It matched with me
Back when I had a vinyl sticker business for kitchens, I used to go to the print shop all the time. One day, with some leftover vinyl on hand, the guy at the shop asked if I wanted to print something at a suuuper low cost. So I threw in a little lightning bolt I’d had kicking around for a while. It was supposed to become a poster and never became anything. It wasn’t part of a plan or a system. I didn’t even know yet what it might turn into.
Let’s rewind. Before all that, I went through two very different logo phases, even though one grew out of the other. First came the silhouette of a paper boat, under the idea of going out to explore. Then, one day, out popped a crown: my way of declaring myself the boss of my own damn universe. I used it for about ten years in my personal projects, while I worked regular jobs and my artistic side leaked out, kind of shy, into social media, printed stuff and a website nobody looked at. The crown kept mutating just because: out of boredom, through plain iteration, as a reflection of my passion back then for lettering and illustration, because “my artistic self” was a fantasy shaped like a side project. Between 2011 and 2018, all of that kept shifting without me steering it much at all.
But that vinyl lightning bolt started spreading on its own in 2019, almost without me trying. By 2024, in my work circles, all it took was spotting something with a bolt on it to know I was around. People started asking me for bolts in other colors, for products with the bolt on them.
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In 2026, when it came time to define my new professional life, one of a thousand tasks was defining my personal brand. And I couldn’t just grab that hot potato and decide on the spot, the way I thought I would. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t make the call that easily. This wasn’t like dipping a finger into a shallow puddle and pulling it out barely wet. It was a deeper, darker well, and it had little to do with a visual decision. That depth meant working from the inside, so my brand could rise up from my own intentions and identity. I understood that this process meant building something I could see myself in, from the inside out, never the other way around. Something I could show off proudly. Something that was part of who I am right now and reflected me as I actually am. I was looking for a perfect match.
That’s when I got serious about deciding. The crown felt like an old couch worn into the shape of my own body: I already had it, and it was plenty comfortable. Plus, I saw the upside of reusing the printed stuff and the twenty thousand fabric labels I’d had made years ago, when I wanted to sell t-shirts.
Jumping to something new meant leaving those old decisions behind. Boom: fresh start. Besides, the lightning bolt had already done its part. It was still untested, but it already represented me. So I left the crown behind and went all in on the bolt. It was hard, but I had that tingling feeling you get when you’re completely sure about something.
Today, that bolt works on any background I put it on. It looks good in color or in black and white. It’s striking, sober and disruptive at the same time. It’s versatile, and it’s me. Because I can sit down with you to eat a hot dog on the curb, and I can also be the exact opposite of that version. The bolt doesn’t pick one. It holds all of them at once, and that’s why it works: I didn’t design it to represent me. It matched with me. And when a brand truly matches, it stops feeling designed. It starts feeling like you.
This story first appeared on my blog.
More stories at julianarojas.com/blog
