BUILT DIFFERENT
Why the best cultural destinations could only exist where they do
Bristol’s a remarkable city.
A city of hills made greener by its cycle lanes, of hot air balloons and Banksy’s wherever you look up. A place that paints its terraces colours others wouldn't dream of, that swells with 68,000 students every September, that invented Ribena, Concorde, and cheese, Gromit. It’s a maker, and while it may have swapped ships for chips, the suspension bridges and sound systems are a noisy reminder.
It's also a city straddled with history. The wealth that paved the way for much of Bristol moved through a port bound up in the transatlantic slave trade. But rather than sheepishly looking away, it boldly looks its past dead in the eye. Just ask Colston. The city’s refusal to flinch is part of its defiant character. It’s well aware there are contradictions, and it refuses to pretend otherwise.
All to say, Bristol’s built different. Which, as we set about rebranding the city’s great SS Great Britain, turned out to be our entire strategy.
When we came on board, the SS Great Britain was managing the problems anyone preserving something historic faces. It had a marvel on its hands—the first ship of her kind, over 33,000 passengers, more stories than most vessels could ever dream of—but ticket sales were down, its audience was ageing, and there were question marks over cultural integrity, explained above. The effort being poured into preserving the place wasn't landing.
Iconic? Sure. But it was no longer enough.
The easy answer would’ve been to play it safe. Retell the glut of passenger stories, reach for navy, go in on the regalia most maritime attractions default to. But the SS Great Britain isn't like any other ship, its engineer, Brunel, wasn’t like any other engineer and, as we’ve already established, Bristol isn't like any other city. So why the hell would we do that?
The shift started with the name above the gate. Expanding from a ship to Bristol Dockyards instantly dropped a postcode-sized pin on the map, and brought every experience—the Being Brunel museum, the Brunel Institute's maritime archive and the ship itself—out of the SS GB’s shadow. An architecture that helped people realise there was more to a day here than swabbing the decks.
Then we let Bristol affect every asset.
A hero pink, stolen straight from the terraces of Totterdown, deliberately sticks two fingers to the blacks and blues every nautical identity reverts to. The collage system stitches two centuries of timelines, textures and typography into something tactile and, importantly, unmistakable across the river. And the iron-clad voice channels the city's attitude rather than caricaturing its accent.
Unlike most contemporary brands, the elements aren’t created to flex, to be portable and dropped into any market. Placemaking wins by being impossible to move. The strongest cultural destinations aren't in a place, they're of it. And Bristol Dockyards is not the only proof.
Take Aviva Studios, 175 miles north in Manchester. The permanent home of Factory International, its name and mark are a nod to the Factory Records lineage that put the city on the cultural map. Blocky and brutish, the monospace cut of Gräebenbach emphasises machine-like functionality over arts-venue polish. “A new factory where the future of art will be made” brimming with post-industrial, Liam Gallagher swagger.
Then there’s MONA in Hobart. The Museum of Old and New Art hasn’t been dropped into Tasmania, it’s been carved out of the sandstone it sits on. Its delightfully named midwinter festival, Dark Mofo, is particularly single-minded. Worshipping something most rational folk would apologise for: a long, freezing southern dark, it’s built rituals (and a dawn nude swim in the icy Derwent) around the longest night of the year. And its irreverent "anti-museum" voice is pure island psychology. The defiance of a place the mainland wrote off, written up in a daring, challenging voice. We somehow can’t picture it opening in New York any time soon.
And an honourable mention to Norway’s Peer Gynt festival. The design system mirrors the unique experience of the event, and its marriage between the contemporary and traditional, particularly through its custom display typeface. Inspired by “laft” building techniques, its forms reflect a wood-construction practice used in the region of Gålå. A touch of local beauty, only they could own.
And so, for anyone deliberating over a similar brief, we’d start with what’s around them. What truth can only you claim? What colour, material or dialect represents the area? Is a category trope really more powerful than your cultural nous?
And when you’ve decided on all of that, ask yourself if someone, somewhere else could take your brand and market it. Because, if done right, they shouldn’t. A successful place brand can't be bought, or borrowed, or relocated. Bristol Dockyards could only ever be Bristol. The trick is being brave enough to build for it, not around it.
© 2026 How&How Ltd