So, there I was, standing in line at Chipotle, armed with nothing but my appetite and a head full of grandiose ideas.
It wasn’t just a burrito I was after—oh no, I was on a mission to create the ultimate burrito. The kind of burrito that would make people stop in their tracks and say, “Who is that culinary genius?” (as if the world is just waiting to bestow accolades on the next Chipotle Picasso).
When I reached the counter, my mind was already racing. They asked if I wanted chicken or steak, and I thought, “Why not both? And throw in some barbacoa while you’re at it.” Before I knew it, I was saying yes to everything like a kid who’s just discovered how to order room service.
Beans? Yes, both kinds. Rice? Double that. Salsas? I’ll take them all, thank you. Guacamole, cheese, that weird corn soup thing? Pile it on! By the time I got to the end of the assembly line, I had something that resembled a burrito in theory, but in practice, it was more like a densely packed satellite prepared for re-entry. The tortilla struggled to contain the chaos within, stretching itself to the brink of a carbohydrate explosion.
Now, the thing about the ultimate burrito is that it sounds good in your head, but when you try to actually eat it, you quickly realize that you’ve created a monster. The first bite was manageable—tasty even—but with each successive attempt to get a grip on this leviathan, I was met with resistance.
Beans were escaping, guac was splattering, and I’m pretty sure I lost a piece of chicken to the floor at one point. It was a delicious but unwieldy mess, a burrito that defied all laws of physics and common sense.
And that’s when it hit me: Just because you can add everything doesn’t mean you should. In fact, it’s a pretty terrible idea. What I had was not the ultimate burrito but rather a lesson in the perils of overindulgence—a lesson I found in every dribble of salsa that landed in my lap.
It’s the same thing in marketing. We’re constantly bombarded with options, ideas, and the temptation to say ‘yes’ to everything. More features, more content, more channels, more data.
But here’s the truth: Not everything that’s available to you is necessary. You don’t need to throw every single ingredient into your marketing strategy just because it’s there. The key is in prioritization—choosing the right ingredients that complement each other, rather than creating a concoction so overwhelming that you’re left wrestling with it rather than enjoying it.
Think about it—when you try to do everything at once, you end up with a mess. You dilute your message, spread your resources too thin, and lose the very thing that makes your brand appetizing in the first place. It’s the marketing equivalent of trying to take a bite of that overstuffed burrito: you can’t, and in the end, nobody wants to clean up after your sloppy attempts.
The trick is to take a step back and ask yourself: What are the few, key things that will truly make this campaign, this product, or this brand sing? What are the essential ingredients that will create a harmonious flavor rather than a chaotic mashup?
Sometimes, the most powerful decisions are not about what you add but what you leave out.
And if you’re worried that by leaving something out, you’re missing an opportunity, remember this: Focusing on the essentials doesn’t mean you’re limiting yourself. It means you’re making the most of what you have.
Just like the calendar doesn’t define your productivity, your options don’t define your success. You do, by choosing wisely, by saying ‘yes’ to the right things and ‘no’ to the rest.
So, the next time you’re tempted to throw everything into the mix, think of that burrito. Prioritize. Simplify. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll end up with something that doesn’t just look good but is actually worth savoring—without needing a fork, a bib, and a sense of regret.
