How a grassroots movement is protecting 50,000 km² of pristine Canadian wilderness—and why we were honoured to help launch the story. Seal River Watershed The Seal River Watershed , located in Northern Manitoba, is one of the world’s largest intact roadless landscapes. Over 50,000 square kilometres in size—roughly comparable to Costa Rica—it remains largely untouched by dams, roads, or resource extraction. Nature here still unfolds on its own terms: rivers flow unimpeded, forests and wetlands connect across broad swaths, and wildlife move freely. As The Narwhal describes, the Seal River is Manitoba’s only major waterway that has never been dammed. Indigenous communities—Dene, Cree, and Inuit—have joined to lead the initiative to protect this territory as an Indigenous Protected and Conserved Area (IPCA) . Their vision is not exclusion, but self-determination: to steward the land and waterways, sustain traditional lifeways, and protect critical habitat for animals like caribou, beluga whales, polar bears, and seals. “Now, all eyes are on the Seal River Watershed as it takes one step closer towards being formally recognized as an Indigenous Protected and Conserved Area. If established, it would protect eight per cent of Manitoba, and habitat that is crucial for beluga whales, polar bears and, of course, seals.” — Steph Kwetásel’wet Wood Because of its scale and integrity, the watershed can function as a working model of large-landscape conservation. If successful, it would surpass Wood Buffalo National Park in size. Roots, Resilience, and Reckoning To understand why this initiative matters deeply, we must reckon with history. The Narwhal recounts how in 1956, federal authorities relocated the Sayisi Dene people off their lands—wrongfully blaming them for declines in caribou populations when in fact industrial pressures and climate shifts were key drivers. “We were told the caribou were in decline and it was because of us. And our community was almost decimated because of it,” — Stephanie Thorassie During their relocation to Churchill, many community members struggled to survive in unfamiliar land, away from their traditional practices. The trauma is generational: “We lost one third of our community during the 17 years we lived in Churchill,” says Ernie Bussidor. When the Sayisi Dene eventually returned (1974) to Tadoule Lake, they sought to rebuild connection—cultural, ecological, and economic. Thorassie recalls how her father described leaving Churchill as “dying and going to heaven” upon returning to their homeland: “You could go out and provide for yourself. You could go out and get wood and keep your house warm. They were strong again.” This painful history is inseparable from the future they now imagine—one where the “lungs of the land” and the heartbeat of its creatures are protected, not parceled. Bussidor frames this intimately: “It’s a lung to Mother Earth.” Our Role: Capturing a Moment of Momentum We first encountered this landscape through our conservation work with Oceans North and Churchill Wild at Seal River Heritage Lodge . Those field experiences showed us what many see only in maps: the profound scale, the wildness, and the delicate interdependence of ecosystems. Later, CPAWS and local leaders invited us to document a pivotal gathering: the Tadoule Lake Stewardship Summit , held in September 2019. Youth, elders, and regional partners came together to share stories, envision guardianship, and begin weaving the tapestry of a larger conservation narrative. Indigenous Guardians were central to the summit’s focus — they would become the eyes, ears, and heart of the land, monitoring wildlife, water quality, and visitors in collaboration with their communities. We were charged with capturing more than images. Our task: to portray energy, intention, and voice. We strived to weave together cultural memory, present relationships, and future aspirations into something that a global audience could see—and feel. The film we helped produce has since become an anchor point in communications, helping people visualize how conservation, culture, and community can align. Watch video here: Seal River Watershed The Bigger Picture: Momentum & Impacts Since that summit, the movement has pulled strength from multiple fronts. The Narwhal feature “How to Protect a Place the Size of Costa Rica” spotlighted the region’s significance and the approach of Indigenous stewardship. Funding commitments have followed: the federal government invested $3.2 million toward realizing the protected area, though delays (e.g. due to COVID) remain. The coalition driving this work includes the Sayisi Dene, Northlands Dene, O-Pipon-Na-Piwin Cree, Barrenlands Cree, and Kivalliq Inuit—alongside CPAWS Manitoba and the Indigenous Leadership Initiative. One of the ecological imperatives is caribou recovery. The watershed hosts two wintering herds whose populations are declining—between 2011 and 2018 the Beverly herd dropped 3–4% per year; the Qamanirjuaq herd fell from nearly 500,000 (in the 1990s) to under 300,000 by 2017. “I was screaming for a way to protect the area, to keep mines out, to keep hydro away from our communities,” said Bussidor, reflecting on how the vision of a stewarded protected area was born. From a scientific lens, the scale matters: protecting headwaters to ocean offers resilience, connectivity, and ecosystem integrity