A little while back, I shared a flight home with members of my Charlotte based team. As we regrouped in the terminal at Charlotte Douglas Airport, I mentioned a fascinating conversation I’d had with the gentleman sitting beside me.

One of my teammates looked at me and laughed.

“Wait... you talk to people on a plane?”

My longtime business partner and cofounder, Kirk, couldn’t resist the opportunity to land a subtle jab.

“Are you kidding me? You should hear the random conversations this guy finds himself in.”

This specific team is full of lovable shit talkers, so the friendly chirping was both expected and welcomed.

I smiled.

“Absolutely. There are always unique inflight opportunities.”

Many years ago, my father gave me a piece of advice that has stuck with me ever since. If I remember correctly, I believe it originally came from my grandfather.

“Always dress sharp on an airplane.”

Naturally, young and naive, I asked why.

“Because you never know who you may share a row with.”

For whatever reason, that simple advice never left me.

Business. Personal. Travel is something I’d struggle to live without.

Spend enough time in airports and on airplanes, and you begin to notice things you never used to.

One of those things is this:

What does my inflight attire say about me?

Or better yet...

What do I need it to say?

For what it’s worth, I refuse to pay for first class. That said, I often find myself sitting there thanks to airline status earned from years of travel.

Less interesting than the extra legroom or warm towel, you may find my coach to first class dress code strategy a little more entertaining.

In first class, I’ll still dress professionally, but I often tone it down. I’ll pair my patchy sleeve of tattoos with a funky pair of sneakers. Oddly enough, that alone is usually enough to spark curiosity.

In coach, it’s almost the opposite.

I may even overdress a little. Not to impress anyone, but because it often creates intrigue and opens the door to conversation.

Both approaches create interest for entirely different reasons, but they often lead to the same outcome: meaningful dialogue.

I never lead the dance.

I’m simply happy to participate.

Here’s how I see it.

You’re sitting beside a complete stranger. They know nothing about you, your company, or your story. They didn’t click on your website. They weren’t referred by a trusted friend. They’re not in your inbox because of some clever AI algorithm.

They simply happened to book Seat 9A.

Every single flight presents a unique puzzle, and I love these rare opportunities.

People often assume it’s about selling. It’s not. These aren’t sales calls. They’re live reps.

And the real exercise is downloading and organizing.

To earn even the smallest amount of trust, you first have to gather information. That usually starts with a simple icebreaker, followed by thoughtful questions and genuine curiosity. You listen more than you speak. You learn about their story, their perspective, and their interests.

Only then have you earned the right to share a little of your own. Even then, there’s a very good chance they aren’t buying. That’s perfectly fine.

The point was never the sale.

The point was the puzzle.

Somewhere around 35,000 feet, everyone becomes briefly accessible.

That’s an opportunity most people never notice.

Every flight is a room you’ll never be invited into again.

You never know who you’ll share an armrest with.

Or what you’ll learn from them.

Brandon Cullen
In search of life’s [im]perfect soundtrack ...

Are you building a brand that invites everyone in, or one that challenges the status quo?

Every founder and every brand eventually answers that question, whether they realize it or not.

Are you saying:

Come as you are.

Or...

Join the few.

This isn’t lazy jargon. This is strategy. This is identity. This is clarity.

Here’s how I think about it.

Inspirational Brands

Inspirational brands meet people where they are. They remove intimidation. They celebrate progress.

This type of client wants to be celebrated for who they are.

The message is simple:

“We see you. You’ve got this.”

These brands are intentionally approachable. They speak to people at the beginning of their journey and create momentum through encouragement, accessibility, and community.

Aspirational Brands

Aspirational brands meet people where they want to be. They don’t simply sell a product or service. They sell an identity.

This type of client wants to belong to something few people do.

Their message is more internal.

“I want to become that.”

These brands challenge people rather than reassure them. They thrive by standing for something specific, attracting a smaller audience that embraces their culture.

In other words:

Inspirational Brands are community driven and tend to optimize for accessibility, scale, and volume.

Aspirational Brands are culture rich and optimize for niche positioning and long term brand equity.

The biggest mistake isn’t choosing one over the other.

It’s trying to be both.

If you’ve followed my rants for some time, this probably sounds familiar.

Inspirational leans more inclusive.

Come as you are.

Aspirational leans more exclusive.

Join the few.

Neither approach is right or wrong.

It depends on your business model, your values, your audience, and sometimes... your margins.

Brandon Cullen
In search of life’s [im]perfect soundtrack ...

Imagine waking up one day and deciding to become a chef.

Entrepreneurship isn’t much different.

