Spoiler alert: This is really long and Arya killed the Night King.

The setup
It was time for a new car. In my adult life, this task has been one that I either fretted over or brushed off with annoyance.

The gratuitous preamble
My first new car purchase was an Oldsmobile Alero. Because, #LoveLansing. Sure, it was a low-cost coupe. But it was a top-of-the-line low-cost coupe. I really enjoyed those leather seats and felt very fancy. (I was into very dark blue jeans at the time and the leather was camel—terrible combo.) Over time, I was able to fit two small children and—AND—the baby’s car seat three-across in the back. (Do not try this at home if you are not flexible and/or do not like to twist into small spaces.)

RIP, Olds.

When we finally capitulated to the need for a larger car, we went with Toyota. Why? The local Toyota dealership sponsored festivals in our neighborhood to the tune of (some nice sum I can’t remember even though I was on the board of directors, ope). Point is, “Hey, Toyota, you support my neighborhood, can I buy a car?”

My next Toyota was a lease pull-ahead. You know how they do that thing. My next car: Nissan, because I can’t remember really, and then lease pull-ahead, because you know how they do that thing.

In the meantime, my husband owned a series of Jettas, a super awesome vintage Jaguar that smelled heavily of mothballs, and a Mini Cooper. All cars that I loved desperately, despite the fact that they were not technically mine, and the fact that it’s harder to fit three across in a Mini than any other car on the planet. I really loved those Jettas, too. Manual transmissions, peppy to drive. Husband had the fun cars as I was plunking along in my very practical three-row vehicles. Le sigh.

The point of this article: I bought a new car
My Nissan was ready to go back to the farm. I was so tired of that damn bubble car. I mean, all hybrid SUVs look the same, really. (Soccer mom? *raises hand*)

And since my RIP Oldsmobile, I had never owned an American brand (don’t @ me … hear me out) or a car I actually loved.

Then a couple of things happened. No. 1: Ford bought and committed to Michigan Central Station. And No. 2: GM committed to Lansing in a big way.

Both of these companies are reinvesting in my state, and I thought it might be time to invest in them. So I decided to look at GM or Ford options, and that I would buy from one of those manufacturers.

The day I planned to go test-drive, a little Jetta voice inside my head whispered, “But you love Volkswagen.”

So I went there, too.

Despite the diesel scam.
Despite the fact that Michigan is not on their radar.
I just love Volkswagen.

So in the end, my choice came down to the Volkswagen Atlas Premium and the Ford Explorer Sport.

These two cars are not remotely alike, really, except for three rows. VWs are slick and minimalist and align with everything I hold dear about efficiencies and design. The Ford—flashy, peppy as hell and driven by the local police force. (OMG, I can outrun the cops?!)

The Atlas was more affordable. The Atlas was safer. The Atlas has more interior space than a TARDIS, and it drives low and sharp like a great sedan. The Atlas sales guy felt like the kind of guy you’d cheer for in “The Fast and the Furious,” and we really loved him. He promised it would never get stuck in two feet of snow (*cough-cough* my up-north driveway). AND WIRELESS APPLE CARPLAY, PEOPLE.

I bought the Explorer.

Aha. We’ve made it to the relevant section about brands
I made an impractical and emotional decision based solely upon brand and brand perception, despite my preconceived notions about the brand I thought I loved.

In boss-lady mode, the VW felt more polished and acceptable for a lot of scenarios. It felt way more in line with most of the choices I make for my home and lifestyle. Suuuper safe. And it was fun to drive.

In lifestyle mode: The Ford looks great from the outside. As a mom who really does need three rows, this offered me something cool in an otherwise prescribed auto life. Plus, our legitimacy as “summer people” in Northern Michigan will increase threefold if the car is a Michigan brand. And the sales guy? Gosh, he was adorable. He’s got a little bean at a school a few minutes from my office. He’s friendly and kind. Earnest. As my 15-year-old said, “I like that guy. We should buy a car from him.” If that’s not a heart clincher, I don’t know what is.

But in the end: it was Ford’s deeply-held brand commitment that sold me. Ford bought a Michigan landmark and is investing YEARS of effort and money into restoring that crumbling but meaningful building back to glory.

Despite lesser safety ratings from Important People.
Despite the lack of TARDIS-like storage space.
Despite the lack of any place logical for my Aldi quarter.

Practicality be damned. I bought the Ford.

Here’s the deal. I know branding, with all its trickery and witchcraft. “Use smart words to convince consumers that you stand for something.” But I also know this: If you stand for something, consumers will gravitate toward you. If you exhibit meaning, consumers can align with that meaning. If you do something worthwhile, you can engage people who did not formerly take note of you.

The Explorer was not the most logical choice. Less space. Perhaps less solid on a snowy 75-mph-curve. Silly small things are less thought out. But for me, Ford is like Sandor Clegane running through fire to get to Arya. Practical? Gosh, no. Emotionally satisfying and necessary? Absolutely.

And that, my friends, is what a true an honest brand can do.