My friend stopped mid-hike and looked back at me.

“Okay. If we don’t start heading in the right direction this second, that’s it — 

He said it with the kind of finality that left little room for misinterpretation. But I didn’t need any clarification. We both knew what was suddenly, and almost unbelievably, at stake.

What started as a simple winter hike in Kananaskis — one my friend had done hundreds of times (and I dozens) — had suddenly turned into a life-or-death struggle, courtesy of a whiteout and a series of navigational mistakes.


It was only -15°C, but with the clock striking 5pm, it was virtually pitch black out. Even if you could see, you wouldn’t see much — the snow had picked up speed and visibility was near zero. In a few more hours, temperatures would drop to sub -20°C.


It’s hard to pinpoint where exactly things went so wrong, but looking back, the moment where we crossed the 

 half-frozen stream should have tipped us off.

 Basic outdoor survival tip here — don’t cross half-frozen bodies of water (especially in the middle of nowhere). If you fall in, you’ll be dead within 45-60 minutes… even if you manage to get out.


It was after passing the streams that we managed to work our way into a clearing, where our phones started getting GPS signal. Using Google Maps and a compass, we charted a course back home through the knee-high snow.

At this point, I still had plenty of gas left and was optimistic we were on the right track.

But almost an hour later, doubt started to creep back in…

We had entered into another clearing, and looking at the forest’s edge ahead of us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

We had been heading in the completely wrong direction. An hour of precious time and exertion, gone.


Dumbfounded, we came to the conclusion that the GPS must have frozen when we were plotting our trek back.


It was at this point my friend uttered his foreboding one-liner, and we decided on a new course of action: come hell or high water, we’d go 80° East. It was going to suck, but no matter what, we would at the very least hit a highway — so long as we stayed the course.

As we embarked again, my mind began to race.

 my parents were going to be if I was entombed on this mountain.

The second was about an Internet Historian video called 

 which recounted (in excruciating hour-by-hour detail) the story of a cave explorer who got stuck in a cave and ultimately met his demise. I wondered if someone would make something similar about us. It had better not be monetized…


My thoughts continued to spiral out of control for a few more seconds before a new, more productive one took over. For some reason, I started to think about the movie 127 Hours — the one where the guy got trapped by a boulder and had to cut off his own arm to escape.


Now, amputating your arm in the wilderness had absolutely nothing to do with our current predicament, but it was an inspirational story, and one that led me down a helpful train of thought:


They say the human body is capable of incredible things… let’s see what mine can do

So we trudged onwards into the night, staying within a deviation of +/-5 of 80° East.

And boy, were we right that it was going to suck.

Each mountain we climbed, we had to descend before climbing again. Ducking beneath the underbrush, climbing over fallen logs and jutting rocks, falling and getting back up again — we did it all, without stopping, over the next hour.


Keep in mind, we didn’t stop once the entire hike (except to check our GPS), so by the third mountain, a quiet kind of deliereum was setting in.

I slipped for what felt like the hundredth time and sucked in the cold air. Looking up at the seemingly Sisyphean mountain before me, I leveled with myself. 

My feet were soaked (at some point my boots had come undone), my face was bloodied from the onslaught of branches, and now, my hamstrings were starting to go.

There was no way I was going to give up — but I remember thinking to myself that we needed to see some kind of payoff. Another mountain or two like this would take a serious toll on us, and all bets would be off.


Thankfully, I heard my friend laughing a few moments later.

As we reached the top, the moon had come out and illuminated our surroundings, and my friend knew exactly where we were: the summit where he had spread Kaya’s (his dog’s) ashes years prior.

Thanks for the help, Ghost of Kaya; guardian angels; God — whichever one of you it was.

After 20km and 3000 ft of bushwhacking, we were back on a path and our trial was finally over. In 30 minutes or less, we’d be strolling into the parking lot — followed by the pub for a well-earned beer, of course.

The following morning, I noticed something different about myself.

I take cold showers daily, but ever since that night in Kananasksis, they make me return to that ominous clearing before the forest’s edge — a place I wasn’t sure I’d make it out of. It’s become my 

 (Latin for ‘remember that you [have to] die’), stating:


“The power of being aware of your mortality is not a morbid thing at all. It has many components to it. The first is just being realistic and knowing that you don’t have forever to live, [which] gives you a sense of urgency about your day-to-day life.”


