Interrogating the Triplet
Truly, Madly, Deeply
There is something compelling about a list of three. Something capable and complete. It’s an efficient structure that avoids the stagnant binary of this or that and allows the extravagance of a third possibility—one more morsel to deliver us from scarcity. A triplet (or triad) is a list of any three items—nouns, verbs, coordinate adjectives or phrases, clauses or complete sentences. Triplets have long been indispensable to American writing, which is surprising, when you consider that a list of three might feel underbaked or wobbly—a three-legged table. But the triplet has always been quietly nestled in the rebar of American personal and institutional communications.
We’re hit with triplets from our earliest democratic and ecclesiastic exposure: A government of the people, by the people, for the people; Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness and the initial theological triumvirate: the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. But far from confining itself to foundational texts, the triplet has detonated our cultural consciousness and become a common, tidy shorthand for delivering the whole story. From early literature (The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe) to Spaghetti Westerns (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly) to Savage Garden’s 1997 adverb bonanza (Truly, Madly, Deeply) we have embraced the triplet in our titles and in our running copy to neatly package and deliver our arguments.
The Triplet in Action
American advertising, which assails us daily, is not exempt from the triplet. Think back to famous imperatives that headlined behavior-change campaigns—from fire safety groups: Stop, Drop and Roll; from the EPA: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle; from literacy campaigns of the early 80s: Read, Learn, Grow; and from homeland security campaigns: See Something, Say Something, Stop It. Global commercial branding also makes liberal use of the triplet. Recall Coca-Cola’s Open. Sip. Enjoy. Or their other nugget: Real, Refreshing, Coca-Cola. Think of Target’s: Shop, Save, Smile or Mastercard’s memorable campaign: Dinner: $40. Movie: $20. Time with family: Priceless. Consider any product from Homegoods that delivers lived-in wisdom in an audaciously scripty font: Live, Laugh, Love. The rhythm of the triplet satisfies a subconscious metrical request we didn’t even know we had.
The Steamroller of AI
If you ask a Large Language Model (LLM) like ChatGPT to hock up an intense quantity of prose, there is a strong chance that triplets will abound. Working under the assumption that LLMs reflect our own sensibilities and language patterns back to us, it tracks that triplets would figure prominently. The more we see text from these AI generators seeping into website and marketing copy, the more our concern for the foundation of language grows. The concern is not so much for the abundance of triplets, but rather for the empty items rattling around the triplet list. As more and more people turn to LLMs to generate or refine writing, the rhythm sometimes rings more true than the content.
Consider this real-world example: Our consulting teams help high-achieving executives, founders and creatives clear the fog, sharpen their focus and break the cycle. This (double!) triplet might hit the ear with such a dulcet tone that you might not even detect the fact that clearing the fog and sharpening focus are essentially the same thing. Instead of building on a cumulative list to convey a complete or complex sense of what the consulting teams do, the sentiments ricochet around the sentence in a simulation of meaty information. Is the rhythm of the triplet, in all its effortlessness, lulling us to sleep? This might seem to be a relatively small communication issue, or a non-issue at this scale, but as our reliance on LLMs grow, imagine an increasing lack of originality seeping into the tone, voice, language pattern and content of our writing. Is the triplet the bellwether? Are we letting the steamroller of AI flatten our writing until we all sound exactly the same?
When thinking about the potential scale for this type of homogeneity in brand messaging, we must remember the purpose of branding at its core: distinction. Good branding distinguishes an organization from its competitors. If the messaging is being generated by AI models across the board, the result is a distinctive lack of originality and brands become indistinguishable from their competitors.
Breaking the Spell
How can you recognize and eliminate this type of generated language in your own brand messaging? Start with the triplets. Notice them as you browse the web. Once you start looking for them, you’ll see website copy is lousy with them. And when you do spot them, interrogate them! Ask yourself: Do all those adjectives really signify something different? Is this sentence moving the argument forward, or is it circling the drain? This will help you recognize how you use them in your own writing. Consider breaking the spell of the triplet altogether by substituting something else entirely: perhaps even a groundbreaking single adjective.
Be Suspicious
Are we suggesting that you stop using LLMs altogether and craft all brand language directly from your brain? Not necessarily. LLMs are a huge time saver. They help refine messaging that isn’t quite hitting the mark, and they sometimes help clarify thinking. But don’t just take the first version of text that an LLM spits out and pop it into your web copy. Be suspicious! Ask yourself if the messaging you’re receiving is comprehensive and thoughtful; also, ask yourself what the tone of the text is. Remember that as a human, your tone, attitude and character come alive in writing and help distinguish you from everyone else. The same is true for your brand. Revisit your LLM-generated text and edit it so that you hear your brand’s voice coming through loud and clear. In the end, the goal isn’t to banish the triplet—it’s to make sure it earns its keep. Use it with intention, and let your voice, not the algorithm’s echo, have the last word.