that smaller fragmented reserves cannot. Assiniboine Park’s Stephen Petersen emphasizes that such a landscape “works better as a whole” rather than being chipped away piecemeal. The watershed also plays a role in maintaining Hudson Bay’s salinity balance via fresh water flows—extending Arctic ecological conditions farther south. Bird surveys reveal the region is a haven for waterfowl, including species at risk like the black scoter. If realized, the Seal River IPA would account for eight per cent of Manitoba’s area, nearly doubling the province’s current protected lands. Why It Matters: Story as Catalyst Large-scale conservation isn’t won solely by court orders or legislation. It’s won when people—inside and outside the territory—see, feel, and relate to what’s at stake. Through visual storytelling, we help stitch distant audiences into the narrative. The film, the images, the voices—they become portals into a place most will never visit. That’s power. Our role has been to listen deeply, to hold space for Indigenous voices, and to amplify—not overwrite—the cultural logic of this work. We lean into the tension: this is a conservation success only if it’s a community success. In doing so, we hope to offer a model. One where Indigenous leadership, youth engagement, and narrative clarity aren’t afterthoughts—they’re central. “It’s virtually untouched. It’s pretty special.” — Stephanie Thorassie That simple line carries weight because it’s felt. It’s grounded in lived experience, not abstract idealism. We continue to support projects where the reach of the story matters as much as its content—because in these fragile times, the right story told well can shift policy, funding, and hearts.

Some campaigns run on strategy. The best ones run on soul. When Sysco Canada launched A Seat At Our Table , it wasn’t about selling food—it was about inviting the country to see the food system differently. Not as trucks and pallets. Not as supply chains. But as relationships. Generations. Sweat. Skill. The stories behind the plates. That’s what made this campaign work. And it’s what made it last. We were lucky to help tell those stories—not just for one city, but across multiple years, geographies, and business types. Winnipeg. Chilliwack. Kelowna. Vancouver. Farm, warehouse, restaurant.  What carried it all was a story spine built to travel. A Seat At Our Table The Setup The average person probably doesn’t think much about Sysco. And that’s the point. When food systems work, they’re invisible. But when we zoom in—on the family-run restaurant, the farmer at dawn, the truck driver pulling a long-hours shift to meet the next delivery window—we see the human touchpoints over every plate. That’s where A Seat At Our Table  starts. Our job was to translate that Unique Story Proposition visually. The Work Across locations, we leaned on what we always do: real moments, earned emotion, and story-driven cinematography that lets people speak for themselves. We started in Winnipeg, filming behind the scenes with the legendary Doug Stephen of 529 Wellington steakhouse along with chef/entrepreneur Bobby Mottola at his grocery. This wasn’t just a shoot—it was a study in hospitality culture. Bobby talked about what it meant to keep the doors open during hard seasons, and how a partner like Sysco made that possible. And, Doug spoke about how Sysco was there for him during hard times in his startup phase and how he never forgot that. In Vancouver and Winnipeg, we went deep inside the supply engine—capturing the mechanics of how Sysco gets the right food to the right place at the right time, no matter the scale. Picture: industrial coolers. Pick-and-pack precision. Hands-on team dynamics. It reminded us that behind e is a whole operation keeping it sharp. And then Chilliwack. We visited Cascades Long-Term Care , an assisted living centre that was cut off from supply chains during major BC floods. Supplies were tight. But thanks to rapid coordination from the Sysco team, essential food deliveries made it through. It wasn’t a headline moment—it was a human one. And that’s exactly what this campaign was built to honour. The Payoff A Seat At Our Table  turned into a long-run national narrative—anchored in a clear idea, but flexible enough to reflect the people, businesses, and places it featured. That’s the power of narrative infrastructure. Set it up right, and the story carries itself. The videos earned national distribution. B2B credibility and emotional resonance all at once. But most importantly, they helped Sysco show up differently in its own industry–a reliable enabler of everything from gourmet cuisine to late-night diners. The Takeaway A lot of national campaigns suffer from scale. They try to do too much, say too little, and end up with copy that reads like warmed-over mission statements. But this one worked because it started with the right question:What seat does Sysco bring to the table? Then it followed the real answers. Wherever they went. If you’re a marketer, brand lead, or producer working with legacy infrastructure—especially in B2B—this is a case study to bookmark. When you tell the right story, people stop seeing what you sell—and start seeing what you mean. Want to learn how story systems like this one are built? That’s what our book Move Your Story Further  is for. One idea. A hundred expressions. DM us for the first chapter.

