A story told in windows—a narrative design lesson from Tiffany & Co.

White Stag is the only private newsletter club hunting the language art and science behind the world’s most iconic legacy brands—written for venture capitalists, venture builders, and founder-operators building (and funding) the next generation of portfolio companies in consumer technology, culture, and art.

Welcome to the first edition.

It would be criminal not to talk about Tiffany & Co in the first edition of White Stag Club.

It would be even more criminal not to talk about the “hidden” influence of language in its most championed era.

It would be even more criminal to ignore how the foundations of Tiffany’s story directly led to the freedom and imagination of one of the most visionary people to ever create advertising for them.

You might have expected me to wax poetic about their email copy, or their brochures, or even their excellent (many) brand guidelines they’ve created over the years.

I considered that. There’s a lot we can learn from Tiffany’s brand evolution.

There’s a lot I would recommend to Tiffany’s modern brand marketing, too. I could make this newsletter thousands upon thousands of words long just walking you through their inspiring origin story, founding characters, and all the lessons in-between.

Maybe another day.

Today, I’m going to tell you about Gene Moore, the window display artist who channeled his one-of-a-kind vision into art pieces for the centuries-old jewelry brand.

Specifically, we’re going to explore how he created one of the most memorable visual advertising we’ve been blessed to witness, and adore.

It also happens to be one of my personal favorites.

After we take it all in, and I tell you my thoughts as a narrative designer for brands that love and hate Tiffany for reasons you might know yourself—we’ll explore how we can take those insights, narrative practices, and more, and channel those viewpoints into what you’re building right now.

At the time of writing this, I can’t think of a company that’s dared to be as bold, as experimental, and as trusting of their advertising partner’s attention to artistry.

You might wonder:

“Why are you talking about a window display artist’s work instead of the writing? I thought that was the whole point of this newsletter?”

This is a fair question.

It’s also one of the reasons I started White Stag Club in the first place.

The most important lesson you need to know is that every piece of advertising, brand, and physical storytelling you find that truly stirs something within you—not a cheap reminder, not a half-baked thought, but a true, deep-in-your-bones activation that forces you to connect to the product in ways you never thought possible—is borne from language, first.

While I will forever be an advocate for language forming the foundation of everything after, it’s important to recognize when the voice occurs before the writing takes place.

This does not negate the need for narrative design, but enforce it in an alternative way.

Keep in mind this situation is extremely rare, and should only be considered when the brand itself is taking enormous creative risk to tell a story—and adopt an identity—no one has seen before.

Otherwise, you’ll want to take a step back and examine the core fundamentals that make your brand truly worthwhile.

Now, Gene Moore was not a copywriter.

But, he had vision.

He was a designer. He was an artist. He was a storyteller.

This vision of his, while crafted from a palate only he could call his own—a lesson all AI dogmatics should adopt if they want to create anything tasteful—needed to tie into the brand foundations that Tiffany established. Tiffany’s voice was elevated and inspiring from the second the brand took on its own identity. This personality is visible today, many decades after Gene Moore’s first window piece.

Gene Moore was not focused on making advertising.

He was focused on making art.

And art, he made.

However, there are key ingredients to this magic that we’re missing. Because even timeless art pieces like Moore’s brilliant work could only happen if he was given proper guidelines, restrictions, and approval.

Approval delivered with a deep love and dedication to the brand’s image.

Let’s start there.

When Gene Moore joined Tiffany & Co in 1955, Walter Hoving—the chairman at the time—approached him with one directive for the window display project:

“I want you to make our windows as beautiful as you can according to your own taste. Above all, don’t try to sell anything. We’ll take care of that in-store.”

Whether he knew it or not, Hoving championed taste and artistic integrity long before it was fully established in Tiffany’s brand ecosystem. As the first point of contact for this project, he was responsible for giving Moore’s genius the canvas it needed.

He had full faith in Moore to use his artistic eye the way he needed in order to make truly beautiful—some would even say timeless—window art displays.

