Process.
Some say the funnel has collapsed, replaced by a more fluid, flywheel-like journey. That said, briefs almost always ladder up to a few main objectives — See Us, Know Us, Love Us, Use Us. Sometimes it's all of them, sometimes the focus is on just one. My job is to take those objectives and translate them into strategies, stories, and touchpoints that move people with intention, turning first impressions into lasting impact.
awareness.
Make the brand impossible to ignore. Cut through a saturated feed, a cluttered shelf, a distracted audience. The goal isn't reach — it's resonance. You want people to stop, notice, and remember.
belief.
Share what sets the brand apart. Once someone's paying attention, give them a reason to stay. This is where product truth, category expertise, and a clear point of view do the work.
affinity.
Spark something emotional. The brands people are loyal to aren't just the ones they use — they're the ones they feel something for. This is where strategy becomes culture, and culture becomes community.
action.
Turn interest into behaviour. The best conversion work doesn't feel like conversion work — it removes friction, reframes the decision, and makes saying yes feel like the only sensible thing to do.
Every brief starts with a question: what do we actually need people to do? The objective shapes everything — the insight we look for, the idea we build, the channels we choose. Strategy isn't a document. It's a decision about what matters most.
briefs.
Real process.
Fictional briefs. Real creative challenges. This is how I think — from cultural insight to campaign idea, showing the strategy behind the work.
Duval
Maison Duval has 80 years of winemaking history and zero cultural relevance in the UK. Research showed consideration dropped the moment people saw French on the label. The brief: make Duval feel like it belongs in a British home, not a Parisian restaurant.
Wine culture in the UK is wrapped in class anxiety. People don't avoid French wine because they dislike it — they avoid it because they're afraid of mispronouncing it, ordering wrong, looking like they're trying too hard. The intimidation is the barrier, not the taste.
Instead of leaning into prestige, Duval disarms the category. The brand becomes the insider that lets you in on the joke — sophisticated enough to know the rules, confident enough not to care about them.
Wrangler
Jeep's Wrangler is one of the best-selling vehicles in America. It is also, statistically, one of the least used for its intended purpose. The ask: make people feel good about owning one. Budget: national. Media: OOH-led.
The Rubicon sits in Whole Foods parking lots. The mud flaps have never seen mud. The winch has never been used. But here's the thing — Jeep owners aren't delusional. They know. They bought it anyway. Because the fantasy of the person they could be was worth more than the reality of the roads they actually drive.
Every other automotive brand sells capability. Jeep is the only brand that can sell aspiration without apology — because the aspiration itself is the product. The Wrangler doesn't take you off-road. It takes you through your Tuesday feeling like someone who could. That's not a bug. That's the whole thing.
Aperitivo
Campari has the posters, the heritage, the Negroni cultural moment. But purchase intent among younger drinkers is low. They follow the aesthetic on Instagram. Campari signifies a lifestyle. It signifies taste.They don't own the bottle. The ask: close the gap. Budget: digital-first.
Nobody likes their first Negroni. It's bitter, it's strange, it tastes like a dare. But people order a second one anyway — because something about pushing through and acquiring the taste feels like a small act of becoming. Campari isn't discovered. It's chosen. And choosing it means something about the kind of person you're deciding to be.
Every other drinks brand tries to be immediately loveable. Campari is the only one that can credibly say: we're not for everyone, and that's precisely why we're for you. The brand leans into the moment of conversion — that second Negroni — as the most interesting thing that happens in any bar, anywhere. Not a drink. A threshold.
Vinothérapie
Caudalie has the brand story — born in the vineyards of Bordeaux, grape-seed polyphenols, a spa carved into the earth. But in a market flooded with clinical serums and dermatologist-backed actives, Caudalie is losing the consideration battle before it even starts. The ask: make Caudalie the obvious choice for a customer who already believes in skincare.
The wellness industry is built on a fiction: that your skin is a problem only a product can solve. But anyone who has ever come back from a week in the south of France — sun on their face, wine with lunch, eight hours of sleep — knows that their skin has never looked better, and they didn't change their routine once. Life makes you glow. The late nights, the good meals, the long walks, the love. Skincare doesn't create that. At its best, it just makes sure nothing gets in the way of it.
In a category where every brand overclaims, radical honesty is a creative superpower. Caudalie doesn't need to promise transformation — it needs to promise support. The vineyard DNA makes this credible: this is a brand that understands what it means to tend to something, to work with nature rather than against it. Caudalie isn't the source of your radiance. It's what keeps the conditions right for it to happen.