2ND EDITION | ISSUE #161

I was barely able to lift the thing.

So it was not a huge surprise when I had to fork over 100 euros to make up for my overweight suitcase instead of parting with the 4 bottles of wine and limoncello inside the giant Samsonite hardside spinner I had bought for the trip.

I didn't know it then, but it was the end of my days as a chronic overpacker.

I blame the trip I took to LA with my grandparents when I was 7, when my mom somehow forgot to pack shorts for the week. Or the time I went on a family vacation to the Dominican and I forgot to pack tampons—only to have to tell my dad and ask him to shell out what he found to be a ridiculous price in the resort gift shop.

So when it came to my month in Italy, I bought the largest Samsonite spinner they sold and packed just enough that I would still have plenty of room to bring more stuff home.

You already know how that story ended.

That was 10 years ago now. I've since given that suitcase away because I was convinced I would never need that big of luggage again. (I was wrong.)

Since then, I've learned how to pack and plan in smaller and smaller spaces.

This culminated in my biggest challenge yet: packing for a 4-day trip to North Carolina in nothing but a backpack.

Truly, the lightest I have ever traveled.

And honestly? As a chronic overplanner, overpacker, the idea of committing to just a backpack was a real challenge. What if I needed something I didn't pack? What if I ran out of clean clothes? What if, what if, what if.

But here's the thing—my capacity was limited to a container.

I had specs to meet. 11x13x9.

I could only stuff as much as would fit into those dimensions. That's it.

And it went even further than that. Inside the backpack container, I had another container—a TSA-approved quart-size bag that all my liquids had to fit inside.

And here's what struck me while I was re-stuffing my bag for the third time and using Kyle’s tape measure to ensure it would fit under the seat in front of me.

The pile of clothes I thought I could fit? Ha. I had to part with a handful of items and swap a few out that would pack up smaller.

Your capacity is determined by the container. Not just when you are packing. But also in business.

One of the hardest things we have to learn as self-employed individuals is determining our own capacity.

Our capacity for projects, clients, and how much work we can actually get done in a day.

For most of us (me included), that means constantly testing what works, managing an impossible to-do list, and trying to give ourselves grace while also, you know, actually getting shit done without burning out.

It's exhausting.

A tug and pull, to say the least.

A balancing act not for the feeble.

And it's something I've been thinking a lot about as I roll out my new freebie, The CCO Week, and make time for my own website to actually get finished.

So, how do we actually determine our capacity?

The same way I figured out how to pack for North Carolina.

Containers.

Why Containers Work (When Our Brains Don't)

Here's the thing about capacity—it's not actually a fixed number we can calculate and stick to forever.

Your capacity shifts based on energy levels, what else is happening in your life, whether Mercury is in retrograde (kidding) (kind of), and a million other variables.

Which is why trying to plan out an entire year of business goals in one sitting is basically setting yourself up to either overcommit or underestimate what you can actually handle.

But when you work within a container?

Everything changes.

The backpack didn't just limit how much I could bring—it forced me to get real about what I actually needed versus what I thought I might possibly want to have available just in case.

Same thing happens when you plan inside a container like a week instead of a year.

Or when you give yourself a specific framework for a brand project instead of "I need to figure out my entire business identity."

The container does the heavy lifting of helping you determine what fits and what doesn't.

So What's Your Container?

Maybe you're trying to plan an entire year of marketing and it feels impossible to stick to.

(Because it kind of is.)

Maybe you're staring down a full rebrand and don't know where to start because the whole thing feels too big.

(Because it is too big without a container.)

Or maybe you just need to figure out your pricing for this one offer, but you keep getting stuck thinking you need to overhaul your entire business model first.

(You don't.)

Here's what I'm saying:

The container you choose determines what you can realistically accomplish—and ironically, working within tighter constraints usually gets you further than trying to do everything at once.

Speaking of containers and packing—this week's highlight goes to the brand behind the story. Cotopaxi.​

Not just because their backpacks are what taught me this whole container lesson (though that 11x13x9 Allpa pack deserves partial credit for this newsletter).

But because their entire brand is built around constraints that actually make them better.

Cotopaxi is a certified B Corporation that partners only with suppliers meeting strict ethical labor standards. They pledge at least 1% of annual revenue to nonprofits fighting poverty worldwide. Many of their products—especially the Del Día collection—use repurposed or recycled materials, creating their signature colorblock, mismatched-panel aesthetic.

Here's what I love:

Most brands would see those constraints as limitations. Ethical manufacturing costs more. Repurposed materials are harder to source consistently. Giving away 1% of revenue means less profit.

But Cotopaxi turned those containers into their entire brand identity.

The constraints didn't limit them—they defined them.

Their backpacks work the same way. The Allpa pack I used for North Carolina? It's designed with packing cubes and compression straps that create more containers inside the container. Which sounds like it would be restrictive, but actually makes it easier to pack efficiently because you know exactly where everything goes.

