AI has turned creative work into a volume problem. The tools can generate endless options, drafts, and “good enough” versions of the thing. Which is exactly why the hard part hasn’t disappeared, it has just moved. In 2026, the scarce resource isn’t output, it’s judgment, the kind you only get by living inside a discipline long enough to know what to keep, what to kill, and what’s quietly average.

At Relish, questions about how to use AI come up constantly. Clients ask us about it. Prospects ask us about it. Internally, we’re watching new tools and features land every week, and trying to answer a surprisingly unglamorous question: what belongs in the workflow, and what doesn’t?

Underneath a lot of these conversations is the same uneasy assumption: that creative work can now be done cheaper and faster because AI can generate output.

We’re not “the AI agency.” We’re not trying to turn everything into a prompt. We’re doing what most teams are doing right now, poking at the tools, stress-testing them, and keeping what earns its keep.

When AI is useful for us, it’s upstream. It helps us get to more starting points faster, explore alternatives we might not have explored, and compress research into something we can react to. Then the human work begins: selection, edits, restraint, and the final calls that make the work feel owned.

The question is placement: where it helps, and where it starts quietly lowering the bar.

A framework we keep coming back to is a simple 2×2. One axis is AI usage (not using it vs using it). The other is judgment (weak vs strong). The only tweak we make is that judgment isn’t a personality trait. It’s local. It lives inside a discipline. You earn it through reps.

When you combine high AI usage with weak judgment, you get Slop Cannons, high volume, low signal. When you combine high AI usage with strong judgment, you get Turbo Brains, speed without losing taste. Low AI usage with strong judgment is Steady Hands. Low AI usage with weak judgment is Dead Weight.

A marketer can have sharp judgment in paid acquisition and still be a beginner in brand systems. A designer can be deadly in typography and composition and still have no feel for what makes someone click and convert. The point is that judgment is local. AI can amplify judgment where it already exists, it doesn’t transplant it into a different lane.

That’s what the 2×2 clarifies. AI isn’t a blanket upgrade. It’s amplification. In the right lane, it multiplies skill and speed. Out of lane, it multiplies noise. And because output is cheap now, selection becomes the work.

This is where we keep seeing confusion. A lot of brands, especially under budget pressure, try to use AI to shortcut disciplines, generating everything from brand story to campaign creative, packaging, and ads. From a distance, it looks like momentum, because a lot of files get created. But competitive markets don’t reward “something exists.” In CPG, the bar is high, and consumers have a ruthless slop detector. They can feel when something is generic, unowned, and stitched together.

What holds up is work with a point of view. Decisions that feel earned, not generated. Cohesion you only get when someone with depth in the lane is steering.

We don’t know exactly what creative workflows will look like two years from now, but we’re confident about the constraint: AI can speed you up, it can’t give you depth. If anything, it’s making that depth easier to spot.

At Cannes Lions this year, creators weren’t guests. They ran the room. Not tagging along—but speaking on panels, hosting brand events, shaping the agenda. Their presence wasn’t decorative. It was defining.

What’s your point?

Cannes Lions—long seen as marketing’s global power center—was once the domain of agency executives and award-winning broadcast work. This year, it was creators in the spotlight. That’s not symbolic. It’s structural.

Because when the biggest stage in advertising shifts its focus, it signals something deeper: money and influence are moving.

Budgets Don’t Lie

Earlier this year, Unilever—one of the largest advertisers in the world and the kind of company that used to be the old guard—announced it would direct 50% of its total marketing spend to influencers and creators. Not experimental budgets. Not one department. Half.

And it’s not just them. Influencer marketing is expected to hit $33 billion globally in 2025 (36% up from 2024), with over $10 billion of that coming from the U.S.

This isn’t a trend. It’s a realignment of priorities—and it all comes down to where people are actually paying attention.

The Channel Is People

For decades, marketing was built around centralized media. A handful of networks. A few big agencies. Mass reach, top-down messaging.

Today, attention is fragmented. People don’t follow channels—they follow people. And those people have become the new infrastructure of marketing.

Creators don’t just feel more real—they already hold the attention brands are trying to earn. They’ve built loyalty, trust, and distribution from the ground up. That gives them something media dollars can’t manufacture: a direct line to culture.

But Isn’t It All Getting Old?

Creator content is everywhere. Isn’t it starting to blur together? Too many posts. Too much product placement. A creeping sense of sameness.

But that’s not a flaw in the channel—it’s a failure of imagination.

Take Axe’s recent collaboration with creators Grant Beans and Jericho Mencke—a sponsored post that feels more David Lynch than digital ad. (Yes, Axe is Unilever—and yes, this is that 50% at work.)

 

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And it’s not a one-off.

Social platforms are full of creators blending narrative, humor, and performance. The best ones are pushing the boundaries—doing work that would never survive a traditional production pipeline.

