Parks vs. Marinas: A Simple Framework for Brand Strategy That Actually Works
I spent weeks stuck in the same circular conversation. The CEO had a clear vision for the rebrand—he just couldn't articulate it. And I couldn't extract it.
We'd done the traditional exercises. Brand positioning frameworks. Competitive matrices. Messaging hierarchies. All the strategic grunt work that's supposed to unlock clarity. But every time I presented concepts or directions, I got the same response: "That's not it. I'll know it when I see it."
This was at Givelify, a donation platform, and the rebrand had already dragged on for years before I arrived. The CEO was deeply invested—emotionally and financially—in getting this right. He had strong opinions. He knew what the brand should feel like. But translating that feeling into strategy and creative direction? We were stuck.
Then, on a walk one afternoon, an analogy crystallized in my mind. One that would completely unlock our process and become a framework I've used ever since.
The Breakthrough: Two Different Spaces
Think about a marina for a moment. Picture the boats, the docks, the people who gather there. Now think about a public park. These are both outdoor spaces where people congregate, both serve their communities, both involve some sense of shared experience.
But the relationship between the space and the people who use it? Completely different.
At a marina, the space defines who you are. You're a boater. That identity comes with assumptions—about your income level, your lifestyle, your other interests. Whether it's a public marina or an exclusive yacht club, there's a cost of entry. You need a boat, or access to one. You need to know how to operate it. Someone in your life had to teach you, which suggests they had the means and expertise themselves. The marina becomes part of your external identity. You might wear clothing with the marina's logo. When someone mentions seeing you there, others immediately form a mental picture of what kind of person you are.
At a park, you define what the space is. Walk through any park and you'll see someone jogging—for them, it's a gym. Someone else is grilling with family—for them, it's a communal kitchen and gathering place. Someone's napping on a bench during their lunch break—it's an escape from the office. Kids are playing—it's a playground. Same physical space, but each person assigns it entirely different meaning based on their own needs and context. Nobody identifies as a "parker." The space doesn't define you; you define it.
This distinction—between spaces that define their users versus spaces that users define—gave me a new lens for thinking about brands.
Marinas: The Brand Defines You
Some brands work like marinas. They have a strong, clear identity that rubs off on the people who use them. When you align with these brands, they become part of how you present yourself to the world.
Apple is the obvious example. People don't just use Apple products—they are Apple people. There's even a term for it: "Apple fanboy." These are folks who have multiple Apple devices, who display Apple stickers on their cars, who experience genuine excitement about product launches. When you learn someone is an Apple person, you make immediate associations. You assume they care about design and aesthetics. You assume they value form as much as function. You assume they're willing to pay a premium for that combination. You can probably guess what other brands they like—maybe they drive a BMW or a Tesla, brands that share Apple's emphasis on design-forward premium experiences.
This is the marina effect. The brand has such a distinct identity that it actively defines its users. And for many people, that's part of the value proposition. They want to be defined by their association with the brand. The price of admission—literal and figurative—is worth it for the identity it confers.
Patagonia works the same way. Peloton. Whole Foods. These are marina brands. You don't just shop there or use their products—you become a Patagonia person, a Peloton person. The brand tells the world something about your values, your lifestyle, your tribe.
Parks: You Define the Brand
Other brands function more like parks. They're platforms or tools that different people use in completely different ways for completely different reasons. The brand doesn't impose a singular identity on its users—instead, users bring their own context and needs to shape what the brand means to them.
Google is a perfect example. Unlike Apple, there's no cult of Google fanboys. Nobody identifies primarily as "a Google person" the way they might as "an Apple person." Sure, you might use Google products enthusiastically, but they don't define your external identity.
The Android-iOS comparison illustrates this perfectly. Apple's iOS only runs on Apple hardware. Apple controls the entire experience—hardware and software in harmony, optimized for their vision of what the experience should be. It's a walled garden, carefully curated. Very much like a marina that controls membership and maintains standards.
Android, on the other hand, runs on countless devices at wildly different price points. You can run Android on a cutting-edge Samsung flagship that costs as much as an iPhone and offers comparable power. Or you can run Android on a bare-bones budget phone that costs a tenth as much and serves purely utilitarian needs. Same operating system, completely different use cases. One person defines Android as a powerful, feature-rich experience. Another defines it as a basic, functional tool. Neither definition is wrong—they're just different users bringing different needs to the same platform.
That's park thinking. The brand doesn't tell you who you are. You tell the brand what it needs to be for you.
Why This Distinction Matters Strategically
Here's where this framework becomes useful beyond just a neat way to categorize brands: marinas and parks require fundamentally different strategic approaches.
