I Know There Are Other Brands… I Still Choose This One.

I was on Strava one morning, prepping my route, still half-asleep, waiting for the coffee to kick in. You know the drill — scroll through who's riding what, where, how fast. I told myself I’d just check my route, nothing else. But habits are stronger than discipline, so I opened Instagram.

Just a quick scroll, I thought.And there it was.

A rider I follow — stylish as hell, annoyingly effortless — was wearing this kit that looked... designed. Like it had a point of view. Clean, technical, with that kind of modern minimalism that feels curated, not accidental. It didn’t scream “cyclist.” It whispered something more refined.

Pas Normal Studios. I had no idea who they were, but I instantly knew I wanted to wear it. Not because I needed new gear. Not because it was functional. Because it looked like how I wanted to feel on the bike.

I could’ve just bought it online — I found it easily enough. But I didn’t want a box at my door. I wanted the full thing. The try-on. The mirror. The experience. So I waited. Weeks passed. Then I landed in Austin, walked into The Meteor (The best coffee shop in ATX), and there it was. The jersey. The bibs. The damn vibe. I didn’t think about price (of course). I didn’t think about materials. I didn’t think at all. I just imagined myself riding in it. That was all that mattered.

And that was just the beginning.

From that point forward, Pas Normal became my brand. The one I defaulted to. The one I waited on when new seasons dropped. Not because I needed more, but because the ritual of buying from them felt personal. Like I was keeping something alive — some version of myself that I really liked.

That’s what brand attachment does to you. You stop comparing. You stop questioning. You just… commit. It’s not about specs or stitching. It’s about the emotion tied to that logo. The memory of that first ride. The feeling of becoming someone when you wear it.

But it wasn’t just emotional. It was identity.

Pas Normal slowly became part of how I saw myself. Not just what I wore — who I was when I wore it. The kind of cyclist who knows, who chooses intentionally, who doesn’t need to match the group to feel like he belongs. I wasn’t buying gear. I was reinforcing a narrative. Telling myself, and the world, who I am — or at least who I want to be at least on the bike.

And then it happened. The Monterrey takeover :(. One day, it felt like every cyclist in the city had discovered Pas Normal. The brand became the brand. Suddenly, the Sunday rides looked like a starter pack. Everyone looked like everyone else (it was realy fun haha).

And that’s not me. I’ve never liked being part of the crowd. I’ve dropped brands before for that very reason — I let go of ON the second it became too predictable. But this time… I couldn’t. Pas Normal had gone too deep. It wasn’t just a brand I wore. It was a brand I’d internalized So instead of walking away, I adjusted. I became more selective. I stopped buying the obvious stuff. I hunted for the weird pieces. The low-key colors, the left-of-center collabs, the gear that still felt like mine. Because even if everyone else was wearing it, I still wanted to find a way to feel like I wasn’t.

That’s the thing about identity-based marketing — once the brand aligns with who you think you are, leaving it behind starts to feel like erasing part of yourself. Even when you know there are better options. Even when the magic fades. You stay. Not because it makes sense. But because it makes you feel like you.

Pas Normal isn’t perfect. I know there are better products out there. But when I reach into the drawer, I still grab that jersey. Not for performance. Not for quality. But because when I put it on, something clicks. And I remember who I am when I ride.

And honestly, sometimes that’s all I really need.