Filming in the Arctic The Arctic has been our office, our classroom, and sometimes a very real test of endurance. Over the years we’ve filmed it all—caribou moving like rivers across the tundra, polar bears ghosting across broken ice, belugas filling bays with chatter, narwhals slicing through the surface, walrus piled on rocky shores. Our new reel pulls some of those moments together, a highlight reel of a lifetime spent chasing stories at the edge of the map. We’ve been lucky to work alongside Netflix , National Geographic , BBC , Smithsonian , CBC , Oceans North , Students on Ice , Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami , Plimsoll , Merit Motion Pictures , TV5 , and Churchill Wild , not to mention guides and friends like Dennis Compayre, Quent Plett, and Kelsey Eliason. None of this happens without partners like them—the people who read weather better than radar and know when to wait, when to push, and when to get out of the bear’s way. Wildlife as Storytellers What’s easy to forget is that the animals aren’t just subjects. They’re the real narrators. Caribou redraw ancient trails every year with their hooves. Polar bears write dramas into the sea ice—sometimes brutal, sometimes tender. Belugas gossip like old friends in the shallows. For us, filming is less about “capturing” and more about listening. Every strong story—whether for a Netflix series or a brand campaign—comes down to character. A walrus isn’t just muscle and tusks; it’s a parent holding space for a calf. That logic carries everywhere: the founder steering a business through chaos, a team trying to build something lasting, a community defending what matters. Character drives story. Always. Adventure and Partnership The Arctic demands partnership. Helicopters and snowmobiles get us to the starting line, but it’s guides, scientists, Inuit communities, and crews who keep us safe and make the work possible. Friendships forged in blizzards and on remote beaches are as much a part of the reel as the wildlife itself. Yes, awards have followed—recognition from peers in wildlife film and photography. But the bigger win is seeing this footage travel further than we ever could: into classrooms, campaigns, and conversations that shift how people see the natural world. Why It Matters Beyond the Arctic So why share this reel? Because the Arctic is more than spectacle—it’s a lesson in how to tell stories anywhere. Honesty. Patience. High stakes. Respect for your subject. These aren’t just rules for wildlife filmmaking; they’re the backbone of storytelling in every field. Whether we’re working with a conservation NGO, a cultural institution, or a global brand, the mindset is the same: listen deeply, move with respect, and shape stories that cut through noise and actually last. The Arctic will always be our proving ground. Out there, you learn fast that the only stories worth telling are the ones that carry truth. If our reel sparks awe, curiosity, or even a little urgency, then the adventure has done its job.

There’s a shot that almost no one has ever pulled off: a polar bear hunting a seal, up close, over winter in Western Hudson Bay. Netflix Calls We’d tried once before. We’d failed. We got close to bears. The seals? Never. They’re highly skittish for good reason—everything wants to eat them—and we just couldn’t get near. Fast forward: Netflix calls. Same brief. Bigger expectations. Capture a polar bear hunting a seal—up close, in Western Hudson Bay for a series called " Predators ". This is not easy terrain. The hunting happens out on the frozen bay, across broken up ice that’s nearly impossible to move through. You can’t follow on foot. Snowmobiles are limited. Helicopters help, but only to a point. It’s a logistics challenge first, a wildlife challenge second, and a creative challenge throughout. Our base camp was Seal River Heritage Lodge , run by the team at Churchill Wild . They handled support and operations at an elite level: luxury lodge, scouting teams, heli, and air support. Total professionals. Our job was the same: get the shot. The one few have ever pulled off. Polar Bear Hunting a Seal That’s when Adam Pauls, CEO of Churchill Wild , reminded us of something from a shared elementary school experience: sitting in a classroom watching a National Film Board series on traditional Inuit hunting. Tuktu . One episode showed how Inuit would approach a seal like a seal—on their belly, slowly, over hours, mimicking its movements. We tried it. No joke—it worked. Four hours of crawling got us within breathing distance. Full-frame shots of the seal’s face. Unbelievable. Big lesson: High-end storytelling often depends on more than budget and tech. It takes cultural knowledge, patience, and the willingness to try something… anything… to make it work. Massive credit to the entire team on the ground. They showed us what true ambition looks like on a project like this—and reminded us that sometimes the oldest techniques still outperform the newest toys.

