Building a Brand By Giving It All Away

My dad owned a small ad agency when I was a kid.

Most of my friend's parents had 'normal' jobs. Insurance. Cop. Retail. They had normal, predictable days, and came home to their normal, predictable subdivision homes.

Not my dad.

Like me, my dad is a 100%, full-throttle visionary type. All ideas all the time and a penchant for the 'so crazy it just might work.'

As a business owner, he worked hard to build a solid, reputable agency while trying not to be distracted by candy cane patents and pie-in-the-sky ideas. I was proud of the work that he did. My friends thought it was cool. We had a bizarre and fantastic home, rebuilt from the backwoods architectural dreams of a hippie turned drug dealer turned murderer (a story for another time). Most importantly, his hard work created time and space to go exploring.

Almost every summer, my parents would take a month off work, load my brother and me up in a 2001 Honda Odyssey, hitch on a pop-up camper, and set off to see the sights. While admittedly, I spent a lot of the flat, corn-filled parts of the country with my nose buried in Dragonlance novels, we were able to experience so much more of this country before high school than most people do in their lifetime.

Zion. Bryce. Yellowstone. PEI. Kitty Hawk.

We weren't church people, but out there, it was easy to have a spiritual experience or two.

In those days, there had always been one spot we stopped by for hiking backpacks, fleece jackets, and the like. I don't know if it was a conscious decision or just the only option in the area, but Moosejaw Mountaineering in East Lansing got a lot of business from those trips. As a kid, it was always fun to stop in, with the tangible excitement of an upcoming trip in the air, and browse the gear racks for hobbies far above my pay grade. I have still never been ice climbing. It's likely to stay that way.

Years later, I found myself living in Chicago and, like most 19-year-olds, needing a job.

I happened to live around the corner from the only Moosejaw location outside Michigan, and so, with fate and good memories on my side, I applied for a job.

I remember standing outside the shop for the interview with Paul, the manager at the time, and talking about those childhood trips. The long drives. The feeling of standing at the top of Angel's Landing, looking out over Zion. The experiences my dad's passions and entrepreneurial spirit had allowed time for.

I got the job. Not because I had any sales or retail experience, which I didn't, but because I was clearly passionate about the same things as the customers.

It was a great place to work in college, and I met some incredible people there. I loved Moosejaw, but she was a summer fling compared to the love I met while there.

Patagonia.

Now, I know Patagonia's (wrong) reputation in some circles. Overpriced frat boy gear.

I'd always liked the brand, but when I read Yvon Chouinard's book, Let My People Go Surfing, I began to understand why it felt so special.

I don't believe a for-profit brand exists today with more authority or empathy for its customers than Patagonia.

You might be thinking, "What about North Face, or Arc'teryx or any of the other brands? Aren't they all the same?"

No. They are not.

Rock climbing wasn't a thing when Chouinard was a kid. He was in a youth falconry club and started forging his own climbing equipment to better scale the rock faces and capture the baby birds for training. Those hand-forged pitons and his entrepreneurial spirit led him to found Chouinard Equipment Co., which would later become Black Diamond, one of the biggest names in climbing gear to this day.

Chouinard launched a soft goods line to grow the company, recognizing that some of the best climbing gear, like European rugby shirts, wasn't available for climbers in the states. That clothing line would become Patagonia, one of the most iconic outdoor clothing brands of all time.

Let's talk about authority for a second. When telling a brand story and considering how to position that brand as a guide, two important puzzle pieces must be tightly fit together. Authority is the first, and there is simply no other brand in the space with the authority Chouinard and Patagonia have. They were integral to building the entire category from the ground up. While others have done incredible work building powerhouse brands since then (looking at you North Face), the importance of Patagonia in the timeline cannot be overstated.

If you've seen any business news in the last few months, Patagonia, and maybe even Chouinard, might be top of mind. Not for their authority but for the other piece of the guide puzzle: their empathy.

See, the story above is about a flourishing and successful brand. One that grew and grew and became a household name by making a great product. This is only half of what makes Patagonia special and what makes me love their work.

If it wasn't apparent by the long-winded story at the beginning of this piece, I have a deep-seated love for the outdoors. I think the people at Patagonia share that.

Back in the early days of Chouinard Equipment Co., Yvon and friends used to climb some of the most famous and, at the time, untouched rock in America. Imagine Half Dome before Alex Honnold scaled its face on the silver screen.

At the time, hammer and piton climbing was the way to go. Reliable, sturdy, and completely, undeniably functional. It was one of the founding products of Chouinard Equipment Co,. and a vital piece in any climber's inventory.

As they developed better gear and the sport took off, more and more people started climbing those once-secluded rock faces. Great for business. One day Chouinard and a friend were climbing in Yosemite and were faced with a damning realization. When he returned to the office, he shut down the piton business for good. He had seen something that every entrepreneur fears. The product they built their business on was destroying the environment they loved. The more they sold, the worse the irreparable damage was.

Sometimes you have to burn the boats.

With a bit of luck and a lot of entrepreneurial spirit, they switched production to aluminum chocks that could be wedged into the rock face by hand instead of hammered into the surface. This was the first significant business decision they made for the health of the natural environment, and it would not be the last.

Over the years, Patagonia, Chouinard, and their affiliates have had massive impacts on the state of environmental advocacy. From global activism to founding 1% For The Planet. Even today, the Patagonia website navigation reads 1. Shop 2. Activism 3. Sports 4. Stories

You've probably seen Patagonia in the news lately because Chouinard, and his children, donated their entire ownership of the company, valued at ~$3 billion, to support the sustainability and regeneration of the natural environment. There hasn't been a better example of putting your money where your mouth is.

Unfortunately, this commitment to a cause can often be seen as a 'nice to have' or an unrealistic 'bad for business' way of thinking. After all, what is left to grow the business if you're giving your hard-earned money away?

Here's my hot take: these are marketing dollars.

To build a great story, there must be a guide.

To build a great brand story, the brand must be that guide.

To be a great guide, the brand must demonstrate empathy and authority.

To demonstrate empathy, you must show you care about what your customers care about.

I hope I have convinced you Patagonia has incredible authority in its space.

But what about empathy?

When I think back to myself, standing atop Angel's Landing, staring out at the majesty of Zion, I felt a deep spiritual connection to nature. To our planet. To what it gives us so freely to enjoy and what we seem to so freely pave over.

So when I am cold, sitting in a dimly lit office, craving a hit of fresh air and daydreaming of having that feeling of connectedness again, who do I trust to be my guide? The North Face, bought out by Vanity Fair in 2000, or the company that just gave everything to save what we both love.

If that isn't empathy, I don't know what is.

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