When I was growing up there was a little New York ditty that my mother and other people's mothers would often remind me of.
If I passed an expensive clothing store or wanted something costly, it was likely my shrewishly parsimonious mater would breathe "eat with the masses." If I made a caustic remark about a discount store, I'd hear "dine with the classes."
The phrase I'm referring to is this, "If you make for the masses, you dine with the classes. If you make for the classes, you eat with the masses."
Somehow, this equation is not considered within the agency world today. TV which reaches masses is excoriated. Building elaborate machinery to garner a few thousand Facebook "likes" is praised to the heavens.
Even the lauded to the heavens Old Spice "Man you could smell like" has only been seen by, maybe, 50 million people online. That's a considerable number--and yes, I know the engagement is deeper than that of a TV commercial, but compared with the reach of broadcast, we are speaking of tiny numbers.
Of course, the real issue here may be one of cost. It seems to cost agencies as much to produce a TV spot this hits hundreds of millions as it does to create an app that engages hundreds.
I haven't worked all this out as yet. But at least I'm trying to listen to my mother.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Winston Churchill updated for the very model of a modern advertising agency.
Never have so many done so little for so few.
A call from Aunt Sylvie.
Aunt Sylvie called last night, right in the middle of the basketball game. I knew immediately something is wrong because Sylvie hardly speaks unless something is wrong. Aunt Sylvie is Uncle Slappy’s wife. They’ve been married for 62 years and she’s played second fiddle that whole time. Mostly when you try to engage Aunt Sylvie in conversation what you get is hand motions and dismissals.
“A beautiful day here in New York today, Aunt Sylvie.”
“Ach, New York,” she spits with the back of her hand.
“We went to the opera last Wednesday,” I say, trying to draw her out.
“Ach, the opera,” she spits back at me.
“This was our first Wagner,” I persist.
Now, she introduces a bit of poetry into her response:
“Wagner, Schmagner,” she says, “Germansche schwein.”
“Is everything ok, Aunt Sylvie?” I ask.
“Is everything ok?” she rejoins. “I would be calling if everything was ok?”
“Well,” I begin, worried, “whatsamatta?”
“Your Uncle Slappy,” she begins.
“Did he fall again?” I ask. Over the winter Uncle Slappy fell in the frozen foods at the Piggly Wiggly and “sprained his back.”
“Ach, did he fall again? He falls like a helium balloon, he falls.”
“Then what, Sylvie?”
“The cable is out.”
Now I take Aunt Sylvie’s role. “The cable is out?”
“The cable is out.”
“Did you call the call the cable company?”
“Did I call the cable company? You think the cable company is waiting for my call?”
“Aunt Sylvie, usually when the cable is out you just have to reset your set-top box. It’s easy, they’ll walk you through it.”
“They’ll walk me through it?”
“It’s about as simple as turning it off and turning it on again.”
“Mr. Big Schot whiz kid.”
“Hey, listen Aunt Sylvie, whydontcha put Uncle Slappy on? Maybe we can do it together?”
Long story short, it turns out the cleaning lady had unplugged the RCA when she vacuumed the den. And Slappy had the game in no time, missing just a bit of the first half.
“A beautiful day here in New York today, Aunt Sylvie.”
“Ach, New York,” she spits with the back of her hand.
“We went to the opera last Wednesday,” I say, trying to draw her out.
“Ach, the opera,” she spits back at me.
“This was our first Wagner,” I persist.
Now, she introduces a bit of poetry into her response:
“Wagner, Schmagner,” she says, “Germansche schwein.”
“Is everything ok, Aunt Sylvie?” I ask.
“Is everything ok?” she rejoins. “I would be calling if everything was ok?”
“Well,” I begin, worried, “whatsamatta?”
“Your Uncle Slappy,” she begins.
“Did he fall again?” I ask. Over the winter Uncle Slappy fell in the frozen foods at the Piggly Wiggly and “sprained his back.”
“Ach, did he fall again? He falls like a helium balloon, he falls.”
“Then what, Sylvie?”
“The cable is out.”
Now I take Aunt Sylvie’s role. “The cable is out?”
“The cable is out.”
“Did you call the call the cable company?”
“Did I call the cable company? You think the cable company is waiting for my call?”
“Aunt Sylvie, usually when the cable is out you just have to reset your set-top box. It’s easy, they’ll walk you through it.”
“They’ll walk me through it?”
“It’s about as simple as turning it off and turning it on again.”
“Mr. Big Schot whiz kid.”
“Hey, listen Aunt Sylvie, whydontcha put Uncle Slappy on? Maybe we can do it together?”
Long story short, it turns out the cleaning lady had unplugged the RCA when she vacuumed the den. And Slappy had the game in no time, missing just a bit of the first half.
Quiet, please.
Last night was a big night in American sports. One university where athletes don't graduate or go class was playing another university where athletes don't graduate or go to class. This entire conflagration was funded--since these are public universities--by taxpayer dollars at a time when we don't otherwise have the financial wherewithal to buy a pack of Chiclets.
Here's what impresses me about sports. How little experts know and in how many convoluted ways they can express what they know so it sounds like they say a lot. They say things like, "We have to shut them down defensively, get them out of their game and run our fast-break and hit our shots."
Deconstruct that and you get "We have to keep them from scoring and score ourselves."
That's basically the level of discourse you get when you hear people discussing sports. And it's basically the level of discourse you get when you hear people discussing advertising.
