I once spent ₹11,000 on a pair of shoes then never really wore them for first six months. They were Onitsuka Tiger Mexico 66s. Ink Blue, clean retro lines, the kind of shoe that makes you pause mid-scroll and think okay, I need those. First genuinely expensive pair I’d ever bought. Took the box home, put them on, wore them around the house to break them in, cleaned them carefully, and put them right back in the box.

Like a treasure. Not footwear. A treasure. That’s not a purchase. That’s a crush.
Here’s the thing nobody actually says out loud: great brands don’t sell products. They sell a feeling about yourself. Apple doesn’t sell computers. It sells the version of you who has taste. Nike doesn’t sell shoes. It sells the version of you who gets off the couch. And Onitsuka Tiger? It sold me the version of myself who has style quiet, considered, a little rare. The guy who knows things others don’t.

For ₹11,000 and a lot of unnecessary shoe-cleaning. Every love story has a structure, and brands the ones that stick follow it religiously.
It starts with a meet-cute. That first ad. I’d seen the Mexico 66s online, added them to cart, and just left them there. For weeks. Like a bookmark I was too scared to act on. Then I finally made the trip to Delhi the only city in India where Onitsuka Tiger even had a store back then, eight years ago walked in, tried them on, and that was it. The spark was identical to seeing someone across a room. Irrational. Instant. Weirdly specific.

Then comes the chase. Here’s where smart brands do something counterintuitive they don’t beg. They have a point of view. A personality. Opinions, even. They say “this is what we stand for” and walk away. And you, the consumer, lean in. Because we’re all wired to want what has standards. Needy brands, like needy people, repel.

Then comes devotion. And this is where it gets embarrassing. You start defending the brand in arguments nobody invited you into. You recommend it to strangers at airports. You feel personally betrayed when they change their logo. You’ve met people who genuinely grieved when Vine shut down. That’s not fandom. That’s heartbreak.
The brands that fail? They skip the love story entirely. They just yell. Big fonts, countdown timers, “LIMITED TIME OFFER” the marketing equivalent of walking up to someone at a party and immediately asking for their number. No story. No tension. No reason to care.
The brands that last Nike, Apple, Harley that one chai stall in your neighbourhood that’s been there since 1990’s have built something emotional over years. A shared identity. A sense of belonging.
And isn’t that what love is, really? Not a transaction. A story you keep choosing to be part of.
So if you’re building a brand, don’t start with “what do we sell?” Start with “what do we make people feel about themselves?” Then tell that story slowly, consistently, like you actually mean it.

Because the best brands aren’t just loved.They’re in love. With the people they serve. And that, as any good love story goes, makes all the difference.