Mastery rarely comes easy. HelloFresh removes many of the barriers to cooking from scratch, much like franchising can accelerate the learning curve of business ownership.

Just as HelloFresh delivers preportioned ingredients and foolproof recipes, a franchise system provides a blueprint designed to bridge the gap between beginner and professional.

Like franchising, HelloFresh eliminates years of trial and error, sidestepping amateur mistakes like poor timing, oversalting, underseasoning, or overlooking the little details that can make or break a meal.

There’s just one hiccup.

HelloFresh can’t account for every palate, and each recipe is ultimately built for a general audience. Likewise, even the best franchise systems still depend on engaged owners, committed employees, and disciplined execution.

People often confuse having a recipe with possessing the discipline to follow one. Systems don’t eliminate execution. They simply improve the odds.

In short, both come in a box, but someone still has to do the cooking.

A franchise system is a collection of playbooks and best practices. HelloFresh is a box of ingredients and recipes. Neither is a turnkey solution because, as we all know, there’s no such thing as a turnkey human being.

Recipes scale. Humans don’t.

Brandon Cullen
In search of life’s [im]perfect soundtrack ...

A while back I came across a LinkedIn post that challenged Simon Sinek’s bestseller, Start with WHY: How Great Leaders Inspire Everyone to Take Action.

Full disclosure. I F’N loved that book when I first read it nearly a decade ago. I still believe in its core message today.

The post wasn’t trying to tear Sinek down or poke holes in his philosophy. It simply offered another way to think about purpose. In short, its argument was simple.

Start with WHAT, not WHY.

That subtle shift set off a game of ping pong between my ears. It forced me to confront a topic that quietly shapes far more of our lives than most people care to admit.

EGO.

Including my own.

As I mentioned, Start with WHY arrived at exactly the right time in my entrepreneurial journey. I needed that message. Sinek’s follow up, The Infinite Game? Not so much. I wanted to love it, but to me it felt too safe, too convenient, and perfectly timed.

It lacked ambition.

Fuck it. It lacked EGO.

Spend five minutes on any platform today and you’ll notice people casually diagnosing everyone around them. Narcissist. Toxic masculinity. Gaslighting. Clinical labels have become commonplace insults.

Many people now confuse confidence, ambition, and competitiveness with personality disorders. More often than not, those labels really mean one thing.

“You disagree with me.”

Or...

“I don’t like your leadership style.”

Or...

“You don’t think like me.”

Take Simon Sinek himself.

Don’t confuse humility with the absence of EGO. That’s his gift. His dopamine may come from millions of people sharing his seemingly EGOless message, but I’d wager the real high comes from being quoted, reposted, retweeted, and ultimately standing on stage as thousands applaud the man behind the message.

In other words, his EGOless agenda fuels his closet EGO.

So let me return the favor and address my own.

When my cofounder and I launched MADabolic more than fifteen years ago, our WHAT was straightforward. Create one of the most respected strength and conditioning brands in group fitness.

So what was our WHY?

I can give you the politically correct answer, or I can give you the honest one.

Let’s do both.

Through a PR lens, many encouraged us to say things like, “Our WHY is helping people.” Or my personal favorite, “Our WHY is making the world a healthier place.”

And for what it’s worth, those are worthy missions.

They just weren’t ours.

The truth?

We wanted to build something undeniable. Something that could not be ignored in any neighborhood we entered. We wanted to disrupt the fitness industry and create something competitors couldn’t copy.

And if I’m being completely honest, we wanted to be recognized for it. At least I did. I won’t speak for my much more humble business partner.

Cue the comments.

“What a narcissist.”
“What an egotistical asshole.”
“Wow. Toxic masculinity at its finest.”

Fair enough.

I’m not writing this to convince anyone. I’m simply telling you what has always driven me. And I suspect many founders, leaders, artists, athletes, and entrepreneurs quietly march to a very similar rhythm.

It sounds something like this.

“I want to create something undeniable that speaks to a specific few.”

Well class... that’s EGO. And that should be perfectly OK.

Does every company need to hold itself to Patagonia’s mission? Should every brand eventually arrive at lululemon’s relatively newish inclusive positioning

For the record, I admire both brands tremendously. Their mission simply wasn’t ours, and it doesn’t have to be yours either. We need both.

I’m comfortable admitting that my WHY has always been competition, innovation, mastery, and significance. That’s my EGO talking.

If that sounds uncomfortable, so be it.

For the amateur clinicians keeping score, CliftonStrengths, formerly known as StrengthsFinder, exists to identify an individual’s natural patterns of thinking, feeling, and behaving.