Marinas need a crystal-clear "why." Because the brand defines its users, you need to know exactly what you stand for. What identity are you conferring? What tribe are people joining when they align with your brand? This requires deep work on brand purpose, values, and positioning. Your "why" needs to be specific enough to be meaningful, differentiated enough to be valuable, and authentic enough to be sustainable. Everything—product development, marketing, partnerships, hiring—needs to reinforce that core identity.
Parks need flexibility and openness. Because users define what the brand means to them, imposing too narrow a "why" can actually backfire. If you insist that your park is only for jogging, you alienate everyone who wants to picnic or play with their kids. Parks thrive on being adaptable platforms. The strategic focus shifts from defining who your users are to removing friction, expanding capabilities, and enabling more use cases. Your brand promise becomes about utility, accessibility, and possibility rather than identity and belonging.
Neither approach is inherently better or worse. They're just different. The mistake is trying to be both simultaneously.
The Crayon Box Problem
Imagine you have a box of crayons in front of you. If you choose one color and draw with it, your picture will be vibrant and clear. Maybe you pick two or three colors and use them intentionally—you can still create something bright and compelling.
But if you try to draw with all the crayons at the same time, mashing them together on the page, you end up with a muddy brown mess.
This is what happens when brands try to be both a marina and a park. They dilute their value proposition to the point of meaninglessness.
Consider a marina that tries to broaden its appeal by opening up to non-boaters. They add services and features to attract everyone, not just their core boating community. What happens? The boaters feel alienated. The tight-knit community and shared affinities that made the marina special start to erode. Meanwhile, the "park people" are disappointed because the marina can't actually deliver a great park experience—they're still allocating resources to maintain their core marina services, so the new offerings feel half-baked.
The marina loses its cachet. The park experience disappoints. Nobody wins.
Successful brands pick their lane and commit to it. They understand which kind of space they are—or aspire to be—and they lean into the strategic implications of that choice.
How This Unlocked Givelify's Rebrand
When I presented the parks vs. marinas framework to Givelify's CEO, something finally clicked. Instead of showing him logo concepts or color palettes and waiting for "that's not it," I asked him a simple question:
"Is Givelify a park or a marina?"
We talked through it. On the surface, Givelify seemed like a park. It's a donation platform. People use it to give to churches, charities, causes—all different reasons, different contexts, different motivations. Religious tithing out of obligation. Charitable giving based on personal values. Emergency response to natural disasters. Lots of different use cases.
But as we discussed deeper, the CEO's vision became clear. He believed that regardless of what people were donating to or why, there was a common thread: giving makes people feel good. That emotional truth—"when you do good, you feel good"—was the marina. It was the identity he wanted Givelify to confer on its users. Givelify wasn't just a neutral tool; it was a brand for people who valued kindness, generosity, optimism.
That insight unlocked everything. We finally had our North Star. From there, we could build the rebrand strategy around reinforcing that core identity. Our messaging needed consistency around that emotional truth. Our visual identity needed to evoke those feelings. Our partnership strategy could focus on aligning with other brands that shared those values, benefiting from the halo effect of their equity.
It wasn't about the specific features of the donation platform. It was about the identity of being a Givelify user. Marina thinking.
This strategic breakthrough laid the groundwork for an award-winning rebrand that transformed Givelify's market position.
So, Which Is Your Brand?
This framework isn't meant to be a comprehensive tool for uncovering your brand's emotional core or strategic positioning—those require their own dedicated processes. But it serves as a powerful starting point for getting stakeholders aligned on what kind of brand you are (or want to be).
Are you a marina? Then invest deeply in your "why." Be specific about the identity you're conferring. Build a strong, distinctive brand that people want to align themselves with publicly. Accept that this means saying no to some potential users or use cases—that selectivity is part of what makes the identity valuable.
Are you a park? Then embrace flexibility. Build a platform that enables multiple definitions and use cases. Focus on removing friction and expanding possibilities. Don't try to narrowly define who your users are—let them tell you what your brand means to them. Be wary of imposing a "why" so specific that it constrains how people can use what you've built.
The only wrong answer is trying to be both at once, or worse, forcing your brand to be something it fundamentally isn't.
Like any strategic framework, this one isn't universally applicable to every scenario. A skilled brand strategist has many tools in their toolkit and knows when to deploy each one. But when you're stuck in circular conversations about brand identity, when stakeholders can't articulate their vision, when positioning feels murky—asking "are we a park or a marina?" can cut through the noise.
It worked for me at Givelify. It's shaped how I think about brand strategy ever since. And maybe, just maybe, it'll help you finally figure out what kind of space your brand really is.