That night reminded me we don’t have as much time as we think we do.

Unfortunately, most people don’t realize it until it’s too late.


Not until the credits have rolled for the finale of their 300th Netflix series, until they’ve logged their 2000th hour in a video game they no longer derive enjoyment from, or until they find themselves back again at the bar they’ve been going to since college, disillusioned and decades older. Netflix asks you if you’d like to continue watching, the game prompts you with another mission, a regular winks at you from across the bar; and you wonder, like in a waking dream, just how the hell you got here…

These people aren’t an abstract thought either — you know them well. They’ve been your friends, family members, and co-workers. You may even see a bit of yourself in them.

We reach these “points of no return” by becoming so worried about making mistakes, so infatuated with comfort, that we live shallow lives. Lives we fool ourselves into thinking will last forever. As a result, we become conditioned to avoid the risks that colour our world — be it a new relationship, fork in our career, or otherwise.


 has a funny way of helping you realize that.


In 2023, I hope you too can remember that you have to die — so you have the courage to take more risks and live more urgently. It’s uncomfortable, difficult, and at times, harrowing, but on the other side is a better you; one full of rich experiences, and a greater appreciation for the fragile life we’ve all been given.


Getting comfortable with dying.

What started as a simple winter hike had suddenly turned into a life-or-death struggle.

How to freeze to death on a mountain

“Logos don’t really matter,” a friend quipped to me out of the blue.

I leaned back in my chair and gave him a quizzical look.

 really matter… at least not on their own.

matter is creative vision (aka creative direction). 

In fact, many of today’s most valuable brands and products owe a great deal of their success to it.

Simply put, creative vision is the sum of the whole — a brand’s narrative, identity, strategy, positioning, tone of voice, typography, colors, art direction, and, yes… logo.


To illustrate the power of creative vision, let’s take an example everyone’s familiar with: Steve Jobs and Apple. Without his unrelenting vision for brightness, purity, and the “intuitively obvious,” Apple wouldn’t have gone on to become the most valuable company in the world.


For a less played out example, consider the recent success of bottled mountain water brand Liquid Death. Conceptualized by former Netflix creative director Mike Cessario, Liquid Death stands out from other bottled water brands through tallboy packaging and punkrock graphic design. Liquid Death was valued at US$525 million as of January 2022.


Clearly, compelling creative vision is nothing less than a superpower. But unfortunately for brands, it’s in rare supply.

“People can write, write, write all they want, but what are people doing? [For] anybody that’s out there doing, they know how hard it is to actually ‘do.’”

There’s a prerequisite to being able to weave creative visions together: you need to be a doer.

You can’t sit on the sidelines and commentate. You have to intimately understand the elements of branding, continually experiment and hone your skills with a growing list of creative tools, and be an active consumer of culture.

As you do so, you gain new perspectives — becoming capable of shapeshifting through different disciplines and viewpoints.

What all of this ultimately contributes to is your ability to tell human truths, the basis for any good creative work. You can be as flashy and baffling as you want with your social ads and marketing collateral, but without conveying a human truth, your work will be incapable of moving someone. After all, there’s almost nothing we want more than truth.

“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth. I sat at a table where were rich food and wine in abundance, and obsequious attendance, but sincerity and truth were not; and I went away hungry from the inhospitable board.” 

Creative vision isn’t scarce because there’s any shortage of opinions on colorways, fonts, and art styles, but because few people have the courage to do what it takes to uncover — and communicate — the truth.

In effect, compelling creative visions instantiate abstract worlds where the human mind can explore ideas and discover new truths.


Maybe it’s the idea that with innovative, human-friendly tools, anyone can harness the full potential of their curiosity, creativity, and fitness (Apple). Or maybe it’s the idea that there’s nothing more counterculture/cool than staying hydrated and reducing plastic pollution (Liquid Death).


Creative vision is a purveyor of truth, and as such, has the power to define how novel and valuable a product is. As Dentsu International executives 

, "modern creativity is an important economic multiplier for clients and brands.” If you forego it and focus solely on product development (as many companies do), you’ll be putting a ceiling on your brand’s growth potential.

