This essay is about stories, and about how they change. Thus, it’s perhaps appropriate to begin with a story of my own. Once upon a time, when I was an awkward, unpopular boy in the seventh grade, I lamented the fact that I had no nickname. So I decided to give myself one. I decided that I would be known as “Scooter.” I announced this fact to all of my peers and directed them to stop calling me “Michael” and instead refer to me as “Scooter.” I was naive enough to think this would be sufficient to move me into that glorious realm of popular boys who had nicknames, but you, Dear Reader, are wise enough to realize that I was wrong. This effort failed. And I saw why in vivid detail years later when I went to college. Another incoming student, who would eventually be a dear friend of mine, was assigned in freshman year to a senior roommate. When the senior, Gary, took one look at Jay, in all his skinny, bespectacled glory, he nicknamed him “Scooter,” and it immediately stuck. Everyone called him “Scooter.” Jay thus became “Scooter,” (and Scooter eventually became my roommate sophomore year, bringing me as close to the nickname as I would ever get), and I learned a valuable lesson. As much as we might wish otherwise, the labels that stick are rarely the ones we choose for ourselves.

A second story is relevant. In Letters to a Young Contrarian, the late Christopher Hitchens tells the story of a former Teamsters Union official who was testifying before a Senate committee. According to the story (perhaps true, perhaps apocryphal), he was asked if his union was powerful, and in turn he offered a memorable reply, suggesting that being powerful is similar to being ladylike: “If you have to say you are, you prob’ly ain’t.” Having lived and worked in Lewiston/Auburn, Maine since 1999, I’ve frequently been reminded of this response, particularly when encountering the slogan that long defined efforts to change the image of this old New England mill town. “L/A: It’s Happening Here” was an attempt to capture, in a single sentence, the resurgence of a community that was moving past economic and social struggle, and moving into its own renaissance. But, for me, every time I saw “It’s Happening Here,” I could only wonder the obvious: If you have to say that it’s happening here, then is it really?

More generally, when I encounter such efforts as the “It’s Happening Here” campaign, and others like it, I am left with a question. I’m left wondering what exactly it takes for a community that has historically been stuck with a negative reputation to change it. As a psychology professor, and as one who teaches a course that touches in part on community reputation, I have an academic interest in the question. And as a resident of a community that once thrived when the mills were active, but struggled after they closed, and continues to carry a stigma that took root during those decades of struggle, and as a resident eager to see this community do well, I have a practical interest in the question too.

Judging by both their words and actions, some think that an important part of changing L/A’s reputation is better marketing. Insofar as the local community is a product, they say the product is good and what’s most needed is to sell it more effectively. For example, Jason Levesque, CEO of a marketing firm with a Lewiston location, recently wrote an op-ed titled, “Portland Has Some Problems, and LA Has The Answer!” He opens the essay by saying that people who live and work in Lewiston/Auburn already know that the community has “outgrown the stereotype as the underdeveloped twin cities that have been economically stagnant for decades and devoid of an attractive culture.” In other words, he thinks that this community is a product ready to be sold. And he goes on to lay out a marketing strategy designed to convince more residents of Portland to move from Maine’s largest urban center to L/A.

I’ll leave it to my friends in Portland to speak authoritatively to how persuasive his analysis is of their city, and how effective his strategy would be in convincing them to take up residence in Lewiston/Auburn. Yes, Levesque does admit that our friends in Portland currently enjoy a few “perks,” as he terms them. The perks he lists are “almost as many restaurants per capita as New York City,” as well as “wonderful museums [and] shopping,” and also what he belittles as “a nice looking bay with some pretty islands.” Although many might consider a dense concentration of restaurants (which have collectively gotten favorable coverage in the Boston Globeand the New York Times), as well as excellent museums and shopping, and ready access to the ocean, to be cornerstones of a vibrant urban culture, Levesque sees these as mere perks. Plus, as he later notes, Portland residents “are not able to use plastic bags.” Even if one sets aside the fact that he is mischaracterizing the actual ordinance in question, it’s still not clear how effective a slogan we’ll have if we go with “L/A: You Can Have All The Plastic Bags You Want Here.”

Admittedly, Levesque does present some more serious arguments than this, for instance pointing to the cost of living in Portland and the relatively affordable housing in L/A. But the core of what he’s arguing is that L/A is a location that many Portland residents would find appealing if they only knew more about the area. Our problem is a marketing problem. According to The Law of the Hammer (“give a man a hammer and everywhere he sees nails that need pounding”), we shouldn’t be surprised that the CEO of a marketing firm would see L/A’s problems as primarily marketing problems. But I have my doubts. Too much of a focus on marketing our current strengths may result in no more success than my own seventh grade efforts to rebrand myself as “Scooter.”

