Embracing Ambiguity in Branding & Nature
When we speak of "Mother Nature," we invoke a metaphor that reveals more about human identity than the natural world itself. The term "mother" signifies a giver of life, someone deserving of protection and reverence. Yet this gendering of Nature exposes a profound contradiction in our relationship with the feminine and the natural world.
By designating Nature as "mother," we position ourselves as separate from it—as children who both depend on and ultimately seek independence from maternal care. This linguistic choice creates distances: humanity stands apart from Nature rather than existing as an integral element within it. The gendering of Nature as feminine has coincided historically with efforts to control both women's bodies and natural resources, revealing parallel systems of domination.
Consider how the struggle over reproductive rights mirrors our approach to environmental stewardship. Just as legislation like Roe v. Wade became a battleground for controlling the power of life, our relationship with the environment often revolves around exploitation and control rather than reciprocity. We claim to honor "Mother Nature" while simultaneously asserting dominion over her processes.
This contradiction appears in cultural symbols as well. Spiders, for instance, have long associations with femininity and women's work—spinning, weaving, and creating intricate patterns. But they also inspire fear and revulsion, perhaps reflecting our ambivalence toward female power and creativity. Louise Bourgeois captured this duality in her 35-foot-tall spider sculpture, "Maman," inspiring trepidation with its towering presence yet hinting at an underlying vulnerability with its delicate, spindly legs.
In comparison, we exalt masculine symbols within Nature. It's hardly a coincidence that Colossal scientists targeted the dire wolf for de-extinction. As one of the first creatures selected to cross back from oblivion, the dire wolf represents not just scientific achievement but cultural resurrection of the lone hunter, evoking the rugged individualism of cowboy mythology that continues to captivate the male imagination.
The new dire wolf reveals how the unstoppable storm of technological "progress" transforms even extinction into a commodity. Rather than remaining a completed chapter in Nature's narrative, extinct animals become another resource to exploit—their DNA, once settled in fossil beds, is now extracted and manipulated. Our dreams of prehistoric creatures walking among us become data points in scientific journals, while our aspirations to reverse time's arrow become products packaged for investors and wildlife exhibitions.
And as ecosystems falter, we cling to narratives of mastery and optimization—trapping ourselves in a mindset where adaptation without progress feels like failure—an unacceptable surrender to Nature's power. Our reliance on technological fixes provides a comforting illusion of control that closes our eyes to our vulnerability within a larger ecosystem.
In a world of uncertainty where progress requires controlling the uncontrollable, perhaps salvation lies in ambiguity.
Branding builds upon humanity's inherent search for meaning, crafting contexts that allow consumers to forge desired associations and grand narratives, ultimately fostering brand loyalty. We've accelerated and overloaded this process, leading to increasingly fleeting consumer satisfaction.
“In a world of uncertainty where progress requires controlling the uncontrollable, perhaps salvation lies in ambiguity.”
Branding demands purpose, and reason serves as a worthy guide. But when it dominates, it can stifle the freedom to explore. Renaissance thinker Erasmus celebrated 'folly' in his famous work “In Praise of Folly,”—suggesting that wandering without purpose and connecting without agenda might be the source of humanity’s redemption.
As brand professionals, we might embrace folly by viewing context-building more like designing playgrounds. Rather than continue creating brands with firm declarations of identity, we create spaces that can shift naturally as dialogue. A 'living, breathing glass house' demonstrates this partnership approach at Pennsylvania's transformed Longwood Gardens. The Conservatory achieves thermal balance through passive systems that work in concert with the surrounding environment. Its climate-responsive walls and roof not only sustain the lush interior but also create opportunities for research and discovery. The building itself mirrors the plants it houses—both animated and nourished by the same essential elements: light, air, and water. This architecture doesn't merely contain Nature; it participates with it in a mutual exchange.
Making brands intriguing will depend less on hyper-personalization and more on embracing ambiguity. In our cultural shift to fluid spectrums of sexual identity, we might extend that thinking to our relationship with brands and the world around us. Rather than defining Nature by its opposition to ourselves, we could approach it as a partner—as Architect Manfredi described of Longwood Gardens, where "new and old enter into a conversation with each other."