We’re all searching for the truth. Sometimes, all it takes is a little push to realize it.

The key to building brands that resonate.

Compelling creative vision is nothing less than a superpower. But unfortunately for brands, it’s in rare supply.

The power of creative vision

A friend was driving me across town the other day, and as our conversation meandered through its usual beats (bullshit banter, potential business ventures, analysis — and crucifixion — of the superficial), I couldn’t help but notice something strange about our surroundings...

Street after street, we were encaged by chainlink fences. Suddenly, I felt particularly attuned to the presence of the little wire-woven monstrosities.


The chainlink fence: a cheap, lazy, spiritless creation.

There are plenty of other words I could use to describe my newfound feelings for chainlink fences, but I think this haiku I came up with using an online generator says it best:


But ask yourself this: have chainlink fences made your life more beautiful? Have you ever felt comforted by their sight?

The answer, I believe, lies within the modern psyche.

You see, we don’t build chainlink fences in just our parks, schools, and neighbourhoods.

We build them whenever we take the easy route — whenever we decide that good is good enough. When we bend under the weight of apathetically rhetorical questions like “won’t this be hard?” or “won’t this cost too much?”

I get it, really I do—the whole path of least resistance thing. We’re biologically hardwired to avoid discomfort 

 we live in an age of convenience. The chips are stacked against us.

But taking that path comes at a great cost…

And beauty, as Dr. Jordan Peterson explained so eloquently, is a human need.


“I’m curious about the connection between aesthetic beauty and religious experience . . . Is it possible for something that’s incredibly beautiful to evoke a religious or mystical experience?”

“I think that’s what [beauty] is for . . . If you’re going to house the ultimate ideal, you build something beautiful to represent its dwelling place . . . This is something that people do not take seriously. And especially something we don’t take seriously in Canada. You think about all of the hundreds of millions of dollars that were invested into beauty in Europe. I mean spectacular, excessive investment in beauty that’s paid back God only knows how many multiples of times . . .”

“Beauty is so valuable and we’re so afraid of it. And I think we’re afraid of it because . . . It’s like a vision of the potential future. If we just got our act together and beautified things . . . that could enoble us. That’s why Jerusalem, the Heavenly City, is paved with gemstones — they’re crystalline and they emit light — it’s the proper dwelling place for an enlightened consciousness. 

Beauty is the proper dwelling place for an enlightened consciousness. And we ignore it at our spiritual and economic peril. There’s almost nothing more valuable than beauty—economically and practically.”

“People have no idea how much they’re starving for beauty. No matter how well fed you are, without some relationship to beauty, there is too much suffering in the world for [life] to be [bearable]. Along with truth, it’s the antitode to suffering.”

I hate chainlink fences not because they’re an eyesore (although they are), but because of what they represent: 

When we refuse to self-construct, we refuse to put in time and effort to build great things. We refuse to wrestle with our inadequacy. And we refuse to be gutpunched by failure. We refuse so many things when we refuse to self-construct that what we ultimately do is 

When I first realized my disdain for chainlink fences and began writing this article, I was immediately reminded of German designer 

 at Jack Lenor Larsen’s New York showroom in 1976:


“In a room where the proportions are noticed we feel better and we think differently. A neglected and uncared-for landscape will have a different effect on our lives than one that is natural and orderly. There is a lot of work to do on the topic of our physical surroundings affecting our psychological functions. This is the work we do at Vitsœ. 

But Vitsœ only makes furniture today. There are larger questions that we need to answer about our urban environment and how it affects us as individuals and as a society.”

“What effects do electricity pylons, skyscrapers, highways, street lighting and car parks, for example, have on our psyche and relationships? We know that the residents of anonymous concrete blocks can become depressed as a result of their surroundings. But who is researching these things systematically? Who takes all of this really seriously?

I imagine our current situation will cause future generations to shudder at the thoughtlessness in the way in which we today fill our homes, our cities and our landscape with a chaos of assorted junk. What a fatalistic apathy we have towards the effect of such things. What atrocities we have to tolerate. Yet we are only half aware of them.”

