Old masters aren’t on TikTok. They aren’t posting content every day. Artemisia Gentileschi isn’t on Instagram Reels with a tripod, Hokusai isn’t posting a day-in-the-life. Homer isn’t performing a summary of the Odyssey for a one-minute short form video. If they’re lucky, a museum might highlight their work or have them on display. But the algorithm doesn’t reward dead artists, nor does it reward artists who focus on quality and depth over quantity.
We overindex the value of newness in order to maintain the currency of attention.
While our work in branding needs to keep the cultural pulse of the new, including on social media, we cannot be completely consumed by it, and our work will suffer if we do. That’s the tricky part about the new: It’s always going to be shiny and enticing.
New knows how to get attention.
The old knows how to last.
In branding, we are building for the long-term. We have to balance the creative mast with anchors of historic wisdom. And when working with old stuff, we need to simmer in it, experience it slow. Intentionally seeking the ancient spaces, tumbling through the dusty, overlooked cupboards of art history, mythology, anthropology. Reading myths shaped by word of mouth for thousands of years. Observing architecture that has lasted a millennium, because it was built not for a single-use pop-up marketing event, but for a god.
I would argue the world doesn’t need more one-minute hot takes on the latest rebrand. I want to know the last piece of art that stirred your soul. That made you slow down to reread the words because you had never been so gut-punched by letters on a page before. The sculpture that left your mouth gaping open in awe-filled wonder. Or something you yourself took time to create, pouring your heart into it, and are proud to share with the world.
Soak in the old.
Drink new in moderation.
And know that really good, original, revolutionary things take time.
