The wordmark is set in Milkbar, a heavy, rounded display face, stacked on two lines. The O in Wholly is an actual protein bite, and the exclamation point runs the full height of both lines. The guidelines call it non-negotiable. I meant that.

For small spaces there's a WB! monogram. It ends up on stickers, caps and the side of a tote, and on top of a protein bite whenever the photo gives it room.

The pouch layout never moves. The color does. Each flavor gets a lead color pulled from what's in it, so you can tell the Mac Daddy from the Ma-Stachio across the aisle before you can read either name.

Every pouch reads in the same order. Wordmark first, then the flavor name on a painted brush stroke, then one line of copy that's allowed to be a little ridiculous. The Mac Daddy's says it's so good it's practically a crime.

Under that sit three round badges for gluten free, dairy free, and protein per ball. They answer the label-reader before the pouch gets turned over. Behind everything runs a faint topo line pattern, which turned out to be the only quiet thing on the pack.

That line sits at the top of every pouch, and it more or less wrote the rest of the voice. The brand talks the way a friend on a long hike talks. A bit cheeky, never preachy about nutrition, and willing to say "damn" when it's funnier that way.

The guidelines book pulls it all into one place: the palette, both typefaces (Milkbar for display, Dumpling for everything smaller), the topo pattern, the WB! marks and the icons, so whoever picks it up next doesn't have to guess.

None of the photography happens in a gym. The pouches turn up on a granite ledge and on a snowy railing at the ski hill next to something hot, because that's where people actually reach for them.

It's trail food and between-meetings food. The brand never tries to pass it off as a diet product, and the pictures don't either.