If we continue to take the path of least resistance, then how will any of us ever know beauty? How will the generations that come after us?

As the stewards of this planet, each of us has a responsibility; a responsibility to self-construct and break through to beauty, so we can create landscapes that make us feel better and think differently—and, if we’re daring enough, enlighten human consciousness.


I think that’s a world worth living for, don’t you?

The untold cost of uninspired urban design.

A friend was driving me across town the other day, and I couldn’t help but notice something strange about our surroundings…

I hate chainlink fences

I never really understood people who said things like 

It always sounded overdramatic to me. I mean, sure, there have been movies, books, and songs that made me emotional — but permanently change my being? I was adamant it was impossible.

That is, until, I listened to Porter Robinson’s 

To be honest, I wasn’t a huge fan of Porter before 

. Despite all of its technical acrobatics and machismo, 

felt hollow; and while I enjoyed his debut studio album 

 much more in comparison, I only revisit it for select tracks like “Divinity” and “Sea of Voices.”

I can’t seem to help myself from coming back time and again — as moved by it as I was during my first listen.

A large part of this is due to the album’s relatable subject matter: at its core, 

is a tender, self-reflective journey into the highs and lows of the creative's life.

is unapologetically bursting at the seams with joy. At others, it’s unsure of itself, overly critical, and racked with self-doubt. What’s so intriguing about 

 is that it straddles all of these themes masterfully, culminating in what I can only describe as a beautiful, raw expression of the creative experience.

To be clear, this is not an album review (I leave that kind of work to 

), but rather a summary of the life lessons 

 taught me — or, perhaps more accurately, reminded me of.

“Look at the sky, I’m still here / I’ll be alive next year, I can make something good. . .” (Look at the Sky)

It’s an unavoidable part of the job, given you typically have to create a deluge of bad work before you create something "good." Sometimes this process takes longer than usual, and that can be discouraging — hell, depressing even.


But as long as you’re alive, you can try again. And again. And again… 

Eventually, you'll create something good again. There's something strangely reassuring about that.

So be patient, and don’t be so hard on yourself. As Naval so poignantly said,

“Don’t take yourself so seriously. You’re just a monkey with a plan.”

"A solem man, A better song could fix my problems. . .” (Mirror)

When I was making music back in university, I’d have days where I’d write chords that were complete crap.

Then, I’d go hang out with my girlfriend or family… except I wasn’t there. Not mentally. I had retreated far into my mind and was still obsessing over how I could achieve a certain sound.

But those days where I felt I nailed it — where a chord progression or melody came to me and everything just “worked out” — well, then I was walking on clouds.

The problem is that things working out isn't the norm. The days you struggle greatly outnumber the days you don't; it's a fact of life every creative has to continually remind themselves of.

I'd be lying if I said I had completely come to terms with this. Even knowing the duality of creativity, there are times I become withdrawn when a project isn’t meeting my standards.

However, the difference now is that I can snap out of mental ruts quicker by remembering a simple truth: that even if things don’t work out, it will all be okay in the end — just as Porter sings at the end of “Mirror.”

"Maybe it’s a gift that I couldn’t recognize, Maybe I don’t really need to feel

Maybe it’s a gift that I spend all this time, Just trying to feel alive” (Trying to Feel Alive)

Being a creative can feel like a curse sometimes.


That’s because life feels meaningful when you create, and meaningless when you don’t.

As I’m sure any creative type will attest, jobs where you can’t use your imagination feel like torture. Seconds feel like hours. On a long enough timeline, you may even begin to question whether or not your life has any value.


I think Hayao Miyazaki summed up the creative’s plight best in a NHK documentary on Studio Ghibli: 

Further adding to the creative's burden is the fact that their sense of meaning is fleeting. The creative spirit is insatiable; no matter how much you feed it, it’s always hungry for more. Your work will never be finished.


I’m sure this sounds awful to some people, but personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though I may not always recognize it as such, creativity is a gift. I’m grateful to be on this quest for meaning — as endlessly ephemeral as it is. It pushes you to constantly reinvent yourself. Without it, I wouldn’t be half the person I am today.

