Off Brand

I like to consider myself an environmentalist. I spend a ton of time outdoors, and I participate in countless sustainability initiatives. I rarely eat meat and I actively promote reusable products. I believe that climate change is the most important issue we face today and I strive to live my life in a way that will lighten my footprint on our earth. However, I am not perfect. On weekends, I still buy packs of beer with plastic rings around each can. I order takeout food, and while I inwardly cringe at the disposable packaging that comes with it, I enjoy my sushi. Sometimes I forget my reusable cup and I still get that iced coffee; occasionally I even take a straw. Does this mean I am a fake environmentalist? A fraud? I don’t think it should. As we grow up, whether it be intentional or subconscious, we assign each other and ourselves different labels. From classifications as specific as the horse girl, to ones as simple as the hipster, the stoner, or the comic, we have all come to be identified to some degree by our own brands. These personal labels are reinforced by our constant use of social media apps like Instagram, Facebook, and even Tinder.

We are constantly creating profiles for ourselves, sharing photos and links that reflect the things most important to us, and what we believe to be our best attributes. Every post we make tells a story to others about the kind of person we are, allowing us to be easily slotted into different categories. This categorization is not necessarily a problem in and of itself. In fact, most of us want to be recognized for our own passions, values, and interests. The issue arises when your label suddenly feels like a name you have to live up to, and your own personal brand begins to feel like your own personal prison. I used to love being referred to as the outdoorsy one or the nature lover because I believe these attributes accurately describe me. But as I continue to evolve as a person, I have come to feel that I have less and less control over the labels that define who I am. I feel an increasing pressure to match my identity that has been seemingly hijacked by other people’s definitions. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who feels this way. When the funny friend is feeling anxious or down, she makes an excuse for her uncharacteristic behaviour and laughs it off rather than exposing her friends to her darker side. When the vegetarian animal lover decides to have chicken instead of tofu for dinner one night, he spends the next hour facing questions from his friends about where his true values lie.

And when the nature lover wants to stay inside and binge watch Netflix instead of going on the hike, she feels an overwhelming sense of betrayal. But why is it that we feel we are disappointing others when we go off-brand? More importantly, why do we feel like we are disappointing ourselves? My identity is much more complex than simply an environmentalist, and I do not deserve to have it discredited when I waver from someone else’s definition of this term. The hipster should not have to hide the fact that he actually likes the latest pop song; the funny girl should not feel like a lesser version of herself on days when she just needs a good cry. What I find most concerning about personality branding is that this simplification and categorization of individuals’ identities has the potential to deter us from embracing new passions, or exploring opportunities that may not fit perfectly with our existing brands. I have witnessed children and adults choose not to pursue their interests for fear of not satisfying the expectations of others regarding who they are. As someone who is still navigating my own identity, I want to start a conversation on this topic, and further explore how we can break free from and bring attention to these constraints. Each one of us is unique and complex, and we should not let our lives be dictated by the expectations and definitions of others. Different brands will come in and out of style and trends will change—it is crucial to remember that it’s okay if we change too.

By Maggie Tuer