Beats by Dre didn’t win on specs. They won on story. The Problem: Music Got Loud, But It Stopped Sounding Good Flashback to the early 2000s. iPods were everywhere, but earbuds made music sound flat . MP3s robbed songs of emotion. Enter Dr. Dre —the king of precision, obsessing over every beat. He famously said: “Man, it’s one thing that people steal my music. It’s another thing to destroy the feeling of what I’ve worked on.” - The Story of Beats by Dr. Dre (Highsnobiety) The Spark: “Fuck sneakers. Let’s sell speakers.” Dre once considered a sneaker deal. Jimmy Iovine’s response became origin myth: “Fuck sneakers – let’s sell speakers.” And just like that, Beats by Dre  was born—with swagger, sound, and a story. The Blueprint: Style Meets Swagger Meets Sound Beats wasn’t engineered by nerds—they were designed by artists. Apple’s ex-design guru Robert Brunner handled looks, while Noel Lee (Monster Cable) tweaked the sound. Dre tested every prototype with his own tracks until the bass felt right . No spec-list could capture the intent: Beats were a fashion statement built for studio-level emotion. The Hero: Dre’s Ears Were the Brand Beats didn’t sell frequency charts; they sold Dr. Dre’s ears . Dre embodied precision, credibility, and culture. Wearing Beats = hearing what Dre hears . With Iovine as the architect and Dre as the legend, the brand story had a real hero. You didn’t just buy Beats—you stepped into Dre’s world. The Placement Game: Inside the Culture, Not Around It Beats didn’t run ads—they ran culture.  Before Beats even hit stores, celebrities rocked them in vids and photos: Lady Gaga LeBron James Nicki Minaj Every appearance felt organic, not sponsored. Marketing as embedded identity. As Iovine says: “We weren’t around the culture. We were in the culture.” -Highsnobiety The Rebel Moment: When Getting Banned = Going Viral Every legendary brand has that rebellious turning point. 2008 Beijing Olympics : LeBron handed Beats to Team USA—unofficially debuting them to the world. 2012 London Olympics & 2014 World Cup : Beats weren’t official sponsors and even got banned—but those bans fueled buzz. They responded with cinematic earned ads like “The Game Before the Game,”  showing athletes zoning out—and tuning into  Beats. Conflict became brand fuel. The Drop Strategy: Beats as a Lifestyle Brand Product drops weren’t specs—they were characters: Solo : commuter chic Powerbeats : athlete-ready (with LeBron’s name) Lady Gaga Heartbeats : pop couture Diddy , Bieber , and more: collectible culture This was all about world building. The Plot Twist: Apple Buys the Culture In 2014, Apple shelled out $3 billion  to buy Beats —its biggest acquisition ever. Why Beats? Not primarily for hardware—but for brand capital . Beats had built what Apple always chased: cool , culture, and connection. Beats Still Hits Different Years later, Beats isn’t fading. It’s a legacy brand : Continues market dominance in headphones Still seen courtside, backstage, on influencers Collabs with Billie Eilish, fashion houses, NBA stars—always fresh, always Dre-rooted. Marketing Takeaways for Marketers & Music Insiders Principle Beats Play Create a Hero Myth Dre is  the story—not just an endorser Be in  Culture Celebrity integration felt earned, not broadcast Turn Conflict Into Fuel Bans became buzz (Olympics, World Cup) Sell Identity, Not Specs Beats = identity, not Hz charts Control the Core Narrative Consistent voice—from studio roots to Apple-age Final Word: Brand ≠ Product. Brand = Story. Beats proved that if you want to own a category, you don’t just need a great product. You need a story. And the best stories? They don’t just sell. They resonate.

