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So the week I was finishing up wasn’t actual hell on earth. Just severely crappy and exhausting. I had two exams and a big research paper due plus a presentation. I worked all hours on the account at REM and didn’t manage to make a single yoga class or eat actual meals on most days, unless a cup of coffee and the last bag of Fritos from the machine counted as a meal. By Wednesday I was dragging and by Thursday morning I had been dead on my feet. My back hurt and my eyes burned from too little sleep. I was anxious and my brain felt foggy—all because I was so worn out. So on Friday, I had hoped to finish early if I could and head home for a bath—I was way too tired to stand up for a shower—and then I’d just fall into bed with a half eaten pizza pocket in my hand and sleep the weekend away.
Carlos and Selena from the creative team were both going to an awards dinner after work—something black tie that had them talking about how Scott Eastwood was supposed to be there. But I was wiped out and wanted to get our work done for the day so I could leave. My grouchy, exhausted brain wanted them to shut up and quit babbling about their glamorous evening ahead when all I wanted was to burst out crying from exhaustion. I told myself how lucky I was to have this internship, how at least I wasn’t on my feet at the diner till eleven tonight. I would be fine.
When Selena pulled out her phone to show me the picture of her cocktail dress again, I excused myself, abandoned my attempt to drink water and bought a Coke from the machine. If I could have shot caffeine into my eyeballs to keep them open, I probably would have. Working on this account was exciting but it consumed all my thoughts. The mental energy it took was unreal, especially compared to waiting tables which was physically taxing, sweaty work but didn’t consume all of my concentration until I felt like I didn’t have the mental capacity left to figure out how to microwave myself a burrito at the end of the night.
Our team leader, Martin, had made it clear that we were all staying until we had a set of designs finalized for repackaging as well as a firm outline for the teaser promotion that was rolling out next week.
“Listen up, I don’t care if you’re having dinner with the President of the United States tonight, much less some pretty boy actor. We have to get these boxes ticked before you take off for the weekend. Rob, hope you’re feeling better, it’s good to see you back. We need your input here.”
“That stomach bug was no joke. I’m okay now, just don’t talk about food,” Rob said.
“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure Martin’s not letting us have food or water till we’re done here,” Crystal quipped.
“Joke all you want, but we’re hammering out what has to be done this afternoon. If you have to cancel a spray tan appointment, go ahead and do it,” he said. “I need everyone at this table to think carefully about which choices will fit the rebranding concept we’ve developed. And no, Carlos, ‘I don’t care’ isn’t going to count as a vote on how we proceed. You have to take a position on which option you favor and then give you reasons. Don’t say something smartass because you want to leave early. That won’t fly this time,” Martin said in the tone of a man staring down a deadline.
“Okay, which boxes?” Selena said, all business.
Martin slid a paper to each of us with a list of five tasks we had to complete in order for the teaser to launch. I sighed, but not out loud. I’d rather try to climb a mountain in flip flops than try to do any of this with my tired brain at the moment. But I was committed to helping out and Rick wasn’t paying me to whine about how tired I was. I knew as the intern, the college kid, I could get out of this if I wanted to. I was the only one who could, most likely, but I wouldn’t be self-indulgent like that. Not when I had a chance to prove myself. I just had to gather my wits, however scattered they seemed, and pitch in so the team could accomplish this as quickly as possible.
“Let’s tackle the graphics first. That won’t be a hard decision,” Carlos suggested.
We all nodded, so our leader projected three, side-by-side pictures on the whiteboard of the new labels we had to choose from. They had used my color palette, and the design department had created a dozen possible labels, which we had narrowed down to three contenders.
Obediently we looked at the slide and made notes. No one spoke up. I was keenly aware of my status as an intern, given a seat at this table generously and as a favor to the demanding client. I didn’t get my degree and work my way up to being a member of the creative team at a major marketing firm the way these people had. I waited to make a contribution until others had a chance to state their thoughts, and I tried to keep my comments brief. I was here to learn, not to hear myself talk, and the fact was, I had a tiny niggling fear of making a huge obvious mistake if I talked too much. One of these creative directors would explain my error so kindly and patiently that I would want to cry. It was better to hold off on my preference until I got a read on what the more seasoned team members thought. I sat and looked around and eventually reread my own notes.
Martin cleared his throat. “Would it be helpful if I pointed out the subtle differences in the images? Since none of you are forthcoming with your opinion?”
“They look the same,” Rob said. “If I’m at the store to get cleaning stuff, one of those will be fine. It’s an updated color combination and the design is cleaner and more minimalist than before, but the brand name is still recognizable. I can’t tell any real difference in them.”
“The third option prints the brand name in the same font as it’s always appeared on their ads and labels. The first two use a more modern typeface. The one in the middle is sans serif and taller,” Martin said.
“Okay, so the letters are all that is different?” Rob said, visibly squinting. “Then I like the one with the old font, I guess. Still can’t really tell them apart.”
“Does anyone have a strong preference for or against the options?” Martin prompted.
“I favor keeping the original brand font because it’s a nod to tradition and the typeface is associated with the name. It will click with the customer as the same brand from their childhood, but with updated colors and packaging,” Selena said.
“Noted,” Martin said. “Thank you. Carlos?”
“I’m with Rob on this one.”
“You like the middle option?”
“No, I just can’t tell them apart. It’s like a personality test.”
“You wouldn’t do too well picking out a suspect from a lineup then,” Martin said, bemused, “the turquoise frame is narrower on the first label, and the third label is entirely outlined with a 2-point width white hairline for contrast. Which one makes you want to buy the spray cleaner?”
“None of them. I have a cleaner that comes in twice a week,” he said.
“That’s not helpful. Crystal?” he said.
“Not to prolong this with a debate, but I disagree on keeping the original font associated with the brand. They want an update. So we don’t need to keep relics of the past on the packaging. The name is unchanged, so that can be the recognizable trademark for customers. We don’t need the same thick, eighties comic-book-POW font on the bottle,” Crystal said.
I cleared my throat, “I agree with Crystal,” I said. “I think keeping the old typeface really hamstrings the rebranding makeover.”
Crystal looked at me and gave me a smile. “Exactly. If we’re trying to bring the brand into the current decade, let’s make it visibly different. Meredith didn’t hire us to sit on the fence. We’re posting a redesign that’s significant and thanks to Hailey, we have an additional strategy for their younger, emerging demographic. I favor the second label design. What about you?”
“I like the second one. It’s the most eye-catching, and the biggest departure from the old style,” I said.