It's the physical manifestation of what I've been talking about this whole newsletter.

The right constraints don't limit your capacity—they help you actually use it.

Check them out at cotopaxi.com if you're in the market for luggage that will force you to get real about what you actually need to bring. (In the best way.)

So what does all this have to do with your brand?

Cotopaxi's approach to constraints—turning them into competitive advantages instead of limitations—is exactly what I'm talking about when I work with clients on slow branding.

You don't need to do everything. You need to figure out what your container is—and then build everything around it.

Here's how that breaks down:

Strategy: Use Constraints to Define Your Brand (Not Limit It)

There's a whole lot of greenwashing out there, but Cotopaxi takes its brand values seriously.

It's one thing to say you're an ethical company. It's another to back it up and integrate that value into your entire brand identity—from your "Gear for Good" tagline to the actual products you create.

Here's what they did:

They partnered with ThredUp and built an entire resale section on their website with its own About page that reads: "The Future of Fashion is Secondhand. 36B clothing items are thrown away each year in the US, 95% of which could be reused or recycled."

They publish 10 years worth of annual impact reports on their website. You can read them all.

Their Del Día collection gives factory workers creative freedom to choose the colorways they're creating—giving not only a face but actual choice to an industry with a terrible reputation. Each product is made from deadstock fabric, resulting in a 30% lower carbon footprint than products made with new materials.

Their "Guaranteed For Good" program covers repairs, replacements, or credits for both new gear and pre-loved gear purchased through their resale program.

What this means for your brand:

Most of us think we need to do everything to stand out.

But Cotopaxi shows us something different: The constraints you choose become your competitive advantage.

When you commit to specific values—and then actually build your entire brand around them—you don't need to compete on everything. You compete on the thing that matters most to you.

That's slow branding.

Not trying to be all things to all people, but being very specific about what you stand for—and then letting that specificity define every decision you make.

Let Your Strategy Show Up Visually The Del Día collection's one-of-a-kind colorblocking isn't aesthetic for aesthetic's sake—it's the visual proof of their ethical manufacturing story. You can see the deadstock fabric. You can see that no two bags are identical. You can see the creative freedom they give their factory workers. The colorful aesthetic shows up in all their brand imagery and products, even outside the Del Día line. It's not an overlay—it's evidence of their values. Even their logo—a profile of a llama—ties back to their origin story. The brand is named after Cotopaxi, one of the world's highest active volcanoes in Ecuador. The mountain's glacial streams and wild llamas inspired their founder to start the company. So they feature both the mountain and the llamas throughout their brand identity. What this means for your brand: This is what I mean when I say story drives strategy, not aesthetics. Cotopaxi didn't start with "we want a colorful, playful brand" and then figure out what that meant. They started with "we use deadstock fabric and give workers creative freedom" and let that story become their visual identity. The design proves the strategy. It's evidence. When I work with clients on their brand identity, this is exactly what we're doing—finding the strategic thread that connects your values, your story, and your expertise, then translating that into visuals that could only belong to you. Not a version of yourself that fits industry expectations. Not hiding the complexity of who you actually are to fit into a neat box. Your brand should celebrate the multi-passionate, multi-faceted reality of how you work—the same way Cotopaxi's colorblocking celebrates the one-of-a-kind nature of their manufacturing process. Ask yourself: What would your brand look like if your design was proof of your strategy instead of separate from it? What if instead of trying to look "professional" by following everyone else's aesthetic, your visual identity actually showed what makes you different? That's the work. Finding the thing that's authentically yours—then making it visible.

Build a Brand That Tells a Bigger Story Cotopaxi doesn't just sell backpacks. They tell a story about ethical manufacturing, environmental responsibility, and empowering communities in Ecuador—the place that inspired their founder. Together, their strategy and visual identity create something bigger than "we make good outdoor gear." They stand out from competitors like Big Agnes and Gregory not because their products are objectively better, but because their brand means something specific. What this means for your brand: You don't need to overhaul everything at once. But you do need to ask: What's the bigger story my brand is telling? Not your elevator pitch. Not your services list. The actual story that connects your values, your visual identity, and the experience people have when they work with you. For Cotopaxi, it's: "We make adventure gear that does good—for the planet, for workers, and for communities." What's yours? And more importantly: Are your strategy, design, and implementation all telling the same story—or are they working against each other? That's the work of slow branding. Not rushing to rebrand every time something feels off, but taking the time to make sure all the pieces are actually working together to tell the story you want to tell. This week's action: Pick one constraint—a value you actually care about, a way you want to work, a type of client you want to serve—and ask yourself: What would my brand look like if this constraint defined everything instead of limiting it? You might be surprised at how much clarity comes from narrowing your focus instead of trying to appeal to everyone.