When the Canadian Museum of Nature invited us to contribute to the Canada Goose Arctic Gallery , it was a moment of pride—but more importantly, it offered a profound lesson in how to build stories that resonate. This gallery is no mere display—it’s an immersive narrative that shows how we can make audiences feel, not just observe. At the gallery’s core lies Beyond Ice : a sculptural installation made of real ice blocks, onto which projections, sound, and human stories emerge. It’s a multisensory experience—viewers touch melting ice, hear Arctic windscapes, and witness Inuit voices refracted through crystalline surfaces. The result isn’t passive viewing—it’s visceral immersion. That immersion taught us useful storytelling lessons: Let your audience feel your story . Photos and facts are fine—but sensory design matters. If a branded experience lacks tangibility, it loses impact. The ice in Beyond Ice wasn’t a gimmick—it was the anchor of an emotional journey, turning an exhibit into a lived story. Build stories around tension, not just aesthetics . Beauty grabs attention. Stakes make people stay. Whether your brand is launching a new product or sharing your origin story, add conflict. Show what’s at risk—and why it matters right now. Provide depth beyond the spectacle . A beautiful image without context becomes hollow. In Beyond Ice, each element answers the implied question: “Why should I care?” That deeper meaning turns casual curiosity into genuine engagement. Photo by Cynthia Munster Collaboration deepens authenticity . If you’re trying to tell a story of transformation or significance, don’t go it alone. Partner with people whose expertise enriches your message. Institutional partners aren’t just beneficiaries—they’re co-authors of trust. Build stories that grow over time . Beyond Ice isn’t a one-off display. It’s a permanent installation as part of the Canada 150 legacy project—a gallery designed to transform visitors’ understanding of the Arctic through immersive, multisensory storytelling. Photo by Cynthia Munster Voices That Shape the Story “This collaboration is a fine way to continue the legacy of both the museum and the NFB in raising awareness about the Arctic, whether through studying the region’s biodiversity and environments, or through the perspectives of the North’s Indigenous peoples.” — Meg Beckel, President and CEO of the Canadian Museum of Nature Further underscoring the installation's immersive power: “A collaboration with the National Film Board of Canada that harnesses the power of real ice to create a window into the Arctic… Upon entering the gallery, visitors of all ages are mesmerized by a beautiful multimedia installation where stunning video and images are projected on real ice.” Another confirmation of the exhibit’s intent and impact: “This new permanent gallery is the museum’s Canada 150 legacy project. It will immerse visitors in the Arctic’s natural landscapes and its biodiversity through specimens, artifacts and interactives as well as through the voices and perspectives of the peoples that live there.” So, What? The Canada Goose Arctic Gallery showed us something essential: storytelling isn’t collateral—it’s the cornerstone of connection. When stories are built structurally, sensorially, and consistently, they become part of a person’s memory—not just their to-do list. Need Help Structuring Your Story? Move Your Story Further turns these principles into a practical playbook: How to find your Unique Story Proposition How to build content with emotional muscle and multi-sensory hooks How to create story systems that grow with your brand

Great brands begin with great stories—and Wu-Tang Clan’s story is the stuff of hip-hop legend. In the early 1990s, Robert Diggs (aka RZA) envisioned a rap group like no other: a “brandscape” of nine distinct artists, unified under one banner. After a failed solo run as Prince Rakeem, RZA regrouped with friends and cousins from Staten Island, naming the crew after a 1983 kung fu film, Shaolin and Wu Tang. It reflected their love of martial arts cinema and became the foundation for a hip-hop mythology. From the start, Wu-Tang was more than a rap group. It was a business venture and narrative universe rolled into one. RZA positioned himself as the group’s CEO and creative director, making a pact with the crew: he would control Wu-Tang’s vision for five years, and in that time, he’d make each member a successful solo artist. This five-year plan was RZA’s high-stakes chess game—designed to rewrite hip-hop economics while launching a new creative empire. Crucially, RZA’s plan centered on authentic storytelling. Rather than chase radio hits or smooth production, Wu-Tang embraced raw, lo-fi beats, kung fu samples, and lyrics steeped in street slang, comic books, chess metaphors, and Five-Percenter teachings. Their debut album, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), was gritty, cinematic, and wildly original. It didn’t just reflect life in the projects—it mythologized it. The kung fu elements added mystique, while the Clan’s realness gave it emotional weight. The album broke through with fans because it felt authentic and  epic. Hardcore hip-hop heads respected the lyrics; suburban teens were drawn to the mythos. RZA had bet that a bold, high-concept story rooted in real experience would build something greater than music: a brand. Brand Identity: Built