What is Verbal Design?
A tepid defense for another kind of copywriter.
I started my copywriting career outside of Cleveland, buried inside an industrial oven that “cooked” paint onto car parts. It was 115 degrees. Ash fell like snow. And through my gas mask, I could see a light knife through the seams of my metal coffin.
I thought to myself then, “I need a new job.” Except I didn’t say that. I said, “Fuck this.” And then I applied to portfolio schools on my lunch breaks.
What is verbal design?
All squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares. Verbal design is copywriting, but not all copywriting is verbal design.
Verbal design is a type of brand writer that designs the brand’s voice and tone long before the advertising. It’s a practice devoted to how a brand talks, sounds, and listens. Verbal designers don’t produce advertising campaigns, sales copy, or activations. Instead, they produce brand guidelines, a high-mileage tagline, and what essentially amounts to inspiration for future copywriters.
In the past, there was no such thing as a verbal designer or verbal identity.
You either worked for a company with institutional knowledge, a dictator, or an ad campaign too good to replace. This is in sharp contrast to the visual identity which sports rules and guidance on everything.
Nowadays, companies churn through staff and partners so fast, the old method of “just hire really good writers” doesn’t work. Most brands plan their verbal identity. Just like they did for the logo. They don’t just want the idea but the playbook.
Why not just “copywriter?”
Some copywriters work in content mills, writing emails for SaaS companies. Other copywriters work in LA on Taco Bell, writing commercials with Ice Spice. On LinkedIn, you’ll find copywriters who write—presumably ad copy—but mostly LinkedIn posts. Some copywriters have never written a sentence without a percentage mark. And those sketchy ads at the bottom of websites? The ones doctor’s hate? Copywriters.
The title is so broad it’s like calling your doctor a scientist. It’s not inaccurate, but you won’t find a good specialist for your colonoscopy by looking up scientists.
I had to stumble on a copy of Hey Whipple Squeeze This! to find out I was missing the crucial words, “creative, advertising, branding, BBDO, Ogilvy, Weiden+Kennedy,” to get anything close to Peggy Olson. Even then, once I got a job as a creative copywriter, most of my days were spent writing social media posts and Burger King stunts. There’s a lot of flex in the title, “copywriter.” Too much if you want to do something different.
So, what’s the difference?
When I first entered the industry, I thought syntax would be big. A promised land for people who like to talk about Strunk & White. I was wrong. In today’s marketing factory, the nuts and bolts of writing waste time. As long as the words are there and they resemble sentences, most agencies focus on the idea’s handle, tagline, and closing. Move fast. Make faster.
Some creative directors consider things like word choice, rhythm, and structure “in the weeds.” Or worse, perverted nerd shit that gets in the way of dope Burger King stunts. To their credit, without a good idea, no one cares if the writing is technically good. The problem is that some ideas only survive with good writing.
That’s where verbal design comes in.
Most good ideas drown in keyword vomit. We live in a world where most brands, even cereal brands, sound like the Nicole Kidman ad for AMC. Everyone is bold, relentless, and dedicated. Unless they’re on social, where they’re bold, irreverent, and young.
Verbal design is about voice, tone, and style. Which can only be achieved, ironically, by people who think etymology is rad.
It’s the neurotic copywriter amid the copywriters. The Larry David of writers. It’s the job that me, the guy who wears Sketchers in the creative department, and the lady who did a tour at a newspaper—dream of. Maybe a brand’s writing is the idea?
I’m curious to find out.