These pieces range across the board in imagination.

The photograph shown above—a floating hand attached to a ball of yarn, reaching towards a Tiffany diamond ring—represents a feeling of longing. Maybe desire. Maybe that unattainable feeling of yearning only a brand like Tiffany could embody, but not without the help of its creative visionaries.

When you read about these window art displays, you also read about the elevation in foot traffic. Curious people stopping, gawking, and entering the ornate doors of Tiffany’s stores with the eagerness to know, to discover, to feel.

One of the main reasons these pieces work so beautifully—and why we’re talking about these window displays as real art, and not simply advertising “campaigns” (a word that may as well be reinvented and redefined, considering how things are moving in 2026)—is because they were developed without fear.

Gene Moore used his own vision to command the pieces.

He interpreted what Tiffany needed, used their jewelry as the centerpiece of every design, and commanded people pay attention.

He didn’t pay attention to anything else.

He only focused on his own vision.

This was actually something Moore was known for.

He’s been quoted to admit:

“People ask me if I ever run out of ideas ... I don't run out of them; I run after them."

(A man after my own heart)

Tiffany entrusted this man’s vision to elevate everything they stood for. They saw his craft, witnessed the individual movement that they wanted to represent their brand, and trusted him to make it happen.

Read this and read it well:

While most people would resent this—and copywriters I’ve spoken to in the past greatly disagree—this is one of the most true principles of narrative design that really works.

No one should follow trends.

Brands, individuals, makers, investors.

No one.

When it comes to developing a brand world through language, story, and visual command, nothing will destroy your brand’s perceived value faster than your eagerness to adopt every personality that isn’t yours.

Tastemakers don’t rely on others to shape their palate.

They make their own.

While we don’t have tangible financial records that prove instant monetary results for Moore’s work, we do know that it was extraordinarily successful.

You could predict a few reasons why. How could it not have been, after all? In the 1950s and 1960s, creating beautiful work that struck the curiosity of strangers and lit the match of desire were bound to be successful, weren’t they?

Sure. There’s truth to that.

But, we also need to understand this was a creative risk.

Gene Moore was a famous and respected artist, designer, and visionary when he joined the Tiffany board. He served for decades as Vice President and Artistic Director. They trusted in his vision, and he paid them back with it a thousandfold.

Thankfully, the value of his work was not a one-hit wonder.

Tiffany recently paid respects to his brilliance in 2024, with their “With Love, Since 1837” campaign, directed purposefully to honor and respect his legacy by reviving his window art pieces with modern re-interpretations.

One of these campaign highlights included the piece below, directed and photographed by Dan Tobin Smith. It features the alluring, yet surreal style of Moore’s classic pieces.

The mark of a narrative that’s not only strong, but worth incorporating into your brand’s infrastructure, is if it earns the right to be replicated decades after the originator passes. Moore wasn’t alive when this campaign circulated, but I imagine he would’ve been grateful to see his work respected and honored in this way.

If narrative design, formalized brand guidelines, and similar pieces were championed during this time, I would’ve loved to have a conversation with Gene Moore.

I would’ve interviewed him, asked him what words he would use to describe his process, what phrases he overheard from customers who took a look at the window art and ultimately stepped through the front doors.

I would’ve asked him what inspired him to create certain pieces over others—why pair hummingbirds with those iconic diamonds? Why choose the floating hands knitting a heart out of red yarn?—and I would’ve taken vigorous notes. By hand.

I would’ve spoken with Walter Hoving afterwards. I would’ve asked him why he felt the desire—and need—to push Moore to own his vision so early in the process. I would’ve asked him if he regretted it, or if he was overjoyed that he stuck to the principles that made Tiffany & Co. so recognizably special in its earliest stages.

I would’ve taken these nuggets of gold and transformed them into language. Fragments of copy, inspired ideas, and new standards set by the art-made-advertising that Moore managed to create because this growing jewelry enterprise valued his vision.