for the Streets, Styled for the World Wu-Tang understood brand identity from day one. Their name was memorable, their look was cohesive, and their messaging was loud and clear. They presented themselves as a shadowy brotherhood of street warriors from “Shaolin” (Staten Island), complete with hoodies, masks, aliases, and a hardcore ethos. The most powerful element was their logo: the iconic yellow-and-black “W,” designed by their friend Mathematics. This stylized W became their banner—appearing on album covers, flyers, jackets, and walls across NYC. It was more than a logo; it was a symbol of allegiance. Like a superhero insignia or a gang crest, the “W” marked your tribe. Fans wore it proudly, and soon, it was everywhere. That consistency made the brand feel bulletproof. Even with nine members, Wu-Tang had a unified sound and visual aesthetic. Credit RZA’s production for this: from 1993 to 1997, he oversaw nearly every track across the group’s and solo albums. Dusty soul loops, kung fu snippets, and dark piano lines gave everything a Wu-Tang flavour. For marketers, the lesson is clear: clarity and consistency matter. Wu-Tang didn’t try to please everyone. They doubled down on who they were—grimy, smart, and weird—and in doing so, they stood out in a sea of sameness. Brand Architecture: Nine Characters, One Universe Wu-Tang’s most genius move may have been how they branded their members. Each MC was a character in the larger Wu saga, with their own distinct appeal. RZA once explained it like casting a film: GZA was the intellectual—he’d pull the college crowd. Raekwon and Ghostface were the hustlers—perfect for the streets. Method Man was charismatic and smooth—he’d attract the masses. Ol’ Dirty Bastard (ODB) was chaos incarnate—magnetic and unhinged. Every member had aliases (Tony Starks, Johnny Blaze, The Genius) and backstories. Fans could follow their favourite’s solo career without ever leaving the Wu-Tang world. It was a decentralized brand model decades before the MCU or K-pop “units.” Each solo album was like a spin-off series—unique but still part of the Wu-Tang universe. This segmentation widened Wu-Tang’s reach. Hardcore fans loved Ghost and Rae’s street realism. More mainstream listeners gravitated to Method Man. ODB drew headlines and cult love. It was marketing without market research—they just knew their roles. Marketers today can learn from this: know your audience segments, and serve them characters they can relate to under one brand vision. Just like a strong product line, every Clan member had a purpose. Building Culture Through Language and Lore Wu-Tang didn’t just create music—they created culture. They spoke in slang that fans learned and adopted: C.R.E.A.M. (“Cash Rules Everything Around Me”), “Shaolin,” “chessboxin’,” “Mathematics,” “protect ya neck.” They sampled kung fu films and built their own coded universe. Understanding Wu-Tang felt like joining Wu-Tang. This sense of insider culture forged fierce loyalty. You weren’t just listening to a group—you were learning the language of a movement. It was immersive, tribal, and contagious. Today, brands chase community with Discord servers and hashtags. Wu-Tang did it with symbols, slang, and storytelling. They made their fans part of the story. Merch, Media, and Mastery of Extension Wu-Tang were early masters of brand extension. In 1995, they launched Wu Wear—one of the first hip-hop clothing lines. Their “W” logo hit T-shirts, hoodies, and jeans, eventually selling in major retailers like Macy’s and bringing in millions. They also explored comics, video games (Wu-Tang: Shaolin Style), and film. RZA scored Kill Bill, Method Man starred in Hollywood movies, and the Wu brand spread into every corner of pop culture. They even launched a “Wu-Fam” of affiliate rappers—an organic franchise model that gave new acts the Wu-Tang co-sign and visual identity. Each move extended the brand without diluting it. That’s the trick: diversify, but stay rooted. Everything Wu-Tang touched still felt like Wu-Tang. Brand Legacy: Still Nothing to Mess With Wu-Tang’s brand didn’t fade with time—it evolved. In 2018, they performed a Tiny Desk Concert that went viral. In 2022, their gear showed up in Fortnite. Their docuseries Of Mics and Men aired on Showtime. Their story still resonates because the core has never changed. Even their most controversial move—the one-of-one album Once Upon a Time in Shaolin—proved the power of brand mystique. It was treated like fine art and sold for millions. Fans debated it, but the message was clear: Wu-Tang is still thinking ahead. Final Takeaway: A Blueprint for Brand Builders Wu-Tang’s rise wasn’t accidental. It was vision, strategy, and storytelling at its rawest. For marketers, their brand offers timeless lessons: Lead with story: Origin, myth, and mission matter. Be distinct: Don’t sand down your edges. Build culture: Language, symbolism, and belonging beat algorithms. Segment smart: Characters can expand your reach without fracturing your brand. Diversify, but stay true: Grow into new spaces without losing your core. Play the long game: RZA planned five years ahead. You should too. “Wu-Tang is forever” isn’t just a lyric—it’s a brand strategy that still hits hard. And in a world of noise, gimmicks, and fast trends, Wu-Tang reminds us: the strongest brands are built like clans—rooted in story, driven by purpose, and united by something deeper.