My diagnosis?

Brandon wants to build. He wants to compete. He wants to test himself. He wants to create something worthy of respect.

He’s also hoping you’ll notice.

Helping people became the byproduct of pursuing excellence, not the other way around. I’m proud of both the pursuit and the unintended outcome.

Now that the bitter aftertaste has settled in for some of you, let me offer a palate cleanser.

“Elevating the world from mediocrity to greatness.”

Recognize it?

That was lululemon’s original mission statement. Interesting, isn’t it?

And even though lululemon is cut from a much softer fabric today, it earned the right to try on inclusivity at greater scale because its founder, Chip Wilson, possessed an obsessive level of conviction that bordered on unhealthy.

What do black stretchy pants have to do with greatness?

Nothing.

That’s the point.

It’s a reminder that progress often begins with obsession. That measured EGO has a place. That relentless ambition deserves a seat at the table alongside empathy and inclusion.

Because without a healthy dose of EGO, very little of significance ever gets built.

There is no Apple without Steve Jobs.
There is no Beyoncé without Madonna.
There is no U2 without Bono.
There are no Chicago Bulls without MJ.
There is no Muhammad Ali without Cassius Clay.
And there is no lululemon without Chip Wilson.

So for those who believe EGO is the enemy, maybe it’s time to see it differently.

Maybe EGO isn’t the villain. Maybe it’s the frenemy that moves the needle.

Because the greatest irony of all is this: trying to suppress, ignore, or demonize EGO is often EGO itself.

Brandon Cullen
In search of life’s [im]perfect soundtrack ...

I spent nearly 15 years in boutique fitness franchising. My co-founder and I had the privilege and pain of scaling a single unit idea into a corporate portfolio and a multimillion dollar franchise system that stretches coast to coast. That initial $10,000 investment became a 15 year MBA in entrepreneurship, business strategy, and brand positioning.

One of the biggest returns from those 15 years was learning to recognize, or at least acknowledge, the power of average. And the protagonist of this short story is the marketing machine known as Taylor Swift.

If there’s a lesson to be learned from Taylor Swift’s meteoric rise, it’s that being average can be incredibly marketable, and it’s partly why she’s become one of the most successful artists of all time.

Before the Swifties come swinging, let me back up and show some love.

I have a deep respect for Taylor’s drive and relentless pace. Based on everything I’ve observed, she possesses many of the same characteristics found in exceptional entrepreneurs, business leaders, athletes, and change makers.

It’s the ingredients of her brand that set the tone for my thesis.

When it comes to her music, Swift’s songs are catchy but not groundbreaking. Her lyrics are relatable but not profound. She’s predictable and remarkably consistent, but not revolutionary. It’s this calculated approach that makes her so appealing to such a broad audience.

Her success is remarkable and well documented. Her catalog, however, is far less remarkable. Or dare I say, average.

Compare her with less commercial, more avant garde artists like Björk, Karen O, Brittany Howard, M.I.A., Sharon Van Etten, Courtney Barnett, Alanis Morissette, Joni Mitchell, Patti Smith, Lauryn Hill, or Sinéad O’Connor. Artists who push boundaries through originality, imperfections, and unique storytelling.

Swift chose a different path. Her strength lies in being relatable enough to resonate with the masses while staying comfortably within the boundaries of what’s familiar and safe.

Taylor Swift is simultaneously remarkable, marketable, and unremarkable.

This strategy isn’t unique to pop music. We saw it firsthand during our 15 years in franchising.

Average is the hallmark of most large franchise systems.

Humor me for a second. Google “top 10 franchises in the USA” and you’ll notice these companies aren’t known for excellence. They’re known for consistency, accessibility, and broad appeal. They’ve mastered the art of being just good enough. They’re not trying to be the best. They’re trying to be the most predictable.

And that’s exactly where their success lies.

To build something that scales, you often need to master the art of average.

Excellence, while admirable, is much harder to replicate at scale. It’s exclusive by nature. It appeals to a niche audience and demands a level of control that’s difficult to maintain as you expand.

Brands built on excellence often grow more methodically because they’re built for a specific someone rather than everyone.

The question every entrepreneur eventually needs to answer is this:

Are you building for excellence or scalability?

Neither answer is right or wrong.

But you do need to decide.

I’ve had this conversation countless times with founders during the startup phase. My advice is always the same. Define your end goal early because it’s incredibly difficult to pivot in the opposite direction once the foundation has been poured.

If your goal is to create something truly unique, something remarkable, you’re probably building a brand that’s more niche, more exclusive, and less concerned with appealing to the masses. Scaling excellence requires patience and restraint.