Imagining what it would’ve been like to establish the narrative system that paired with Moore’s work… what a privilege that would’ve been.

What a privilege it is, to be able to learn from these pieces now.

Every issue, I curate the main takeaways I’ve found, and put them in a list for the taste-forward VCs, venture builders, and founder-operators reading this letter.

The purpose of this practice isn’t to persuade you to follow these principles step-by-step—that would eliminate one of the main philosophies behind narrative design to begin with—but to encourage you to get inspired by what’s been done, and use those learnings to look inside the building of your own brand world.

Gene Moore’s work is, after all, one piece of the enormous puzzle that is Tiffany & Co.

The empire, the legacy, the jewelry.

All that being said, these are the thoughts I leave you with to ponder and peruse:

Timeless brands believe in what makes them different. They have conviction. They’re unapologetic. Tiffany & Co. is one of many brands that operate with this philosophy—sometimes, to a detriment. That being said, selling the product is not only achieved through direct-response, but done through brand-forward activations that live in the core identity, personality, and connective messaging that acts more like a doorway, rather than a handshake.

This was one of the rules found in Gene Moore’s design brief, way back before he created the first window art piece. The purpose of narrative design, copy, and advertising is to make the witness stop in their tracks.

This doesn’t have to lead to an instant sale. This is about grabbing attention with long-term tactics, not cheap tricks.

(Don’t confuse this with “baiting” them—you should feel inclined to court your customers, partners, and dealmakers as much as you feel the need them to buy from you)

This is essential as not only a creative, but a person building anything that matters. Trends are temporary. They’re designed to keep your attention for a fraction of a second, sit in the limelight for fifteen minutes, then disappear into the void until you forget they ever happened in the first place.

You are not building a trend.

You are building a legacy.

If you want to be iconic, you have to do iconic things. There is nothing traditional or expected at all about Gene Moore’s window art displays.

Rather than take this letter literally and copy what he did for your own brand, think of it instead like this—”How can we do the exact opposite of what everyone else is doing?”

There’s your answer.

Don’t confuse this for “evergreen.”

While those campaigns have a place, they’re not the North Star. Smart brand-builders understand the difference between evergreen campaigns you need to cycle through to keep your sales running vs. campaigns designed to live—and be recognized—for years.

Gene Moore’s window art was so timeless, so irresistible, that decades after his death, the brand revived and paid homage to his work through the eyes of another creative.

This is the mark of a campaign that created an impression of the brand early, and beautifully.

I almost didn’t want to talk about this story in the first issue because of the potential confusion I would instill in my readers.

I’m carving out my own category in brand language, worldbuilding, copy, messaging, etc.—and calling it brand narrative design. This is still a new term, planting its roots, and creating immense value for brands through action and recognition of service, not from the definition alone.

It’s strange to champion a term like this as a writer, and claim that a window art piece—that didn’t include a copywriter at all—is an incredible example of narrative design.

This is because narrative is about direction, taste, and creative strategy.

It is not solely about writing the words. Ever.

While words are powerful, and I believe the most powerful brands leverage language in the earliest possible stages—it’s why I do what I do—there’s an argument to be made for ideas crafted so stunningly through a visual maker’s hands, that you have no choice but to play your part, pull up your bootstraps, look them in the eye, and say:

“I will do whatever I can to connect your vision to the brand’s world.”

For all the reasons that surprised me, this ended up being the perfect first story to explore within the White Stag Club.

This is your first step into the hunt.

To create something of your own. To invest in an idea that excites you. To envision what could be possible for the world you wish to create—narrative, first.

Thank you for reading the first issue of White Stag.

Your feedback also means everything to me right now, as the sole writer, creative director, and operator behind White Stag Club and its partner studio—both of which are officially launching in public, today.

None of this would be possible without you.

If you want to contribute to the next letter, have any feedback you’d like to share, or are simply excited for what’s to come…

Reply to this email with a note.

I read every single one.

See you next month, Stags.

Sincerely,

Taylor