We build confident brands.

Your brand’s challenges are vital opportunities to rethink, rewire, and refresh. Our strategy-driven process is adaptive, accommodating organizations regardless of project scope or industry vertical. If you have vision, we will generate the momentum you need to realize it.

Bullhorn Creative Office Interior
BULLHORN ISN'T FOR EVERYONE. THAT'S OKAY.

EMPATHY AND HONESTY
We care about each other. The fact is that our work is one of the main ways we will spend our time. That time should be productive. It should mean something.

And we are honest because it deepens trust and makes way for better empathy. Among ourselves, with our clients. And, ultimately, it creates better work.

DISSATISFACTION AND IMPROVEMENT
We care about the broken things. The inconsistencies, the ugly things, the things that cause friction. We notice.

They fuel our urge for improvement. We are the princess who feels the damn pea under all those mattresses and has to get up to do something about it.

CREATIVITY AND DECISIVENESS
We care about cultivating creativity. Here, you are expected to bring your full creative capacity to bear on whatever task you face.

And you must make a choice. Put it out there. Make another. And another. Iterate. Be willing to look simple. Stupid. The true enemy of creativity is indecision.

Bullhorn Creative Office Exterior
A RESPONSIBLE COMPANY DOING REWARDING WORK.

Work isn’t just about product. It’s about how you do it. And just as we strive to make good stuff, we are interested in being a better company. A responsible company doing rewarding work. We’re proud to be a Certified B Corporation®, among the over 2,200 leaders of the global movement of people using business as a force for good. Read a note from our CEO here.

We run on challenge, discomfort, and mutiny.

Adam Kuhn
Adam Kuhn
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Adam bought a perfectly good 20-year-old Volvo. He took it mostly apart. He spent three times its value upgrading parts. He watched endless hours of YouTube figuring out how to put it back together again. He intended to drive it to Alaska and back. The car made it to Alberta (should have replaced the transmission, too). Adam left it in a parking lot and took off in a rental. Here is what we learn: 1. The journey to the journey is more valuable than the journey itself. 2. Don’t get too attached to your stuff, it all breaks down. 3. Some people can learn to do any damn thing.

Brad Flowers
Brad Flowers
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It is 1995. Even Flow is playing on the garage radio. It is 4:30 AM, still dark. I grab a weedeater and spare spool of line. The groundskeeper hops in the Gator cursing. I sit down next to him, and he peels out in reverse. We tear across the back nine as he points and hollers. He jerks the wheel remembering something. Still mostly asleep, I slide across the bench seat and out onto the wet green. Once I came to a stop, I remember thinking, “man, I gotta get a different job.”

Chris Jackson
Chris Jackson
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Close your eyes. It is 1999. You are in a coffee shop. A record store. A guitar shop. You have on a flannel shirt. Levi’s. You are contemplating dying your hair fuschia. You have just taken a gig as an extra on High Fidelity. It is the culmination of everything. It is perfect. You don’t even have to shave. You imagine yourself having a couple Rolling Rocks with John Cusack. Maybe even Joan. Now, open your eyes. You are Chris Jackson. You are a designer, a father. Same shirt. Same jeans. But the Cusacks are just a memory.

Davis Meyer
Davis Meyer
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Take a little Apple Pie, some Abe Lincoln, and a pinch of the Fourth of July – roll it up and you get something that is as All-American as Davis. All-American in everything she does, sports, sales and headbutts. When Hacksaw Jim Duggan forgets to bring his All American 2×4 to the ring, he calls in Davis in to supply the wack. Davis is working on building a Mt. Davismore in the 40502 – all faces on 1000-foot mountain will be of Davis. USA!

Emily Minner
Emily Minner
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You asked Emily to be your plus-one at your uncle’s wedding because they were in the same spin class. Things are going pretty well–you kept a low profile in the service, chilled in the last pew and played hangman on the program. At the reception, you are assigned to the Random Single Friends table with some passable talent, and within the first ten minutes they roll out a nachos bar. Solid wedding. But the DJ starts off too strong with “Shout” by the Isley Brothers, and while you roll your eyes, Emily catapults onto the dance floor and launches into a full body twist/mashed potato. By herself. You have a choice: you can either leave out the back door or do the unthinkable and join her.

Griffin VanMeter
Griffin VanMeter
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It is Halloween 2009. There is a bike race. Griffin is racing as a gumball machine, a clear plastic trash bag filled with multi-colored balloons and a red stocking cap. The race starts casually, fun. But, it heats up. Griffin is in the front of the pack. He makes a hot turn trying to beat a light – too hot. He power slides and then bounces through the intersection. Unfortunately, there was a police officer watching. He turns on his lights and walks up, “Son, are you a f*cking idiot?” To which Griffin replies, “No, I am a gumball machine.” There are two lessons here: 1) you can get a reckless driving ticket on a bicycle; and, 2) a good story always costs you something.

