Why Every Brand Wants To Sound Like A Barista From Grey Lynn
There’s a particular voice that’s crept into our inboxes, ads, apps, and probably your mum’s favorite oat milk brand. You know it. Casual, breezy, and peppered with ‘hey there’ and ‘just checking in’. It doesn't shout. It’s not trying to sell, apparently. It just wants to 'vibe'.
This tone started out charming, a rebellion against the stiff corporate speak we were all allergic to in the early 2010s. But now? It’s like every brand’s been hanging out at the same flat, drinking mushroom coffee and learning how to gently nudge you toward a discount code. The problem isn't tone, really. It's uniformity. We’ve flat-packed our brand voices until they're basically the same neutral oat furniture.
No one seems to be asking who we’re actually talking to anymore. A boutique travel insurer in Auckland probably doesn’t need to text me like we matched on Bumble. I’m all for friendliness, but when everyone sounds like a copywriter who owns a ceramic studio on the side, we lose any sense of contrast. Worse, we lose identity. It’s a race to empathy that ends up emotional beige.
What’s the fix? Let brands be weird again. Let them make you feel something. Discomfort, awe, maybe a little intrigue. When every other startup is whispering sweet nothings, maybe it’s time someone shouts. Or growls. Or speaks in perfect, robotic punctuation. If brand is language, then sameness is silence.
This tone started out charming, a rebellion against the stiff corporate speak we were all allergic to in the early 2010s. But now? It’s like every brand’s been hanging out at the same flat, drinking mushroom coffee and learning how to gently nudge you toward a discount code. The problem isn't tone, really. It's uniformity. We’ve flat-packed our brand voices until they're basically the same neutral oat furniture.
No one seems to be asking who we’re actually talking to anymore. A boutique travel insurer in Auckland probably doesn’t need to text me like we matched on Bumble. I’m all for friendliness, but when everyone sounds like a copywriter who owns a ceramic studio on the side, we lose any sense of contrast. Worse, we lose identity. It’s a race to empathy that ends up emotional beige.
What’s the fix? Let brands be weird again. Let them make you feel something. Discomfort, awe, maybe a little intrigue. When every other startup is whispering sweet nothings, maybe it’s time someone shouts. Or growls. Or speaks in perfect, robotic punctuation. If brand is language, then sameness is silence.