We’re proud to announce the release of our latest short documentary feature, created in collaboration with National Geographic Pristine Seas . This project takes you deep into the heart of one of Canada’s most iconic and ecologically significant regions — Western Hudson Bay — and shares the urgent need for marine protection in the face of rapid environmental change. Watch the full short film here: Western Hudson Bay Marine Conservation Most people know Churchill, Manitoba as the “Polar Bear Capital of the World,” but few realize its critical role in global marine conservation. Situated on the southern edge of the Arctic, Western Hudson Bay is home to a rich marine ecosystem that includes beluga whales, seals, Arctic foxes, migratory birds, and of course, polar bears. But beyond the wildlife, this region tells a larger story about climate change, community resilience, and the future of Canada’s oceans. Right now, only 8% of Canada’s marine and coastal areas are officially protected. That leaves ecosystems like Hudson Bay vulnerable — and stories like Churchill’s underrepresented. Our film sheds light on: Why Western Hudson Bay is a globally significant marine ecosystem How climate change and human activity are impacting Arctic biodiversity Why local Indigenous and community leadership must be central to conservation efforts What it will take for Canada to prioritize Churchill in its marine protection strategy " Right now, only 8% of Canada’s marine and coastal areas are officially protected." A Ground-Level View of Conservation in Churchill Filmed on location in Churchill, this project was built from the ground up. Rather than imposing a narrative, we began — as we always do — by listening. This region is layered. It’s a place where science, policy, tradition, and lived experience intersect in complex ways. “We approached this piece the way we approach most conservation stories: start by listening,” says Christopher Paetkau, co-founder of Alway s Buil d Stud ios. “Churchill has layers — science, policy, lived experience — and they don’t all speak the same language. Our goal was to build something honest and accessible that could connect those threads without oversimplifying them.” The film captures not only the stunning beauty of the Arctic ecosystem, but also the lived realities of those who call Churchill home — and who are working to protect it. Christopher Paetkau, co-founder of Alway s Buil d Stud ios Churchill Is More Than a Destination — It’s a Frontline When most people think of Arctic Canada, they imagine remote ice fields or isolated wilderness. But Churchill is different. It’s a town with deep community roots, a thriving tourism economy, and a growing voice in global conservation conversations. And yet, Churchill is also on the frontline of climate change. Sea ice is breaking up earlier. Beluga whale migration patterns are shifting. Polar bears are coming ashore sooner. These changes affect not only wildlife, but the people who live and work in the region. If Canada is serious about meeting its climate and conservation goals, Churchill must be part of the solution. " Sea ice is breaking up earlier. Beluga whale migration patterns are shifting. Polar bears are coming ashore sooner." Collaborators Who Brought the Story to Life We had the honour of working with some of the most trusted and knowledgeable voices in the Churchill region. This film wouldn’t exist without their insight, generosity, and time. Kristin Westdal A highly respected marine biologist and Arctic researcher, Kristin helped us understand the complex web of life in Hudson Bay. Her deep knowledge shaped the way we approached both the visuals and the story. Mike Spence Mayor of Churchill and lifelong advocate for Northern communities, Mike gave us a direct view into what’s at stake. His leadership continues to inspire real dialogue about Indigenous stewardship and policy change. Brendan McEwan A local storyteller and guide with Custom Churchill Tours , Brendan is the heart of this piece. His ability to weave lived experience with historical context brought an emotional depth we’re deeply grateful for. If you ever find yourself in Churchill, we highly recommend connecting with Brendan and his team. Their tours are rooted in respect for the land and the people who live there. Dr. Kristin Westdal - Marine Biologist and Arctic researcher Why This Story, and Why Now As the world races to meet targets for climate resilience and biodiversity conservation, storytelling has never been more important. Data alone won’t move people — but stories can. This film is part of a broader effort to help build awareness, influence policy, and support the creation of Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) in Hudson Bay. With organizations like National Geographic Pristine Seas leading global ocean protection initiatives, and local leaders advocating from the ground up, the opportunity to create meaningful change is real. By highlighting Churchill’s story, we hope to bring broader visibility to a place that too often gets left out of the national conversation — despite its critical ecological role. What You Can Do to Support Arctic Conservation If you’ve ever felt inspired by the North — its landscapes, its wildlife, its people — now is the time to act. Here are a few ways to get involved: Watch and Share the Film The more people who see and understand Churchill’s story, the more momentum we can build for protection. Watch here Support Marine Conservation Organizations Learn more about the incredible work of National Geographic Pristine Seas and how they’re helping protect the world’s last wild places: https://www.nationalgeographic.org/society/our-programs/pristine-seas Follow and Amplify Local Voices Support Northern scientists, leaders, and storytellers who are advocating for the Arctic every day. Follow organizations based in Churchill and support businesses that prioritize conservation. Stay Informed Understanding the complexities of Arctic conservation takes time. Read, ask questions, and stay engaged. Policy change starts with public awareness. Churchill’s Future Is Canada’s Responsibility Churchill isn’t just a travel destination. It’s not just a backdrop for polar bears. It’s a community, a hub of research, and a powerful example of how local action can influence global conservation goals. We’re incredibly grateful to National Geographic Pristine Seas for the opportunity to tell this story, and even more grateful to the people of Churchill for welcoming us into their world. We hope this film helps bring greater visibility to the importance of Western Hudson Bay and the community of Churchill. If it moves you, share it. Start a conversation. Support local efforts. Because the more we understand what’s at stake, the better chance we have at protecting it.

