{brand}
I've been thinking a lot about the word brand lately. Thinking long spells on this 5 letter example of synergy, it's true. This ponderation has consumed my precious times reserved for journaling and meditation cleaning the blasted kitchen after dinner and folding never ending piles of laundry.
brand |brand|
noun
1 a type of product manufactured by a particular company under a particular name : a new brand of detergent.
• a brand name : the company will market computer software under its own brand.
2 an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.
• archaic a branding iron.
• figurative a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace : the brand of Paula's alcoholism.
Both definitions have me consumed. I'm on a see-saw with these 5 letters maneuvering my weight shift just enough to balance each meaning into a harmonized state of equilibrium with myself. You see, brand is a big deal to me. What with my booming entrepreneurial Goodwill spokes model pursuit and then again with just the who I want people to know is the quality behind k.Mac, the digestion of 'name' is critical. I look for brands. I scour encyclopedia-ed racks of used garments & accessories on quite the regular tip. In musty-overcompensated-with-Lysol drenched establishments, I seek out the notable variety. The Ann Taylor. The infamous Banana. The Gap. The Limited. The Boden. The Ralph Lauren too. Like a hungry lioness, I patrol the purged and reprocessed with skilled strategy. And, once in sight, I collapse vehemently on the golden prize of brand. I look not for stains or tears until phase 2 of my procurement process. Experience settles it; keenly, brand and I are acquainted.
My pursuit of the "low miles; one owner" wannabes is not bigoted, mind you. I am abundantly the ambassador of equality when it comes to style worthy potential. Into the buggy goes anything that fits the possible bill of 'real darn cute'. It's phase 3 where the rubber meets the road of ready-or-not recyclability with regards to my wallet.
And, this is where this post sits nicely down on its haunches of just what the heck I aim to say. I'm noticing. Yes, this see-saw ride is doing more than just creating a dizzier best dressed of me. Brands that are well known for their tags {high end name brands} leave me with buggys of much smaller sizes and yet with more room for wiggling. Their fit is truer in form. Their shape is contoured and suitably appropriate.
Articles of clothing that one would consider a sub-scale in the hierarchy of fashion have a tighter fit with a higher numerical output on the tag. Their fit is awry more often than not. Sleeves are a tad shorter. Inseams are a bit snugger. Length is inevitably an issue. Brand, swift & clever-like, pontificates its two-sided teeter-toter masterfully. No weight shifting needed by me; equilibrium has arrived.
brand |brand|
noun
2 an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.
• archaic a branding iron.
• figurative a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace : the brand of Paula's alcoholism.
The mark you leave. What will it be? Truer in form or snug in the inseam? Will you concern yourself with the number on the inside secretly wishing your could wear your article reversed outward for all the world to see? Is that your reason for living this day-to-day? To feel that your innards are synonymous with a number on a tag? Will you seek the good in quality even if it means rummaging or waiting it out until the perfect piece finds you with the pocketbook to purchase? Or, will you satiate your substance with the sub par to sidle through your everyday? What will be your brand?
And, what about others? Will you be able to spot their stitched tags of upscale? Will these woven brand names of theirs make more of you? Or, will you settle for the issue of odd length and premature ending sleeves only to say your spoken for and somewhat supported?
Withsounds of classical music playing and fresh flowers filling my writing nook hands swimming in dishwater and befuddled by where the freakin' match to the umpteen millionth sweat sock is, I ponder my brand. I ask these questions whole heartily and-in-the-face dead on too. I want to be a brand of stature. Me. I want to be the true fit. The tag reached for. I want to be that for myself and for others. I want it just as much for k.Mac too. And, my biggest wish? My biggest wish is that no matter where I am situated, I can always be found. On Goodwill racks. In storefronts on mannequins under spot lights galore. Or in driveways for Saturday morning yard sales.
Me.
{my brand}
The mark you leave. What will it be? Truer in form or snug in the inseam? Will you concern yourself with the number on the inside secretly wishing your could wear your article reversed outward for all the world to see? Is that your reason for living this day-to-day? To feel that your innards are synonymous with a number on a tag? Will you seek the good in quality even if it means rummaging or waiting it out until the perfect piece finds you with the pocketbook to purchase? Or, will you satiate your substance with the sub par to sidle through your everyday? What will be your brand?
And, what about others? Will you be able to spot their stitched tags of upscale? Will these woven brand names of theirs make more of you? Or, will you settle for the issue of odd length and premature ending sleeves only to say your spoken for and somewhat supported?
With
Me.
{my brand}
.mac