Who Invited Dracula to the Braai?

On Friday night, I returned to the Huppelland campout I’d helped get going four years ago. My boys have moved on from this magical pre-school environment, so this year someone else was running it, and there was something wonderful about arriving at a tradition that had carried on without me. Same spot, beautiful views over the city, Table Mountain behind us, familiar families around the braais. Camping in the middle of Cape Town, surrounded by good people. We really are ridiculously privileged.

There was, however, a new participant: Halloween. Suddenly, my boys’ appreciation of community, mountain scenery and quality time with their father ranked somewhere below the urgent acquisition of another sweetie. I was conflicted - it felt like a lively addition, and the older kid masquerading as a dinosaur put a smile on my face… at the same time, something feral arises in my sons when the quest for sugar becomes real, and I made my escape without erecting a tent by 8 pm.

It was just the start. By Saturday evening, my neighbourhood was alive with parties, costumes and people wandering between houses. Beetlejuice and Dracula had made their move into the suburbs, with Cape Town's adult creative community embracing cosplay outside of Afrika Burn. The kids were truly delighted, and the parents didn't complain either (some houses generously supplied tequila shots and beers as well). The boys loved it, the parents had fun, and I loved seeing people connect.

And yet… I remember ET, my mom explaining to me that this was just an American thing, and feeling bereft of a cool night out. Now my kids have a leg up. Watching them embrace it left me wondering how we borrow something enjoyable while keeping the character of what we already have. Because the braai, the families and the unstructured hang out were already something worth protecting.

Could we add the costumes without letting the sweets become the entire point? And who was I to deprive the kids, or the parents hosting elaborate haunted houses, of the joy of this show? After all, I still get to bask in the afterglow of starting the campout tradition, so any ritual that encourages community, creativity, and connection should have value. Right?

Gotta stay true to who you are, though. And businesses face a similar question whenever they borrow someone else’s personality.

Last week, I wrote about my mates muzzling me before lunch in Stellenbosch. They knew exactly what I talked about: AI. The more useful question was whether they understood the problem I help solve. This week takes that a step further: once people understand your promise, do they encounter the same business everywhere?

Your website sounds like a distinguished investment bank, your LinkedIn posts sound like a motivational speaker after three espressos, and your proposals could have come from the Department of Administrative Disappointment. Individually, each might be perfectly respectable. Together, they make trust harder to build.

And when your team isn't sure which voice is yours, guess who gets to review the important proposal, rewrite the sales email or approve the response to an unhappy client? The founder. Again.

In The Hero and the Outlaw, Margaret Mark and Carol Pearson apply archetypes to branding, using recognisable characters such as the Sage, Caregiver, Hero and Magician to help businesses express a coherent identity. My practical starting point is to look for that character in your behaviour, particularly when things get uncomfortable.

When a project goes wrong, do you explain and investigate, protect and reassure, or challenge everyone to find another way? What do you spend money on without debate? What work do you refuse even when it pays? Those answers reveal more than choosing whichever archetype looks most impressive on a workshop slide. As someone who loves to dabble in different industries, helps diverse clients scale their capability, and enjoys a challenge outside my comfort zone, this question resonates. And confounds me. Stay in your lane, or stretch yourself, and where is the line?

I suppose the discipline is this: Your voice can adapt to the occasion while keeping the same character.

A difficult client email needs more care than a Friday social post, but both should feel like they came from people who share the same principles. And to stay consistent, a defined structure and brand identity are critical. Give your team that clarity and they can communicate confidently without every paragraph visiting the founder’s rewrite department.

PG’s Pro Tip: Find Your Voice on a Bad Day

First, put a proposal, a social post and a difficult client email side by side. Ask whether a client would recognise the same character across all three.

Second, use the prompt below to explore the behaviour underneath the words.

Third, turn the findings into a shared voice card: three voice principles, phrases you use and avoid, and examples of how you explain, sell and apologise. Check the next three pieces together before making this the team’s standard.

“You are my brand voice strategist, using Mark and Pearson’s twelve brand archetypes. My business sells [offer] to [customer]. Interview me one question at a time about actual behaviour: failed projects, unquestioned spending, lucrative work we refuse, private sources of pride, and client complaints. After eight questions, suggest our primary archetype, quote supporting answers, identify its shadow under pressure, and flag uncertainty. Then help us create a one-page voice card grounded in what our clients care about.”

A consistent voice needs a clear message underneath it.

We’ll work on both at the Marketing & Sales Workshop, Wednesday 25 November, 09:00–11:00, Workshop17, Kloof Street, Cape Town. Seats are R1,250, with booking details at pgtops.com/ai-tools.

Before then, ask yourself: when your clients describe their problem, do they use the same words as your website?

Regards,

PG