There’s a persistent and deeply misguided belief that if something is obvious, it must be beneath us—that true genius lies in the cryptic, the nuanced, the "strategically layered."
Rubbish. In a world saturated with noise, clarity is a competitive advantage.
This myth—that the complicated is somehow more valuable—infects branding, strategy, and communications at all levels. It leads people to convoluted names, bloated messaging, and creative that prioritises cleverness over comprehension. But here’s the inconvenient truth: most people aren’t paying that much attention. They don’t have the time or mental bandwidth to decode clever. They're skimming, scanning, and deciding in milliseconds. If they don’t get it immediately, they’re gone.
Take Rory Sutherland’s famous example of the salad shop: a place in London named Fraîcheur. Stylish, continental, sophisticated. But also unpronounceable for a lot of people, and effectively un-Googleable. The tragic part? It sold brilliant food. Fresh, healthy, delicious. But nobody could find it because they didn’t know how to spell it, couldn’t guess what it meant, and had no idea what it was selling from across the street. Want to do better? Call it The Salad Place. It might not win design awards, but it will win lunchtime customers—because people understand it in a heartbeat. The value is instantly clear. And that matters.
Or consider the Hotel Chocolat loyalty scheme—specifically, their “Chocolate Tasting Club.” It sounds quaint and charming, doesn’t it? Evocative, indulgent, and slightly exclusive. It’s still a loyalty program, mechanically speaking. But they didn’t call it “Hotel Chocolat Rewards” or “Points Club.” They gave it a name that taps into identity and emotion. You’re not just collecting stamps; you’re joining a community of chocolate obsessives. That’s branding that respects both the obvious and the emotional. It makes the appeal instantly legible, even if the structure is the same.
What’s so powerful about this kind of thinking is that it aligns with how people actually make decisions. As Rory points out repeatedly, real-world choices aren’t made using spreadsheets, where we weigh every variable and calculate every trade-off. They’re made in seconds, by distracted people, using instincts, heuristics, and habits. These are gut-level calls, not cognitive audits.
In that context, clarity isn’t just polite—it’s essential. Simplicity isn’t dumbing down; it’s respecting the reality of decision-making. It’s cutting through. If your audience has to ask a question like “Wait, what is this?” you’ve already lost them.
Of course, this isn’t a call to abandon craft or nuance. There’s huge value in originality, personality, and distinctiveness. But those things only work if they land. If your wit or creativity gets in the way of basic understanding, you’ve sacrificed effectiveness for ego.
Cleverness might impress peers. But obviousness gets results.
It’s a point we often return to in client work: don’t confuse clarity for compromise. The most effective work often looks effortless—not because it lacks depth, but because it wears that depth lightly.
Sometimes, the smartest move you can make is to call a salad shop The Salad Place.