That is why, when thinking about identity, the framework of an anchor and a compass feels closest to me. The anchor grounds us; it is what remains the same: the reason for existence or mission, values, the line you do not cross even when it might “pay off.” Not a slogan, but a set of decisions that are consistent. The compass, on the other hand, is the way a brand adapts: how it translates its core into new formats, new channels, new circumstances—without changing direction. A stable core, dynamic execution.

‍

In practice, identity is most clearly visible where there is no advertising space. Not in posts (or even their quantity), but in relationships. In small yet decisive moments: how a brand apologizes; how it answers a difficult question; how it behaves toward a partner when negotiations are no longer pleasant; how it listens to the community when criticism arises; how it speaks to the media when the headline won’t be to its liking. Relationships are the mirror of identity, because you can’t play a role in them for long. Building and maintaining trust is a long-distance run.

‍

And then there is another aspect I keep returning to (also in my columns): identity cannot exist in two versions—internal and external. It is one and the same. Yet in practice, it sometimes happens that everything looks dazzling on the outside, like New Year’s lights on a Christmas tree—perfect tone, a beautiful vocabulary of values, a polished presence. But when you look inside, into internal relationships and everyday reality, it becomes clear that the lights are just lights. Decoration. Employees are a sensitive barometer, and when internal experience does not match the desired external image, this is not a communication slip but a crack in credibility—which sooner or later comes to the surface. And this doesn’t happen only to the brands we see on media front pages.

‍

When I think about brand identity, I don’t think only of giants constantly under the public spotlight. Many brands people encounter every day are not big or high-profile and don’t appear on the evening news. They are local bakeries, family businesses, small manufacturers, or shops. And it is precisely there that identity often reveals itself most clearly and without spectacle. Because they don’t have a megaphone, but they can have a relationship—and a relationship doesn’t need constant noise; it needs consistency.

‍

That’s why I feel that today identity is sometimes strengthened more by what a brand does not do than by what it does. Too many words, too little silence. In a time when commenting has become a reflex, it can seem as if a brand must have an opinion on everything, an answer to everything, and a response to every spark. But sometimes restraint is precisely a sign of a clear compass. Silence is not retreat. It can be a stance. Not exploiting every topic that brings reach. Not jumping on every trend just because “it would be appropriate” or in the hope of a viral video. Not trying to insert yourself into every situation. Identity is also a boundary—and boundaries require courage. Restraint is discipline and a sign of confidence. It is the compass that distinguishes responsiveness from likability. A brand that reinvents itself with every topic does not appear adaptable, but uncertain. A stable core can carry new formats—but without a new character.

‍

Ultimately, identity is not what a brand says about itself, but what people dare to expect from it. When they hear a familiar tone, they are really saying to themselves, “Aha, that’s them—I know how they’ll behave.” This is the greatest capital in times of change: predictability of intent, even if everything else is changing. When that expectation is clear, a brand doesn’t need explanations—it only needs consistency. And once again, we return to the paradox: the more everything changes, the more identity proves itself through its stable reliability.

‍

This column was originally published in Super Znamka magazine. You can subscribe here.