Rebranding In an Apocalypse
October 23, 2020
Jessa Ciel
The thing is, no one ever plans to rebrand right before the end of the world.
It just sort of happens, because no one ever tells us, “By the way in two months there will be a global pandemic, a worldwide recession, a national racial divide triggering mass protests, fires up and down the golden state, smoke filled air, and all work will cease.”
How I Came to the Decision of Rebranding before the Collapse of the Modern World
In January 2020, I woke up excitedly and declared, “This is gonna be my year!” New year, new branding right? I’ve been freelancing for a living since 2008. I’ve had a lot of mistakes to learn from. As a photographer, I have very few terrible headshots to haunt me but bad logos and graphic design abound. After spending two years in an MFA program surrounded by artists much more talented in disciplines I sometimes dabble in, I realized that handing things off to a pro is a boss move AND is good for the economy. Artists need work! We had a wonderful 2D (i.e. graphic design) department on campus. When I designed my own thesis book, I received a derisive look from a classmate followed by a cutting critique on my choice of font. MY CHOICE OF FONT. I thought about researching fonts, but couldn’t bring myself to read the 300 page book recommended. Hiring a professional is better.
Notice that I said that hiring a professional is better, not EASIER. Here’s the thing about rebranding: you’ve got to know what you’re offering and who you are. It’s not just about throwing up some cool designs, it’s about understanding your market and visually communicating to them. And sure it’s an unknown person to you—from your side of the screen— but someone specific is looking and thinking, assessing and judging and maybe even hiring. Rebranding is basically all of the things you’re terrified to do until you hire someone to do it. It gets more terrifying when the person you hired sends you a 20 page workbook asking you to communicate your life’s worth on the page.
Since I was already a Squarespace user, I decided why not use one of their suggested designers? It helped that it popped up on the site as I was browsing behind the scenes options. I needed someone who understood artists and I needed someone who was creatively bold but also knew how to speak to businesses. As I was making my final selections, I realized it was important to me to work with a Black woman.
“The thing is, no one ever plans to rebrand right before the end of the world. ”
Why Hiring Black Women Designers is imperative aka my Golden (re)Launch
By filling out a short project brief, Squarespace in partnership with 99 Designs narrowed down by potential design mates. Art mixed with business. Scrolling through the portfolios of those listed, I found three potential matches and sent my brief over. I was immediately rejected by the first one as they only work with large brands. That left two. I like few choices. Grocery stores are like vortexes of potential good or bad choices that could lead to all kinds of outcomes that I must contemplate by holding each jar of vegan spread in my hand whispering, “Is this the person I’d like to be in the future?” So two options was great for me.
They both responded quickly and could meet my project outcomes and budget. One designer was a White man in Finland. The other designer, a Black woman in Atlanta. Although I was intrigued by the abstract art designs of the former, the latter really merged business with the creative. Besides, I don’t know what White Finnish men have to deal with, but I have a good idea what Black women in Atlanta have gone through. And this isn’t a story that ends in us sobbing over Breonna Taylor in Zoom. With all the emphasis on “Black girl magic,” there’s a lot of overlooking Black woman competency. Kia of Golden Launch was to the point, organized, listened well, and designed a logo that my psychic friend said would become my calling card. She executed exactly what I needed.
The only problem was, I no longer knew what I needed.
Here’s the thing. I celebrated my birthday in March in Napa with my mother and watched the last winery doors shut with the force of the growing pandemic. The next day I returned to my adjunct professor of photography position only to have my college shut its doors the same day. Weeks later, the governor of California made a formidable cut to the education budget and my district cut the fat. Fat is the arts. Apparently no one needs even the pretense of joy in hard times.
Good thing I’d already paid for my relaunch up front because in addition to no more professorship, I couldn’t find a paying creative project to save my life. Every existing project was canceled or postponed. It was like the recession I’d graduated into with a B.A. in film. In a tiny indie film studio across the street from my-then dream of “editor at Sony Pictures,” I watched from my converted motel office as thousands of employees were laid off, scattering L.A. like Hitchcock’s birds. I re-read my very thorough brand identity workbook from Golden Launch. What did it matter anymore? Watching the coverage of Ahmaud, Breonna, and George’s deaths across America, and passing military tanks parked in my Boulevard Park neighborhood, it gave me hope that two Black women creatives were making something beautiful together. Kia from Golden Launch was so thorough, I was afraid she’d launch without me. And I was afraid if she didn’t, I never would.
“For all the talk about being Black in America, many times it’s something Black professionals are forced to smuggle in the back door of their workplace.”
The Golden Launch of IAMCIEL
Apocalypses are actually really good for taking a moment to figure out what you really stand for. For all the talk about being Black in America, many times it’s something Black professionals are forced to smuggle in the back door of their workplace. We put on our best “White presenting” voices in the workplace. We try to make ourselves seem multicultural and mysterious yet familiar. We lose the specificity of our Blackness to become blended into American fibers. Don’t be too loud, too proud, too, you know, Black. If our black skin is the blackest part of us, is the only black in us, maybe we’ll finally belong, or be hired, or be visible. In facing the collapse of whatever surface we were aspiring to, it became clear to me that it’s time to lay down the sheen and stop spraying. As white aspirational Euro-centered patriarchal colonialism crumbles, it seems silly to keep imitating it. Creators must create new economies, new structures, new relationships.
I was never one for “blending in,” which is why I’m in the thicket of figuring out entrepreneurship rather than watching all the wild, free parts of me be broken by an unjust and brutal system for girls and women like me. So I picked up my branding workbook and changed a few things. I’m a black creative who works with those who appreciate both Blackness and creativity. That should be all of us but it’s not. You know who you are and who you’re not. If your best known black acquaintance is a minimum-wage worker at your job that you’ve shared a few jokes in the men’s room with, it’s not you. If you love black people, not for their magic and dancing, not for the way proximity to Blackness makes you look, but for all the nuances of what it means to be a human on this Earth, then my goddess, this is for you.
I am Ciel. I have taken the last 12 years to master my craft. I’ve studied, I’ve worked, I’ve suffered, and I’ve soared. I have cried and bled for photography and film. I have jumped for joy at the moving and still picture. I have dissected art for hours with masters and imposters. I have watched a prodigious number of films from all continents. I have thought through many creative problems, curated sparks from unlit matches, summoned artistry from torturously dull canvases. With the help of Golden Launch, we’ve started with the most pressing project of 2020. The one where you look within. The one where you find who you are meant to be when you are free. I AM CIEL.