Endless creativity. Zero committee.

The savviest brands are already shifting their budgets. Why spend months in bloated review cycles when someone else can move the needle by Monday—for a fraction of the cost?

What This Means for Brands

Still, many brands treat creators like a side bet: send out a few products, cross their fingers, hope for a post.

But this isn’t a nice-to-have anymore. It’s a core growth lever. And when it underdelivers, it’s not because the space is saturated. It’s because the strategy is shallow.

Getting this right means rethinking where creators sit in your planning process. Not at the end of the campaign—but at the start of the concept.

The brands doing this well aren’t asking, “How do we plug creators into our idea?” They’re starting with, “What can we build together?”

Getting It Right

If you’re building a brand in 2025 and you haven’t figured this out yet, now’s the time.

And if you’re a founder or marketer at a brand under $10M trying to crack influencer marketing, let’s talk.

We’re Relish. A performance studio (not an agency). We’re a small, focused team that works with a select group of brands to solve hard marketing problems—deeply, carefully, and without the fluff. Our influencer playbook is one of our sharpest tools.

If you’re ready to take this channel seriously, we’ll show you how.

Daniel Nikolovski—a Skopje-born designer now based in Milan—spent a decade shaping interiors and furniture before something quieter—and sharper—pulled him in a new direction.

In 2023, he launched TRAGA: a glassware brand built on the radical idea that small objects can carry monumental energy.

Today, TRAGA’s playful, sharp-edged glasses are popping up everywhere—from Milan to Melbourne. And Daniel’s mission is clear: to create objects that don’t just serve a function, but leave a mark.

Breaking the Mold

When Daniel first moved to Milan at 18 to study interior design, he thought his career would be about rooms and spaces. And it was—for a while. But every project, every client meeting, every study assignment seemed to pull him back to one thing: objects. Smaller, personal, intentional.

The first TRAGA product—a dual-purpose martini-and-shot glass—didn’t come from a business plan. It was born from instinct. He produced a small batch with local artisans. The response was immediate. Something had struck a nerve.

“I had tried a lot of things independently,” he says, “but nothing really worked. This worked. And when something works, you don’t ignore it.”

A Language of Contrasts

The name—TRAGA—calls back to Daniel’s roots. In Macedonian, “traga” means a trace or mark. A perfect metaphor for objects designed to leave an imprint long after the drink is finished.

Visually, TRAGA pieces echo the boldness of brutalist architecture, shaped by Daniel’s upbringing in Skopje. But there’s a refined, almost radical lightness too—drawing from Italy’s postmodern and rationalist design traditions.

In every piece, there’s duality: Luxury and informality. Function and irreverence.

“I love polished design,” Daniel says. “But I don’t want to be too serious about it. Life isn’t that serious. Design shouldn’t be either.”

It’s why one TRAGA glass can be used for a cocktail… or flipped upside down for a shot. And why the pieces feel equally at home on a white tablecloth or a crowded apartment party.

“I don’t want to make sommelier glasses,” he says. “I want to make objects you live with.”

Glass Without Borders

A year after launch, TRAGA is already stocked across the world—from boutiques in New York to concept stores in Dubai and London. No agents. No sales teams. Just good design, strong visuals, and the slow, steady magic of word of mouth.

His Milan studio is a laboratory. A space for events, collaborations, and experiments. A showroom, yes—but mostly a launchpad for ideas.

This spring, TRAGA hosted Glasslands—a group show spotlighting independent glass designers pushing the boundaries of the material. It was a reminder that in a city dominated by mega-fairs and monumental furniture launches, there’s still room for insurgent ideas—and smaller, more personal revolutions.

Shaping the Next Chapter

New pieces are already on the way.

This fall, Daniel will release two new designs: a sculptural coffee mug and a minimalist water glass (the latter created through an open-call collaboration with designer Federico Fontanella).

The vision is expanding, but the ethos stays the same: Objects that are functional, but never boring. Design that’s polished, but never pretentious.

The Lesson in All This

Spending time with Daniel was a reminder that creative paths are rarely straight—and almost never fully planned.

TRAGA wasn’t born from a grand roadmap. It came from trial, error, instinct, and risk. From putting something into the world and seeing where it could lead.

And that’s often the hardest step for any creative: to start. To say, “Here’s my idea. Here’s my voice. Here’s my work. What do you think?” Without certainty. Without a guaranteed outcome.

But it’s in that first leap—however small, however rough—that something new can begin to take shape. Something bold enough to leave a mark.

This feature is part of an ongoing series by Relish—spotlighting brands and creatives with Balkan roots who are shaping the future of design, food, fashion, and beyond. Relish is a creative studio bridging Skopje and Chicago.