In the journal Marketing Theory, Gary Warnaby and Dominic Medway argue that “the notion of a place itself is something created and produced by people and their actions, either individually or within the context of organisations.” In their article, they describe efforts in Manchester, England to reclaim a positive reputation for the city after riots in 2011. At the heart of their analysis is an “I Love MCR” campaign which was largely organized by marketers in the Manchester area. It involved a logo, various events, and even the waiving of parking fees to lure people back to the city center. According to Marketing Manchester, the goal of the campaign was “to show the world that the people of Manchester are proud of their city and united against anti-social behaviour.” This framing of the goal sounds appealing–surely we all want to unite against “anti-social behavior”–but this framing of the campaign has been contested. Richard Goulding suggested that the “I Love MCR” marketing campaign might have simply papered over the real concerns that motivated the rioters. And Warnaby and Medway argue that “the campaign itself cannot erase the perception of Manchester as a violent or unlawful place for those still wishing to understand, perceive, or create it as such.” Setting aside the specifics of Manchester’s image (and I’m fortunate to live in a place that is neither violent nor unlawful), Warnaby and Medway’s general point is that the perception of the place is, ultimately, not under the control of the marketers.

Personally, I hope they’re right. Despite any good intentions of place marketers, my worry is that they are likely to sell a relatively bland image of our community, one that is “family-friendly” and safe, so that it will appeal to consumers with disposable income. But that image can be more boring than what the people in the place are actually up to. And what Warnaby and Medway argue is that the people who consume the place are “producers of place too.” It’s a democratic vision of place and place marketing. All of us who live here and work here and visit here, we all make the place, even if what we do and say doesn’t fit with the story that place marketers are trying to tell. YouTube clips such as Bummah Gurney’s “Dirty Lew” music video may not be “positive” enough, and the language may be too coarse, to fit with marketing efforts to rebrand Lewiston, but Bummah will not be silenced. And he shouldn’t be silenced. In his music, he’s doing something. And what he does is gritty and creative and interesting, and his almost 30,000 “Dirty” views suggest he has an audience.

Lewiston/Auburn has its fair share of cheerleaders who are doing the kind of marketing work for which Levesque calls. But my hypothesis–or at least my hunch–is that what’s doing more to cultivate a stronger, more complex, and more interesting image of the community is the work in the trenches that local folks are doing to advance their respective crafts. He’s just one person, but one of the guys whom I chatted up at Lewiston’s Baxter Brewing this weekend had this to say when I asked how much slogans and marketing do to change L/A’s reputation: “Nothing.” He then gestured around the facility and said that what changes the community’s reputation is companies such as Baxter that do excellent work that gets noticed. Naturally, I’m biased, but I agree with him. What is it that primarily changes people’s perceptions of this place, or any place? A big part of it is excellent craft in brewing, food, cinema, fashion, visual arts, and the performing arts. It’s the good work on the ground here in L/A, work that’s so good that people notice. My hunch is that’s what primarily changes people’s perceptions of the place where that good work is done.

Is there some need for marketing? Of course there is. It’s probably naive to think that if we just build it, they’ll naturally come. (But that view is probably less naive than thinking that a primary focus on talking about how great we are is going to bear any more fruit than my efforts to talk about how much of a “Scooter” I was.) There has to be some marketing. But I am guessing that such marketing is far less important than excellence in craft. And even where marketing is important it may not be that the most fruitful marketing is the sort that Levesque calls for, marketing what’s already here in L/A to Portland families. What may instead be more important is marketing L/A to entrepreneurs, including creative practitioners who will bring fresh ideas into unused mill space. Can we, among other things, create our own version of Biddeford’s success with its mills?

If I’m right, we will soon hit a point (if we haven’t already passed it) where this community needs fewer cheerleaders singing its praises, and more people just doing the best they can to do good work “either individually or within the context of organisations,” to return to Warnaby and Medway’s phrase. In line with the focus of this blog, I suspect a big part of that work will be excellence in craft. Whatever you make or whatever you do, do it as well as you can, and find partners and mentors and do it even better. If enough people here in this community do that, people here and elsewhere will eventually notice.

This is not gospel truth. It’s just a hypothesis. People in L/A can put it to the test by spending less time engaging in Levesquian cheerleading, and more time honing their craft. Resist the temptation to talk about how great this place is. People who agree with you don’t need to hear it. People who disagree are probably going to scoff. Spend less time talking about how great you think L/A’s story is, and spend more time doing something story-worthy. It would be interesting to see what happened next.

Michael Sargent is an associate professor of psychology at Bates College. He has lived in Lewiston since 1999 and leads The Corner, a monthly storytelling event.