A new trend is emerging in the design world where complete brand identities can be purchased off-the-shelf like any other product. Platforms like Brands Like These (BLT) are allowing designers to sell ready-made brand packages to entrepreneurs, fundamentally changing how companies approach branding and raising questions about the future of creative collaboration.
The concept became clear when designer Elizabeth Goodspeed discovered Uvie, a seemingly complete sunscreen bar brand with trendy packaging, pastel colors, and professional photography. The catch? Uvie doesn't actually exist yet. For $8,000, anyone can purchase the entire brand identity on BLT, a platform created by Lyon & Lyon where designers sell complete brand packages to aspiring business owners.
BLT operates like an e-commerce store, offering brands in three price tiers: Starter ($5,000), Builder ($8,000), and Scaler ($12,000). Each identity includes everything from logos and color palettes to product concepts and marketing photography. Designers receive 50 percent of the sale price, while Lyon & Lyon handles post-sale customizations. Every brand is sold only once, ensuring exclusivity for buyers.
This marketplace model isn't entirely new to the industry. In 2006, British agency Bartle Bogle Hegarty launched Zag to develop concepts for licensing. In 2013, Ben Pieratt created Hessian, a complete brand identity for an undefined product that included everything from logos to app interfaces for $18,000. Pieratt later formalized this approach with Pre-Brand, offering ready-made identity packages ranging from $5,000 to $30,000.
Speculative branding has long been part of design culture, with fictional brands filling portfolios and appearing in films and commercials. Many established studios create self-initiated projects to showcase their full range of services. As Ugo LaChapelle of Caserne explains, creating fictional brands like their faux hotel project is "the best way for us to showcase all of our services in one project."
Matt and Ben Lyon, the brothers behind Lyon & Lyon, were inspired to create BLT after receiving numerous emails about their conceptual projects, particularly a fictional hair care brand called Fabrica. People would ask, "I want that. I'll buy it off you. Where does it exist?" BLT became their answer to this demand.
The platform is positioned as solving problems in traditional branding processes. Matt Lyon argues that many startups are "understandably scared to drop a lot of money on a process where they just don't know the output." By seeing finished work upfront, founders can make decisions with more confidence, while designers get the freedom to create more conceptual work without client constraints.
However, not everyone embraces this model. Emunah Winer, co-creative director of Nihilo, calls BLT identities "a commitment to something that's only 20 percent you, but happens to look good." Having co-founded tequila brand Casa Malka and currently developing rum label Esther in-house, Winer argues that these pre-made kits aren't designed for founders who must "interact with and build their brands every day."
Copywriter John Goddard was more critical, calling the concept "icky" and arguing that buying off-the-shelf design contradicts the industry's message that "a brand is more than a logo." The criticism raises questions about whether these are simply unused "Option C" concepts being repurposed.
The rise of prefab branding reflects broader changes in how businesses approach identity. Many companies now seek branding primarily to "pass the sniff test" - looking legitimate enough for pitch decks and investor meetings rather than truly clarifying what the company does or why it exists. This approach often prioritizes visual appeal over strategic thinking.
The problem becomes more complex when companies don't have stable products or strategies. Many tech startups hire studios before knowing what they're building, leading to identities that become obsolete when companies pivot. As Goodspeed learned firsthand, an identity based on countdown clocks became useless when her client pivoted from time-based to video dating.
This trend is particularly visible in AI startups, where products are often indistinguishable and companies rely heavily on branding for differentiation. Similarly, many consumer packaged goods companies focus on identifying "aesthetic white space" rather than product innovation, sometimes simply rebranding white-label products from sites like Alibaba.
If prefab branding becomes dominant, it could fundamentally change the skills designers need. Instead of listening and refining based on client needs, designers might focus on creating "polished shells that could plausibly fit anything." This shift threatens to turn brands into interchangeable style packages rather than unique expressions of company values.
The model also risks creating a polarized industry similar to what happened with bookstores and music - prefab kits at the low end, ultra-expensive bespoke work at the high end, and little in between. There's also the looming possibility that AI could eventually generate pre-packaged brands at scale, further disrupting the market.
Traditional design engagements involve collaborative processes where the back-and-forth between company and designer helps sharpen the business itself. This friction, while sometimes frustrating, often leads to stronger outcomes and clearer business positioning. Many startups specifically seek founding designers because design shapes product and strategy, not just aesthetics.
BLT's approach, while recognizing that designers have valuable ideas, cuts out the collaborative process that allows those ideas to influence businesses long-term. Instead of offering licensing, partnerships, or equity stakes - as Nihilo is doing with their rum brand - designers sell their concepts as one-time transactions.
Even the Lyon brothers acknowledge the risks of their platform. "This might get us more work or put us out of business," Matt Lyon admits. The question remains what happens to designers if this model takes hold - when they trade away their best ideas as surface-level packages without ongoing relationships, equity, or full authorship.
As Winer points out, ownership changes everything: "A brand you live with keeps evolving. A kit you sell is gone the second it leaves your hands." The rise of prefab branding represents a fundamental shift in how creative work is valued and distributed, with implications that extend far beyond individual transactions to the very nature of design collaboration and creative ownership.
