Everyone wants to “differentiate.”

They think it means a new angle, a sharper hook, a cooler brand voice. Most of the time, that’s bullshit.

Differentiation is rarely loud. It’s not performative. And it’s almost never invented from scratch.

More often than not, differentiation lives in the details.

The phrase “the devil’s in the details” is usually framed as a warning. As in: this is where things get complicated. This is where things go wrong.

I see it differently.

The details are where the power is.

Care is a strategy, not a soft skill

A restaurant I’ve had a long relationship with went on to become one of the most respected restaurants in its region. Their goal was simple and wildly ambitious: to be the best restaurant in the world.

After recovering from a fire, instead of trying to be flashier or bigger, they opened a second location rooted entirely in detail. Flour sourced directly from Italy for their pasta. Every plate made by a local, renowned potter. Nothing outrageous. Nothing performative. Just precise, thoughtful choices that met people where they were.

That wasn’t branding. That was restraint. That was taste. That was understanding what people actually value.

Details aren’t about excess. They’re about relevance.

People don’t trust institutions. They trust recognition.

Someone close to me works in healthcare for older adults. When meeting families for the first time, the goal isn’t to impress. It’s to help them feel safe.

During one conversation, a family shared their Mediterranean roots and mentioned missing good baklava. At their next visit, he surprised them with something familiar from a local bakery.

That single gesture did more than any brochure ever could.

It said: we were listening.

Care compounds quietly

After we had our first child, it snowed. Our neighbors shoveled not only their sidewalks, but ours too. No note. No announcement. Just action.

Those moments stick with you. They build trust quietly.

The same thing happens in business.

The same thing happens in design.

The invisible moments of delight

In packaging, there are details most people overlook. Barcodes. Recycling icons. Seam lines. Dead space a printer has to accommodate.

I think of these as moments of delight.

A custom-shaped barcode. A hand-drawn recycling symbol. A small message hidden under a bottle cap or along a seam. Nothing loud. Nothing gimmicky.

The customer might not consciously notice it. But they feel it.

And that feeling builds trust faster than any marketing claim ever could.

Curation beats noise

Hospitality understands this deeply.

It’s the handwritten note by the coffee station. The small line in the room that welcomes you in. The scent when you walk into a space. The absence of clutter.

It’s the difference between a home filled with random objects and one where every piece was chosen with intention.

People don’t trust impulse. They trust care.

They don’t want pressure. They want pause.

Why this matters right now

We used to live in a culture obsessed with speed. Faster launches. Faster growth. Faster everything.

What’s becoming clear is that we’re moving out of that era.

Look at the people and businesses rising to the top lately. The ones gaining trust, loyalty, and longevity aren’t the loudest or the fastest. They’re the most considered. The most thoughtful. The most human.

This shift is a good thing.

As technology accelerates, our ability to tell what’s thoughtful from what’s thrown together matters more than ever. People are reading more closely. Listening harder. Asking better questions. Taking their time.

This isn’t stagnation. It’s progress.

It feels like the beginning of a more intentional chapter — a kind of golden age where care, judgment, and attention are no longer optional, but expected.

They reward those willing to think in detail.

The real work of differentiation

When clients come to me asking for a “new angle,” they’re often surprised by where the work actually starts.

It starts with listening.

With understanding their relationship to their business.

With articulating what already exists, but isn’t legible yet.

The story was there long before my involvement. My role is to help make it clear, usable, and honest.

That clarity feels empowering. Uplifting. Like relief.

An invitation

The devil’s in the details, babe.

That’s not a warning. It’s an invitation.

To listen harder.

To care visibly.

To execute like it matters.

Because it does.