Subtlety is sneaky. It can go unnoticed, but its polish lays the groundwork for boldness to be effective.

Here's what happened: My long-distance friend and I were in the midst of our weekly phone conversation when I mentioned in passing my plans to add some new pieces to my summer wardrobe. And she said, “I beg you. Buy something that isn't black or beige.” The nerve!

This woman adorns herself like a peacock, all brilliant blues and feathers. People are inevitably drawn to her exuberance in style and once they get there, they find a warm, thoughtful, and welcoming presence under the vivid appearance. It was with her own preferences in mind that she said to me, simply out of concern, that perhaps by muting my wardrobe I'm muting myself. By denying myself jewel tones, I'm effectively relegating myself to wallflower status, stifling my own voice and — note her bias — even denying others the pleasure of my company. But here's the thing: Subtlety is my jam.

I won't dispute that boldness is an effective form of communication. It grabs us by the lapels and shakes us until we're compelled to pay attention. Subtlety, however, is sneaky — and I like sneaky. It often goes unnoticed, but its polish lays the groundwork that allows boldness to be effective.

The magazine you're holding in your hands is a perfect example of the way subtlety and boldness play off of and elevate each other. I'm certain you rarely notice the tiny details our editorial team members agonize over, red pens in sweaty fists. Instead, the splashy photos, clever illustrations, and witty headlines (lookin' at you, Charles Pappas!) draw you in to the content. But if when you got there, you found that we were inconsistent with our punctuation or spelling choice, that word repetition loomed large, and that our content didn't fulfill the promise our design made, you'd likely be left with the impression that we lacked professionalism, aspired to “good enough,” or that we chose to be loud without saying much of substance.

This year, I've helped organize EXHIBITOR's annual Best of CES recognition and the Integrated Systems Europe Stand Design Awards. Through these awards programs, I've had several opportunities to walk the same show floor both alone and with design experts, and the process never failed to be educational.

Like many, I'm drawn to boldness, creativity, and clever messaging in a stand. Yet every once in a while, I'm pulled across the show floor only to discover that the experience of being immersed in that booth falls flat, and I can't always put my finger on why. That's when a designer might point out the exposed bolt, the chipped paint, the unsteamed fabric wall, the rippled floor. The inconspicuous details that if executed well, provide the firm foundation for a compelling story, and if ignored, turn what could be an impressive booth into a castle built on sand.

A colleague and I walked the show floor at RSA Conference in San Francisco in May and saw everything from minimalist, wood-paneled booths heavy on the greenery to what can only be described as 20-by-30-foot theater. And we debated the merits of a classic booth versus one that's a radical departure from the norm and decided that much of what rises to the surface simply comes down to preference. Are you into boeuf bourguignon or molecular gastronomy? Each has its place and speaks to a different audience or occasion, but to be memorable, good execution is imperative. Without that solid drumbeat of fine-tuned details, your boeuf bourguignon is reduced to just another forgettable stew. And no Salt Bae can fix that.E

Emily Olson, editor