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Words: Dimitar Popov

For those new hear, we’re Relish—a creative studio born in the Balkans, bridging Skopje and Chicago.

In our line of work, we meet incredible founders, creatives, and visionaries—people building brands that push boundaries, reimagine traditions, and introduce something entirely new to the world. Many of them have ties to this region. Many of them have stories that deserve to be told.

But there hasn’t been a platform to celebrate them. So we decided to create one.

This is the first in a series of interviews spotlighting brands and creatives connected to the Balkans—exploring how creativity shapes their work, how heritage and innovation intersect, and what it really takes to build something lasting.

And for our first conversation, we couldn’t have asked for a better subject.

Katrina Markoff—a second-generation Macedonian, currently based in Chicago—built Vosges Haut-Chocolat, a brand that redefined chocolate and earned global acclaim. Named one of the 10 Best Chocolatiers in the World (National Geographic), honored by President Obama, and celebrated by Fortune & Bon Appétit, she’s a true pioneer in food and branding.

To be honest, I was a little intimidated.

This was my first time sitting down for an interview like this, and I stumbled through it more than once. But from the moment Katrina started speaking, I understood why her work has resonated with so many.

She doesn’t just make chocolate. She distills meaning into everything she does.

Her newest venture, Violet Flame, isn’t just about indulgence—it’s about presence. About what happens when we stop, taste, and actually feel.

Body Over Mind

We live in a world that moves fast.

We scroll, we consume, we optimize. We forget to taste.

For years, Katrina built Vosges Haut-Chocolat on the belief that taste is more than pleasure—it’s memory, emotion, transformation. But as Vosges became a global name, Katrina felt the pull to create something more personal.

“I was following outside voices more than my own,” she admits. “I wasn’t tuned into my body’s intuitive voice.”

Growth changes both the founder and the brand—and sometimes, they need to take different paths.

That realization led her to Violet Flame—a brand that isn’t just about chocolate, but about coming back to yourself. About slowness. About instinct. About tasting like you mean it.

A Sixth Sense

Katrina describes her process as a portal to intuition.

“As I reconnected with it, I discovered that tasting chocolate in a particular way—through deep sensory immersion—became a gateway to my sixth sense, my intuition. By fully engaging one or more senses, I entered a state of gnosis, where the quieting of the mind didn’t just bring stillness but unlocked something greater: the active imagination, carrying a message waiting to be revealed.”

Violet Flame gets its name from a 15th-century French alchemist who described seeing a violet-colored light in his third eye. It wasn’t a flame that burned—it was a flame that purified, clearing negative thoughts and replacing them with clarity, renewal, power.

Katrina felt that shift herself.

To her, fear is energy—neither good nor bad, just fuel. The only question is: will it paralyze or propel?

And for her, that choice began with slowness.

Slowness is countercultural. We live in a world that rewards speed—optimization, efficiency, momentum. But what happens when we slow down?

That’s the fire behind Violet Flame.

Flavors of the Balkans

Now, Katrina is looking ahead—not just to the future of Violet Flame, but to the origins of flavor itself.

She’s thinking about the foods that shaped her, even from a distance. Her family is Macedonian, and while she didn’t grow up in the region, she feels the pull to reconnect—not just with the place, but with its ingredients, its terroir, its essence.

Perhaps a Macedonian-inspired chocolate collection. A sourcing trip to explore flavors that have been part of her lineage for generations.

The Balkans are full of ingredients waiting to be rediscovered. Apricots, almonds, wild herbs, mountain honey. If you’re working with them, we’d love to hear from you. Because if Katrina finds what she’s looking for here, it could be the start of something special (consider this your cue to share this article with your diaspora group chat).

The Lesson in All This

My conversation with Katrina kept bringing me back to one of Brian Collins’s core philosophies. As one of the most influential minds in branding, he put it simply: “People don’t fall in love with what you make. People fall in love with why you made it.”

Violet Flame is an embodiment of this—which is why I have no doubt it will resonate.

It’s Katrina’s personal experience—her search for reconnection, her journey back to herself—distilled into something we can taste.

She’s taking her expertise as a chocolatier and applying it to something bigger than indulgence. She’s using it to solve a problem we all wrestle with: staying present in a world that constantly pulls us away.

And she’s inviting us to taste her own transformation.

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Words: Dimitar Popov
Graphics: Anastazija Manasievska

Brands know they should be intentional. But most aren’t. Why?

Because intentionality demands patience. It feels slow. And hustle culture glorifies speed. Chase the next milestone! The next funding round! The next big launch! Moving fast and breaking things is sexy. Being deliberate isn’t.

The reality? Chasing speed now often means sacrificing the foundation for lasting success.

Rushing to market with a half-baked brand? You’ll spend years rebuilding it. Fixating on vanity metrics? You’ll miss building real customer relationships. Prioritizing growth over purpose? You’ll grow right into irrelevance.