Jenny Cobb
Jenny Cobb
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She opens her closet. It was a study in monochrome. There are a dozen or so white shirts next to suits ranging from dark grey to black. Beneath them are corresponding shoes. Heels, but modest. The sort of shoes you wear to church. She makes her selection, continuing her routine. She fixes her hair. Something understated. Next, she puts on makeup. The goal is to make it look as natural as possible. She practices her smile. It is an empathetic smile. Or half smile. The lips smile, but the eyes are sad. It is comforting, but a little hard to master. As she buttons her jacket and looks one more time, she hears her mother, “Jenny! Did you take the eye shadow from the cadaver makeup again?” She replies, “No, mom. Of course not!” Then she walks down the stairs ready for work. Opens the door. Sad smile. “Please come in. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Jordan Stewart
Jordan Stewart
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Jordan picked up the tour van at the airport in Madrid. Ten days later, it collapsed in the Spanish desert. He started walking while the band sat in the shade. He soon saw things that weren’t there. He saw his mom shimmering in the distance, making his favorite dish, “mash potatoes.” “Jordan,” she called, “Get off your computer and come help me!” He started to run. But, when he reached her, she disappeared. In her place was a sign that read “Peniscola – 2 kilómetros.” He shook his head and grabbed at the sign. It was real. He was 2 kilometers away from salvation. From Peniscola.

Kate McMahan
Kate McMahan
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Imagine J.Crew is a person. First name Jacqueline. Or Jessica. Jane or Juliana vacations someplace exotic like Buenos Aires. She gets over jet lag by listening to Learn to Speak Spanish audiobooks while taking long jogs under brightly colored buildings with Parisian balconies. She meets an expat writing a novel about the Human Condition. Their coffees stretch into wine. The mysterious J.Crew returns to the United States pregnant with possibility. And, that possibility is Kate.

Patrick Morrissey
Patrick Morrissey
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Sanpaku is the Japanese idea that you can tell something about a person by the whites of their eyes. Abe Lincoln, JFK, had white showing below which indicated low energy, maybe trouble. Charles Manson had white all the way around. Too much energy, different trouble. Patrick had 10 days off. “Just enough time,” he said. As he said it, he went full sanpaku describing how he was going to start polyphasic sleeping, micro-dosing, or some other niche self-improvement scheme. It is a little known fact that Patrick is a life artist, an alchemist aimed at that elusive optimal plane of existence.

S. Brandon Coan
S. Brandon Coan
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It was the beginning of a truly profound hangover. One of those mornings where you feel poisoned. He got out of bed not needing to get dressed. He was still dressed. He pulled on a trucker hat and glasses thinking some food would help. Mr. Greek’s was packed because of the football game. He found a two-top in the corner and sat down gingerly. His Mini Special arrived: two eggs, toast, pancakes, etc. He hears, “Yo, SBC, can I sit?” He looks up. Blinks and takes off his glasses. It’s Method Man. At his table. In Michigan. He nods weakly. Meth sits down. “That airbrush is grimy. I need one that has METH on it. With Liberty, and maybe a sunrise behind her.” Brandon looks at the airbrushed SBC on his hat and smiles. This might not be that bad of a day after all.

Stevie Morrison
Stevie Morrison
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It seemed like such a good idea at the time. She brought triple-insulated gloves, marshmallowy-thick pants, and a Gore-tex boot for protection. Yet the bitter winter winds were unrelenting. Alone in the frigid bosom of the Appalachian Trail, Stevie longed for the honey-sweet sun she remembered so fondly from her time in the South of France. And, curled in the fetal position at the base of a leaf-less tulip poplar, she sang a chanson to herself in a tuneless whisper. “Aux Champs-Elysées / Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit”

Will Coffman
Will Coffman
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Two things you should know about Will: He is a good friend and loves to eat. The evidence I submit is Chili Day. It starts early. Get the fire going. The ceremonial pot. Each friend brings ingredients: chocolate, tomatoes, hand smoked chilies, venison. As the chili cooks, they eat. Biscuits, sausage, donuts, coffee. Friends come and go. Ingredients are added. And, snacks: chips, pretzels, beer cheese. Lunch rolls around. More friends. Sandwiches, cookies. Now, you probably think you would eat chili on Chili day. You would be wrong. You anticipate eating chili on Chili Day. You eat chili the next day during the Super Bowl. When you have more friends over.

Will Jones
Will Jones
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A little known fact about the Coach is that he can’t resist a cookie. Someone will bring in a box. One person will get up to get one and the Coach thinks, “cool, I’ll have one.” The problem is that he thinks that each time someone gets up to have one. Then he has to have some chips so the salt and oil balances out the butter and sugar; and then he has to have a cup of coffee; and then a beer to balance that; and then a jog. It is a vicious cycle, but the Coach owns that cycle.

Zack Graber
Zack Graber
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His friend pointed down to the adolescent alligator easing out of the pipe in a dry culvert. “You wouldn’t wrestle that thing.” Filled with energy drink and testosterone, Zack took off his shirt and smiled that smile. Pinning it and holding its mouth closed was surprisingly easy. Lying there bragging, the horror of the situation sunk in. He could pin it, but he couldn’t let go. Alligators are fast. He remembered a key tip from an Animal Planet show about alligator attacks. So he rolled over, feeling the sandy gravel on his back with the alligator on top of him. He cradled the animal. Just him and the alligator rocking for what seemed like hours. Two lessons here: Alligators fall asleep when on their backs. And watching TV always pays off.