(And How to Fix It)
Three different B2B companies used the exact phrase last week: "We're excited to announce our latest innovation that will revolutionize how teams collaborate."
Word for word. Same excitement. Same revolution. Same collaboration.
It's like walking into a party where everyone's wearing the same outfit and pretending they're unique.
Most brands sound like they were designed by committee, written by AI, and approved by someone who's never had an actual conversation with a customer. They're personality is beige - safe, forgettable, and about as distinctive as elevator music.
And it's killing them.
As marketing became more "data-driven" and "optimized," brands started sounding like they all went to the same boring corporate finishing school.
The culprit? Risk-averse marketing teams armed with A/B testing data that rewards safe language over distinctive voice. When your metrics prize opens rates and click-through percentages above brand recall, you optimize for bland efficiency instead of memorable personality. Every controversial word gets smoothed away until you're left with vanilla corporate speak that performs well in focus groups but disappears in real life.
The irony is brutal: in trying to appeal to everyone, brands have made themselves interchangeable. Legal departments strip out anything with an edge. Brand managers follow competitor playbooks instead of writing their own. AI tools trained on existing marketing copy just regurgitate the same safe phrases everyone else is using.
Everyone's "passionate about customer success." Everyone's "disrupting" something. Everyone's on a "journey" toward "digital transformation." It's Mad Libs for companies that've forgotten how to be human.
Meanwhile, customers are rolling their eyes so hard they're seeing their own brain stems.
Take Bud Light. Forget the politics - the real problem was that nobody could figure out what the brand actually stood for. One day, they're sponsoring monster truck rallies, the next, they're posting rainbow flags, then they're backtracking with country music ads.
The brand didn't have an identity crisis. It had an identity void.
When the controversy hit, people couldn't identify which version of Bud Light was "real" because none of them felt authentic. The brand had been playing dress-up for so long that when it mattered most, there was no actual personality underneath the costume.
Real brand personality isn't about being quirky for the sake of it. It's about being recognizably, consistently yourself - even when that's inconvenient.
Patagonia tells you not to buy their stuff if you don't need it. They've sued the government. They've pissed off customers who don't care about climate change. But you know exactly where they stand, and that clarity makes their environmental message believable instead of performative.
Cards Against Humanity sold actual boxes of poop for Black Friday, and people bought them. Not because the product made sense, but because the stunt was so perfectly on-brand, it felt inevitable. You believe they'd do something that stupid because they've never pretended to be sophisticated.
Netflix talks to you like that friend who's seen everything and isn't impressed by much. Their social media roasts their own shows. Their email subject lines say "Yes, you're still watching" instead of "Exclusive content awaits!" They sound like real people because they stopped trying to sound like a streaming service.
The psychology here runs deeper than clever copy. When brands maintain a consistent personality across all interactions, they trigger the same mental shortcuts humans use to evaluate trustworthy people. Consistency signals reliability. Unpredictability - like Bud Light's identity ping-ponging - activates the same mental alarms that make you distrust someone whose personality changes depending on who's in the room.
Dollar Shave Club understood this when they built their entire brand around the founder's sarcastic, anti-establishment personality. Their launch video wasn't just funny - it established a voice so distinct that every subsequent email, product description, and customer service interaction felt like it came from the same irreverent person who couldn't believe you were paying $20 for razor blades.
Here's what separates memorable brands from forgettable ones:
You have to pick a lane and stay in it.
Most brands try to be everything to everyone and end up being nothing to anyone. Wendy's decided to be the sassy little sister of fast food and leaned all the way into it. They roast McDonald's. They roast their own customers. They once got 3.5 million likes for asking "Yo @McDonalds, why do your burgers look sad?"
Could they have played it safe? Sure. Would anyone remember them? Nope.
Your mistakes reveal who you are.
When KFC ran out of chicken in the UK, they could have issued a standard corporate apology. Instead, they rearranged their logo to spell "FCK" and ran newspaper ads saying "A chicken restaurant without any chicken. It's not ideal."
The apology worked because it sounded like KFC, not like their legal team.
Consistency beats perfection.
You don't need to be the smartest brand in the room. You need to be the same brand in every room.
Glossier sounds like your most effortlessly cool friend, whether they're describing mascara or handling a supply chain crisis. The voice doesn't change just because the stakes do.
Being boring is the actual risk.
Everyone's so afraid of offending someone that they end up interesting no one. But memorable brands understand that having 1,000 people love you beats having 100,000 people shrug at you.
Start with what you believe, not what you think you should believe.
Most brand voice exercises begin with aspirational personality traits pulled from a marketing textbook. "We want to be innovative, trustworthy, and customer-centric."
Everyone wants that.
Dig into the weird stuff instead. What genuinely annoys your team about your industry? What would you change if you had unlimited power? What do you think most companies get completely wrong?
Warby Parker was built by people who were pissed off about paying $300 for glasses that cost $10 to make. That frustration became their entire brand voice - approachable, transparent, slightly incredulous that everyone else was okay with the status quo.
Write like you talk, not like you think brands should write.
Read your copy out loud. If it sounds like something a human would say to another human, you're on the right track. If it sounds like a press release having a conversation with a brochure, start over.
The best brand voices emerge from real conversations. Record your team talking about your product when they're excited about it. Notice the specific words they use, the analogies that come naturally, and the frustrations they express about competitors. That unfiltered enthusiasm contains your authentic voice before it gets sanitized by marketing departments and legal reviews.
Test your voice when things go wrong.
Your brand voice when you're launching an incredible new product is easy. What about when your website crashes during a sale? When a competitor copies your idea? When someone leaves a brutal review?
If your voice only works when everything's perfect, it's not your voice.
Someone should be able to identify your content in a blind lineup.
Take away your logo, your colours, your product shots. Just show them the words. Would they know it's you?
If the answer is no, you don't have a brand voice problem. You have a personality problem.
Most brands are afraid to have opinions because opinions can alienate people. But vanilla doesn't alienate anyone, and it doesn't attract anyone either.
The brands that matter - the ones people remember, recommend, and defend - they all sound like someone specific. They have edges. They make choices. They're willing to be disliked by some people because they know that's the only way to be loved by others.
Your brand doesn't need to be perfect. It needs to be unmistakably yours.
Everything else is just noise.