever. So don't ask if your dreams are crazy. Ask if they're crazy enough. SUPER: It’s only crazy until you do it. SUPER: Just do it.

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They invent. They imagine. They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire. They push the human race forward. Maybe they have to be crazy. How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels? We make tools for these kinds of people. While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do. Think Different

If we show emotion, we’re called dramatic. If we want to play against men, we’re nuts. And if we dream of equal opportunity, delusional. If we stand for something, we’re unhinged. When we’re too good, there’s something wrong with us. And if we get angry, we’re hysterical, irrational, or just being crazy. But. A woman running a marathon was crazy. A woman boxing was crazy. A woman dunking—crazy. Coaching an NBA team—crazy. A woman competing in a hijab, changing her sport, landing a double-cork 1080, or winning 23 Grand Slams, having a baby, and then coming back for more? Crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy, and crazy. So if they want to call you crazy—fine. Show them what crazy can do. SUPER: Just do it.

Backspin on a warped table under bad light. A kiss off the 8-ball, a bank on the six. Double bull on a single throw, three pints in. Picking up a spare in the final frame. Singing on-key, off-key, and, losing keys. Steady hands, blurry eyes. Bars, billiards, basements. Bacon sandwiches with extra hot sauce. Surviving buzz-kills, third-wheels, cock-blocks and cabs in the rain. Finish lines drawn by dawn. These are the providence of the After Hours Athlete. When last call calls, don't answer. The night, too, is for sport. And they are the champions.

Donuts are bad for you. So are cream cakes, lie-ins and loud rock music. So is sugar. If you take it in your tea, stop immediately. If you take two sugars in your tea, obviously you're trying to commit suicide and it's a cry for help. Don't do it. Your life is precious. Not drinking enough water is bad for you. You must drink 6½ pints a day, or you'll get dehydrated and that's bad for you too. Don't drink too much though, that can be really bad for you. If you drink over 14 pints at once it makes you feel drunk. So don't drink too much water and drive. TV is bad for you. Watching too much can cost you your friends. None at all and you've got nothing to talk to them about. Lack of exercise is bad for you. But getting addicted to gyms is bad for you too. Also, some gym towels aren't laundered properly and spread germs. Germs are bad for you. Stress is bad for you. Well, at least too much stress is bad for you. Not enough and you don't realize you're alive which is bad for you too. The thing is, life and the living that is involved is bad for you. It must be, because it kills everyone in the end. At Krispy Kreme, we think the key to life, by which we mean eating doughnuts, is balance. Sure, if you eat them morning, noon, and night and they are brought directly to your armchair, then that would be bad. But then if you've never felt the pleasure of eating a delicious fluffy original glazed doughnut hot off the line and, heaven forbid, you get struck by lightning, well surely that would be really bad. Really really bad.

Hello Richard, I’m Caroline Williams, CEO of Bodyform. We read your Facebook post with interest, but also a sense of foreboding and I think it’s time we came clean. We lied to you, Richard. And I want to say sorry. Sorry. What you’ve seen in our advertisements so far isn’t a factual representation of events. We actually created those films to protect you and other men from the harsh realities of womanhood. You’re right. The flagrant use of visualizations such as skydiving, rollerblading, and mountain biking (you forgot horse riding, Richard) are actually metaphors. They’re not real. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but there’s no such thing as a “happy period.” The reality is, some people simply can’t handle the truth. In the past we’ve tried to be more honest in our approach. In the 1980s we ran a series of focus groups to help us gauge the public’s reaction to periods. The camps, the mood swings, the insatiable hunger. And yes, Richard, the blood coursing from our uteri like a crimson landslide. So, we’d knew we’d have to change our strategy. And so, from that day to this, we have manage to maintain this illusion. But you Richard have torn down that veil and exposed this myth, thereby exposing every man to a reality we hoped they would never have to face. You did that, Richard. Well done. I just hope you can find it in our heart to forgive us. (SFX: Fart) Sorry, you did know that we do too, didn’t you?

The tell women like us that we need to become. That reward is there for us if we become patient enough. We’ll find love if we become desirable enough. Manageable enough. That our hair is something that needs to be done. They tell women like us that beautiful is something we become. When really, beautiful is something we have always been. When we unravel ourselves, we’re free to define beauty as who we are. Unbecoming. What’s unbecoming of a black woman is becoming who you are. SUPER: My black is beautiful