The Myth of the Manufactured Story
You’ve seen it. Hell, maybe you’ve delivered it because a client asked nicely (and by “nicely” I mean relentlessly until you gave up). Cue the drone shot of the city, some slow-mo high-fives in a glassy conference room, then a voiceover: “At [BRAND], we’re committed to excellence, innovation, people, blah, blah.” Is it technically a video? Sure. Is it a story? Be honest—do you care? Because I sure don’t, and you can bet your audience doesn’t either.
What cracks me up is how the “brand story” is treated like some ancient relic behind museum glass. Agencies trot out the same tired beats: humble beginnings, noble mission, color-graded hero shots. And the worst part? No one’s fooled. Real stories are messy. They come with friction, screw-ups, and hard-won lessons. The slick, sanitized version just slides off the viewer’s brain.
One client at A List Creative once insisted we glam up the CEO’s backstory. She wanted him framed by awards, bookshelves, maybe an abstract piece to look “thoughtful.” Fast forward to the rough cut, and the inauthenticity smothered the message completely. In feedback, she wrote, “It doesn’t feel real.” Of course it didn’t. The story was fake.
People Smell BS (Instinctively)
Fact: viewers can tell the difference between a story lived and a story read from the teleprompter. Doesn’t matter if it’s a 60-second promo or a docuseries intro. Forced emotion is like perfume drowning out body odor. It’s not fooling anyone, and it always lingers the wrong way.
A founder crying on camera about their struggle to grow their candle business rings hollow…unless you see cracked hands pouring wax at midnight, or hear about the rejections and goofy early failures. That’s the real connective tissue. These moments suck to share, but they’re what nails a story to memory.
I remember working with a food startup who thought the story was their “passion for sustainable sourcing.” Snooze. But off-camera, the chef told us about a massive refrigeration meltdown at a farmer’s market and hustling all night to save the inventory. THAT story made the final cut. It was raw. It was chaos. It made people root for them.
Stop Overproducing, Start Observing
Here’s the trick: resist the urge to polish every edge off your story. You can add slick motion graphics and a tasteful cello score later if you must, but start with something that actually happened. Shadow your subject for a day. Eavesdrop (respectfully) in the break room. Eat their crummy catered lunch and listen.
You want to know where the real gold is? It’s not in the scripted interview. It’s in the throwaway comments, the sidelong glances, the accidental third take where someone lets down their guard. The more rehearsed it feels, the less it works. Honestly, single best brand piece I’ve ever made was from footage the client had no intention of using—a b-roll moment of the founder missing her bus and walking home, coat flapping, just thinking. She looked tired, human.
There’s a time for cinematic hero moments, but there’s also an obligation to protect the story’s nerve endings. A little mess signals honesty. Clean is boring. Messy is real.
Cut the Corporate-speak, Embrace the Tangible
Here’s a quick test: if you stripped away all buzzwords and left just the facts, would anyone recognize your brand? If your “story” could swap out your logo for any other and still work, you don’t have a story. You have an ad.
Push your clients—gently, sometimes firmly—to drop the safe clichés. Refuse to let them spin generic platitudes as insight. Bring up the awkward. Show a minor failure on screen. I had a fashion label insist on only including runway shots, but their best moment was a frazzled, sweat-soaked designer fixing a busted zipper 30 seconds before showtime. That shot? It got people talking.
Brands aren’t built in perfect moments. They’re revealed in the imperfect ones. If you want your content to connect, stop faking your story. Show the bruises, the behind-the-scenes, the laughable screw-ups. I promise, it’ll be a whole lot more memorable.