If your goal is mass scale, however, you need to embrace average. Broaden your appeal. Become more accessible. The secret to scale has always been appealing to the middle, because that’s where average lives.

Taylor Swift figured this out as a teenager.

She built an empire by understanding exactly who she was, exactly who her audience was, and delivering on that promise over and over again.

While her music may be unremarkable, her understanding of brand positioning is remarkable. Her business acumen is exceptional. Her work ethic is legendary.

She understands something many entrepreneurs never do.

Average works.

It always has.

Her success is a direct result of an unwavering commitment to her brand and the understanding that, sometimes, being unremarkable is remarkably marketable.

Brandon Cullen
In search of life’s [im]perfect soundtrack ...

It was the middle of the 2001/2002 season. I was playing for the Erie Otters in the Ontario Hockey League, grinding through what would eventually become a championship season.

I was 20 years old. Little did I know, I was about to receive some of the best career advice of my life. It just happened to come wrapped in nicotine and profanity.

Unexpectedly, our captain, Brad Boyes, a future NHLer and league MVP, had come down with mononucleosis. We were heading into the most important stretch of the season without our star player.

My coach, Dave McQueen, named me interim captain. The decision made sense. I was currently the team’s assistant captain and had captained my previous team. In fact, Erie had traded for me largely because of my leadership qualities and my willingness to do the ugly work required to build a championship team.

My role was the unmeasurables: grit and accountability. I played hard. I played physical. And I protected teammates. I’d like to believe most who saw me play would describe me as the type of player you loved having on your team and hated lining up against.

McQueen sat me down and explained the assignment.

“Cully, when you go, the team goes. We need you going.

Simple enough

The interim captaincy came with more responsibility, but it also came with more ice time. And that is where my unintentional detour began to take shape

Within a few games, I started putting up better numbers on the scoresheet, and the team kept winning. From an outsider’s perspective, everything looked great on paper

The problem was my game started to take on a new shade. To handle the extra minutes, I unknowingly started conserving energy. I became less physical and avoided unnecessary traffic and collisions

I drifted away from the chaos that built my reputation as a player and found a comfortable new home on the perimeter of the ice surface

To be honest, it was subtle, and my newfound success on the scoresheet created a blind spot. But the reality was that I was abandoning the very thing that made me valuable. The exact characteristics that led Erie to acquire me.

A couple of weeks into this new role, my assistant coach, Peter Sidorkiewicz, poked his head into the locker room.

“Cully. Coach wants to see you upstairs.”

Never good

The coaches’ lounge looked different in the early 2000s. The atmosphere was equal parts cigar smoke, Canadian whiskey, and ruthless feedback.

On this day, there was a single foldout chair in the middle of the room. McQueen and Sid sat across from me. The two carried on with small talk as if I wasn’t even there

Then it shifted to the team’s success, along with mentions of my improved numbers.

Then there was a noticeable pause. McQueen looked at me and said:

“Cully, you’ve found a nice little home on the perimeter.”

I cautiously laughed, but deep down I knew where this was headed.

“Maybe I’ve been doing it wrong all these years. Wasting all this energy trying to run people over,” I joked.

No reaction. No smile. Just deafening silence.

Then he took a pull from his cigar and said:

“Cully, you’re not that fucking good.”

More awkward silence.

“We brought you here for a specific reason. Your job is to make the game easier for your teammates by making the ice a miserable place for our opponents. Get back to doing what you do best.”

McQueen then took a second drag before he hit me with the finisher.

“And if you happen to prefer being on the perimeter, we will be happy to put you in the stands. That’ll give you a real nice fucking view of the ice from the outside.”

Harsh? Maybe. Accurate? Absolutely.

McQueen was my kind of coach, and he understood something I would spend years relearning in business. This lesson had nothing to do with hockey. It was about understanding your value.

Teams do not win because everyone does everything. Teams win because everyone knows their role and executes it exceptionally well.

Too often in today’s culture, we celebrate balance. We celebrate being well rounded. We even encourage people to try on a little bit of everything, just to see what fits.

I understand the human side of that, and in the right circumstance, there is value in it. My only caution is applying that same thinking to business.

Years ago, I came across a quote from filmmaker and photographer Clayton Cubitt:

In other words, find the thing that creates disproportionate value. The thing that makes you, you. Find it, sharpen it, and leverage the fuck out of it.

The older I get, the more I appreciate what McQueen was trying to show me. Stay in your lane. Own your role. And exhaust your gift.

The last thing any organization needs is another perimeter player.

Brandon Cullen
In search of life’s [im]perfect soundtrack ...