Word Play

In life as in language, if you don’t use it, you lose it. Our collective vocabulary is changing all the time, a shifting, amorphic thing, shaped every day by every single one of us. Language is the most human thing we have; it’s our means of communication and self-expression, and it has its strange rules and rituals, handed down and passed on over generations. So when I see brands offloading their writing to AI, churning out homogenised slop, it feels pretty sad. As simple as it may sound, you only get to keep what you hold on to.

At Here, we have always seen ourselves as the modern-day inheritors of the Arts and Crafts movement - a celebration of human heart, hand and skill that prizes the real over all else. And that approach applies not just to design but to our writing, too. We write with authenticity, we play with materiality, and we revel in myriad different forms. In short, we write how we design because we see writing as a craft – something that must be honed, perfected and preserved. So, in the spirit of holding on to the human, here are three projects that champion our process, all gloriously and defiantly made by blood, sweat, and occasional tears of Here's writers.

Authenticity is key for brand storytelling, and that comes down to research, free flow and the discovery of a particularly gorgeous fact or fable. One little detail that is rooted in the real allows you to build a bridge between your brand and the world.

When Fortnum and Mason asked us to design their Easter range for 2026, we knew we wanted to steer clear of the usual eggspected clichés. Instead, we looked to the origins of Easter and discovered the story of the goddess Eostre, who was said to have magically transformed an injured bird into an egg-laying hare. Not a rabbit or a bunny, but a long-limbed and tall-eared hare. This, in turn, allowed us to draw from a gorgeous plethora of language, including leveraging the lesser known ‘leveret’ and the collective nouns 'drove', 'flick' and 'husk' of hares.

We play with physicality and craft; with words as our tools, we create new sounds and shapes. We care about the effect of words – their feel and sound. Each project represents an opportunity to dive for linguistic pearls, choosing the most sticky, sculptural and interesting option possible. When naming the bath and body range for a Victorian coaching inn in Braemar, The Fife Arms, we knitted together the ancient word for Scotland and the Gaelic word for 'great' or 'more'. Albamhor rolls exuberantly and sumptuously off the tongue, a name that is an invocation of maximalism and dialled-up Scottishness, perfectly in line with our hotel’s identity.

And lastly, we play with form and content, always thinking about how one affects the other with intentionality and purpose. If you ask AI to write a poem, it may even do an alright job. But we choose to write a poem, a comic, or even a mini play because it feels right for that particular brief and because weaving language together in this way is an absolute joy. Berry Bros & Rudd The Duel was one such gem of a brief, using the story of the fabled last Duel in London to launch two rare, luxury whiskies.

The legendary Pickering Place duel is well known at BB&R, with everyone putting their own spin on it. We played with this ambiguity to tell two sides of an uncertain story. Starting with two accounts written in opposing voices, inspired by the whiskies’ contrasting tasting notes. The voice of these characters and their contradictory narrative became the beating heart of the project, evolving into an accompanying booklet – a tale of two halves, a mini-play teaser film, and even an immersive dinner party. Through writing, we were able to expand a packaging project into a rich and vibrant world.

All of this is a long and scenic route to saying that real storytelling is a vital tool for bringing your brand to life. It can unlock new worlds and reveal a richness of associations, from popular culture to myth and history. It can connect us to our past and outline hopes of a better future. It’s our duty to keep that love of language alive, little by little, leveret by leveret.

Frankly, we’d be daft not to hold on white-knuckled, for dear life.