So, you’re telling me a company took water—something you can get for free—and turned it into a $700 million brand by putting it in a tallboy can and calling it Liquid Death ? Yup. And it worked. Big time. But here’s the thing: it wasn’t just the name or the can. It was the story . Liquid Death didn’t market hydration. They built a movement. One with irony, edge, rebellion—and believe it or not, substance. They didn’t enter the bottled water aisle. They kicked the door down, screamed “death to plastic,” and walked straight into people’s brains. Let’s unpack how they did it—and what your brand can learn from it. The Insight: Water Is Boring. Marketing Doesn’t Have to Be. Mike Cessario, a former ad creative and the founder of Liquid Death, saw something most people didn’t. He noticed that energy drinks and craft beer were winning hearts with story, character, and identity. Water? Water was playing it safe. He asked, what if water wasn’t just healthy—but hardcore ? The brand started with one question: “Why do energy drinks get to have all the fun?” That’s the seed. The founding tension. Healthy living felt bland and holier-than-thou. Liquid Death flipped it. They gave health the attitude of heavy metal. And it clicked. The Story: Murder Your Thirst (and Plastic While You’re At It) Liquid Death Here’s where the narrative spine kicks in. Liquid Death’s origin story wasn’t “clean mountain springs” or “premium hydration.” It was a ridiculous, theatrical horror movie concept: water so pure and cold, it brutally murders  your thirst. But the deeper story was anti-plastic. The can was a provocation. A symbol. And the message was simple: “We’re selling water. In a can. Because plastic sucks.” That moral clarity—packaged in chaos—is what gave the brand depth. People didn’t just buy Liquid Death for the taste. They bought it because it meant  something. Because it let them say, “I care about the planet, but I’m not going to hug a tree about it.” The Execution: Story at Every Touchpoint This is where most brands fall down. They have a story, but don’t use it. Liquid Death? They told the story everywhere . On the can : Gothic type. Death metal vibes. Ingredients written like a necromancer’s scroll. In their ads : Fake horror trailers. A grandma flipping off a group of plastic bottles. Tony Hawk doing a blood deal with the brand. On their website : Merch, skateboards, and a wellness plan called “Murder Your Habits.” Every piece of content was an expression  of the core idea: healthy shouldn’t mean boring. Even their social media tone had a specific role in the story: part metalhead, part activist, part class clown. That voice became a character, which became a community. The Impact: Sales, Loyalty, and a Category Rewritten Let’s talk results: $700M+ valuation  (as of 2023) Over $100M in revenue  projected annually More social engagement than most legacy CPG brands combined But the real flex? They didn’t just take shelf space. They changed  it. Suddenly, retailers had to rethink where and how water is merchandised. Other brands scrambled to copy the tone. VCs started hunting for “the next Liquid Death.” And that’s what great brand storytelling does. It doesn't just market a product. It moves the category. What You Can Learn (Without Pretending You’re a Punk Band) Not every brand needs to wear black and scream into the void. But the principles Liquid Death used? They’re universal. Find the tension . If your category feels one-dimensional, what’s the unexpected angle? Build a story engine . Not just a tagline. A worldview that scales across formats. Commit to the bit . Liquid Death didn’t do irony halfway. They lived  their story. Make your product a statement . Why do people want to be seen with it? What does it signal ? And maybe most importantly: Your story doesn’t need to be serious to be powerful. It just needs to be true  to your brand’s DNA. Liquid Death didn’t “disrupt” the water market with a better product. They did it with a better narrative . They tell one story, a hundred different ways. They don’t chase attention. They earn it by being clear on who they are—and who they aren’t. That’s what we call a Unique Story Proposition. If you’re looking to build a brand that scales without breaking, that earns fans instead of begging for clicks, that makes water feel like a revolution—start with the story.