With its disarmingly honest lyrics and eudaemonic melodies, 

did something I thought was impossible: inspire me to become a more optimistic person.

 things in life capable of influencing you beyond the moment -- things that leave a lasting imprint on the soul itself. It makes me wonder... how many other things in life have I been wrong about, or too close-minded to grasp?

Maybe your creative spirit is just a gift you couldn’t recognize.


Accepting the highs and lows of creativity.

Porter Robinson's "Nurture" is a beautiful, raw expression of the creative experience.

Life lessons from a weeb

Attuned is a platform that allows brands to create soulbound NFTs (referred to as "Attunements") that evolve as users engage with their product, helping web3 companies streamline onboarding and increase on-chain activity.

Much like other popular web3 terms (e.g., soulbound tokens, quests, guilds), the term 'Attuned' originates from MMORPGs like Everquest and World of Warcraft. In oldschool World of Warcraft -- affectionally referred to as "Vanilla WoW" -- players were required to complete a gruelling series of quests in order to "attune" to a raid. Once attuned, players would be able to enter the raid with their allies and work together to complete it. 

As a brand, Attuned uses this cultural context in combination with nondescript, fantastical visuals to harken back to the bygone days of Vanilla WoW and resonate with the core web3 audience. Moreover, the very etymological premise of becoming attuned -- the idea of aligning or synchronizing oneself with another thing -- goes hand in hand with introduction of novel technologies and concepts in the web3 space. 

And, just as the process of attunement in MMORPGs required time, dedication, and an understanding of complex systems, the same is true for the web3 space. By leveraging the Attuned platform, brands can create "Attunements" that evolve and level up over time -- gamifying the user journey as they learn about and interact with a product over time.

'Attuned' stands as a symbol and a guidepost for users embarking on their journey into the new, often perplexing, world of web3. It implies a rite of passage and an invitation into a broader community of innovators, developers, and enthusiasts pushing the boundaries of what's possible with decentralized technologies.

Attuned

A web3 product that enables evolving soulbound NFTs for brands.

Wave is a tech startup that aims to enhance people's sleep, productivity, and mood through patented biostreaming technology. With a wearable device that's controlled via your smartphone, Wave delivers gentle magnetic waves derived from compounds like melatonin, adenosine, and caffeine to help users manage their wellbeing, digitally and on-command.

For this project, I designed a vibrant brand identity that reflects the full spectrum of human emotions, as well as a mobile app that keeps the company's rich catalogue of experiences organized and accessible.

Wave's robust color system plays a key role in its mobile product. Five colors were assigned to Wave's five primary moods: Happy, Calm, Focused, Energetic, and Sleepy. Throughout the app, these colors appear on Signal cover images, helping users understand what mood a particular Signal evokes. Additionally, Signal cover images feature photorealistic AI-generated imagery to keep users immersed.

Wave

An evocative brand identity and sleek mobile app for a tech startup that helps people feel to their fullest.

An evocative brand identity & mobile app that helps people feel to their fullest.

Lifeblood

A collaborative web3 platform owned by the world's most talented creatives.

 is a live, mock e-commerce site where users can explore some of today's most common and environmentally harmful products. 



Loading screen with Global Land-Ocean Temperature data since 1958


3D rendered products with realistic fiat & CO2 costs


Incremental CO2 counter that shows how much CO2 you've consumed while browsing the site


Scalable shopping cart and payment checkout system

unsustainable

A simulated online store for some of the world’s most harmful products.

This Shogi app features an in-depth progression system where different ranks are represented by improved 

Shogi App

A modern mobile app for traditional Japanese chess.

Our lives are nothing more than a collection of eras.

Like chapters in a book, eras tell the story of our lives.


However, human eras are paradoxical — though forever etched into our souls, their existence is finite. The dawn of one era is always marked by the end of another.

If our conception of time itself is contradictory, then what are we?

Herein lies the central theme that 942 DAYS seeks to explore: the paradoxical nature of human eras.

942 DAYS

942 DAYS is a streetwear line that explores the paradox of human eras.

A streetwear line that explores the paradox of human eras.

Building and running a business has been likened to war.

In Roman times, rose petals -- a symbol of love and triumph -- were lavished upon warriors returning victorious from battle.

Maximus

An engaging hero asset that celebrates Maximus' entrepreneurial spirit.