Being intentional has a cost. It might mean missing that expo, flat revenue for a few months (sometimes years), or saying no to opportunistic partnerships. It feels like falling behind. But you’re building a foundation while others are building sandcastles.

The most successful brands aren’t the fastest out of the gate. They’re the ones with staying power.

Remember: The tortoise beats the hare—not with speed, but with unwavering consistency.

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Words: Dimitar Popov
Graphics: Anastazija Manasievska

I recently heard something that quantified years of marketing intuition.

Preston Rutherford, co-founder of men’s apparel brand Chubbies (acquired in a nine-figure deal), shared the ’95-5 rule’ in a recent interview. It’s simple but profound: Only 5% of your potential market is ready to buy at any given moment.

Pause and think about that.

All that sweat over ad optimization, conversion tweaks, and sharper hooks… and 95% of your audience isn’t even in the market. They’re not saying no. They’re saying not now.

The old playbook said: Target. Convert. Repeat. It worked, until it didn’t. Now, algorithms shift. Ad costs soar. Consumers yawn.

The new playbook? Be memorable.

Build a brand that sticks. Create content that resonates. Foster a community that lasts. Don’t push people down a funnel. Be there when they’re ready to jump.

It’s not about the perfect ad or the sharpest hook. It’s about being unforgettable.

Because when that 95% is finally ready to buy, they won’t search. They’ll remember.

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Words: Dimitar Popov

Your next thousand customers are just a verse-jump away.

In Everything Everywhere All at Once, verse-jumping unlocks limitless potential. It’s instant access to skills, knowledge, and power from parallel universes. One moment you’re folding laundry; the next, you’re a kung fu master.

For brands, influencer partnerships are the real-world equivalent.

Each influencer is a leap into a new universe. A universe with its own audience, already assembled. Already engaged. Already trusting.

One jump: You’re dishing recipes with foodies.
Another: You’re front row at Fashion Week.
A third: You’re on the mat at a meditation retreat.

Verse-jumping isn’t just faster. It’s exponential.

Best Practices for a Successful Multiversal Journey

1. Map Your Multiverse
   Identify influencers whose universes align with your brand values. Relevance trumps reach.
2. Master the Jump
   Start small. Test partnerships before big commitments. Learn the rhythm of each universe.
3. Respect the Laws of Each Universe
   Each influencer’s world has its own rules. Adapt, don’t disrupt.
4. Measure Multiversal Success
   Look beyond immediate ROI. Consider long-term brand building and audience expansion.

Looking to jump into the multiverse? We’d love to help.

As global culture homogenizes—cafes in Stockholm serve the same avocado toast as bistros in Buenos Aires—true inspiration often hides in plain sight. For Relish, a creative studio with deep roots in Skopje, this truth revealed itself in the most quintessential of local places: a kafana.

Picture this: A dimly lit eatery, air thick with the aroma of grilled kebab and lively conversation. Amidst the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter, a drawing caught my eye. It wasn’t perfectly hung, but it was perfectly captivating – a candlelit dinner scene that spoke volumes in its simplicity.

The signature revealed the artist: Jovan Dimovski, a name I was unfamiliar with, but undeniably Macedonian. Dated 1960, it looked like a napkin sketch from another era. I wondered if it depicted this very kafana. A certificate of authenticity hung nearby, complete with a contact email.

On a whim, I sent out an email, asking if we could scan the drawing to hang up in our office. I really didn’t expect to hear back—it felt like a long shot.

I got a response back almost immediately and felt a jolt of unexpected thrill. It came from George Dimovski – son of Jovan. His words brimmed with emotion as he shared the story of his father’s Parisian adventures in the 1960s, each sentence painting a vivid picture of a time when Macedonia’s artists sought inspiration far beyond their borders, only to bring it home again.

At Relish, we’ve always believed that creativity thrives at intersections. Between cultures, between eras, between the expected and the surprising. Heritage. The threads that tie past to present, local to global.

The unexpected beauty of this discovery sparked an idea. With George’s blessing, we reimagined that kafana discovery as the heart of our upcoming event invitation—we were in the midst of planning our annual mixer. A scanned drawing transformed into a postcard.

Our event became a sort of continuation of Jovan’s dinner scene. A celebration of the unexpected connections that tie us to our past and propel us into the future. A testament to the enduring power of art to bridge generations and cultures.

Macedonia is a small country with a big history. To locals, its beauty and richness are often overlooked. But in every kafana, every street corner, every casual conversation, there’s a story waiting to be told.

In an era that feels too fast, too digital, too disconnected, there’s still immense power in a shared meal, a chance discovery, and a story passed down through generations. Sometimes, all it takes is a visit to the tavern next door to get that reminder.

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Words: Dimitar Popov