Brands that laugh at themselves are memorable. I’ll help you find that voice.
Vermont sounded like a wonderful place to spend a couple of days last weekend. When Lynn invited me to her lakeside cottage, I said “Yes” in a jiffy and escaped Montreal in an effortless flash. The evening drive was peaceful; a persistent moon trolled me along a wide-open road. Before long, I’d arrived at the US border.
I knew the drill.
I handed my Canadian ID to an outstretched hand and did my best “blank stare passport-face.” The border guard looked at me, that booklet, and then slowly peered back into my open window. That’s when the shit hit the fan.
“Sir, were you aware your passport expires tomorrow?”
“Excuse me? What the FUCK did you just say?” was what I might have blurted if my jaw hadn’t locked up.
“Sir, pull over to the left and park inside garage number three. Someone will be there to greet you.”
He held onto my passport and tipped his cap. The blood had already drained from my brain, so I was a little dizzy there, for a second or two. I coasted into that brightly lit aluminum canopy, turned off my engine and stepped out. With a hand on her holster, SHE approached and motioned me with an index finger towards the interview room: it was small and cramped.
My customs border guard was athletic, attractive and deadly serious. We played 20 questions for thirty fricken minutes while (I presume) other officers searched my car. At one point, she asked if I was hiding anything, and I thought, “OK, this is it. She’s preparing me for the strip search. Get ready to lower your damn pants, Paul.”
Thankfully, it didn’t go that way. After admitting — for the tenth time — that I’d messed up, my customs officer smirked and let me go with a very stern warning.
I slowly rolled onto the safety of Canadian soil, hit the road and clicked “PLAY.” A buddy of mine, Ash Soan, was keeping a funky beat for Ariel Posen and Cory Wong. I brutalized my poor speakers — while berating myself for being so careless.
Eventually, the monotony of that dark and deserted highway took over.
I’d forgotten how barren and hypnotic a midnight run could be. It was lulling me into a coma. I shook my head, accelerated, and quickly watched those dotted white lines become one, long, unbroken blur. I felt alert once again. I knew one thing: Lynn would be seriously annoyed and disappointed with me.
Yet, by the time I’d reached Montreal, I realized that positive lessons should be acquired everywhere. What did I learn from that whole “border” fiasco? Check expiry dates on important documents and don’t joke with border guards.
Oh, and always wear clean underwear — you just never know.😶
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The Takeaway:
Self-deprecating humour is an underused branding tool. It signals confidence, builds trust, and makes you memorable. Brands that can laugh at themselves stand out. The ones that can’t are often forgettable.
MY voice will get YOUR clients to smile.
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