"Did you select the best takes?""Have you included all the copy points?"
Pursuant to my previous point on chatter it all leads me to a very simple conclusion. 90% of all agency conversation is unnecessary. It is noise that fills what otherwise would be uncomfortable quiet.
I wonder if you could make money starting an agency called "Silence"?
Here's what impresses me about sports. How little experts know and in how many convoluted ways they can express what they know so it sounds like they say a lot. They say things like, "We have to shut them down defensively, get them out of their game and run our fast-break and hit our shots."
Deconstruct that and you get "We have to keep them from scoring and score ourselves."
That's basically the level of discourse you get when you hear people discussing sports. And it's basically the level of discourse you get when you hear people discussing advertising.
"Did you select the best takes?""Have you included all the copy points?"
Pursuant to my previous point on chatter it all leads me to a very simple conclusion. 90% of all agency conversation is unnecessary. It is noise that fills what otherwise would be uncomfortable quiet.
I wonder if you could make money starting an agency called "Silence"?
Monday, April 4, 2011
Chatter.
I don't know.
Did you do everything the client asked for from the last meeting?
Have you anticipated everything they could ask for in this meeting?
Have you thought about everything that could go wrong?
Has Bill seen it?
Has Charles seen it?
Has Lauren seen it?
Are you sure the deck is in the right order?
I know that was your recommendation last week, should that be your reco this week?
Do you think that SEC legal decision changes things?
Have you thought about directors?
Have you thought about music?
Have you thought about dps?
Have you thought about editors?
Does Frank need to see this?
Every time you create something these days it's accompanied by chatter. There are dozens of voices careening off the walls, ready to jump off a powerpoint deck and strangle your sense of confidence.
Chatter, the way I see it is propagated by people too nervous and too indiscreet to keep their fears and doubts to themselves. So they chatter out their fears. They give them air, room and light so their fears can grow.
People who chatter don't even realize they're being destructive. They harbor no malevolence. They're just inexperienced and nervous. They have no self-confidence. They are afraid their ass will get cut off at the knees. So they chatter.
Chatter has never made a good ad or television spot.
Chatter has never helped a client solve a tough problem.
Chatter has never won an award.
Despite that, some times chatterers get ahead.
They work in agencies that are careful, buttoned up and methodical.
Agencies that eliminate risk.
And they chatter their way upwards spouting all the things you haven't thought of,
all the paradigm shifts you haven't taken into account.
Chatter bounces off the halls and echoes through email and IM.
It doesn't build anything.
It just breaks things.
Mostly your spirit.
If you let it.
Did you do everything the client asked for from the last meeting?
Have you anticipated everything they could ask for in this meeting?
Have you thought about everything that could go wrong?
Has Bill seen it?
Has Charles seen it?
Has Lauren seen it?
Are you sure the deck is in the right order?
I know that was your recommendation last week, should that be your reco this week?
Do you think that SEC legal decision changes things?
Have you thought about directors?
Have you thought about music?
Have you thought about dps?
Have you thought about editors?
Does Frank need to see this?
Every time you create something these days it's accompanied by chatter. There are dozens of voices careening off the walls, ready to jump off a powerpoint deck and strangle your sense of confidence.
Chatter, the way I see it is propagated by people too nervous and too indiscreet to keep their fears and doubts to themselves. So they chatter out their fears. They give them air, room and light so their fears can grow.
People who chatter don't even realize they're being destructive. They harbor no malevolence. They're just inexperienced and nervous. They have no self-confidence. They are afraid their ass will get cut off at the knees. So they chatter.
Chatter has never made a good ad or television spot.
Chatter has never helped a client solve a tough problem.
Chatter has never won an award.
Despite that, some times chatterers get ahead.
They work in agencies that are careful, buttoned up and methodical.
Agencies that eliminate risk.
And they chatter their way upwards spouting all the things you haven't thought of,
all the paradigm shifts you haven't taken into account.
Chatter bounces off the halls and echoes through email and IM.
It doesn't build anything.
It just breaks things.
Mostly your spirit.
If you let it.
Mistakes.
One of the baffling things about living in the information age is that the experts and the pundits have decided barely twenty years into it that they have figured it all out.
I am thinking about this as I slog my way through a new tome by James Gleick called "The Information, A History, A Theory, A Flood." This morning I was reading a chapter on Charles Babbage, the mathematician whose life was fairly consumed by trying to invent a steam-powered mechanical calculating machine.
The need for this machine was evident. Logarithmic tables were vital yet notoriously inaccurate. The "Nautical Almanac" for example, published in 1792 printed tables with 19 errors, in 1793 the Almanac printed an erratum. Then, the next year, an erratum of the errata, then finally, an "erratum of the erratum of the errata." Yeesh.
The internet, our current technological marvel is not all that different from Babbage's mechanics. We are told endlessly that the internet will change everything. But, to me, everything seems pretty much the same. I still can't get an answer to a problem. I still can't get help from customer service. The big advantages, for me, are I have access to more books, but I still prefer going to my neighborhood independent bookseller that employs people who can actually read. Browsing online is not nearly as interesting (and it takes more time) than browsing in-person.
Finally, and what really set me off this morning, is the utter conviction in the assertions of the experts that the internet is a visual medium. How would you know this early into its development? It's too early to say anything about the internet with conviction. Except that its ubiquity will rise.
And how would you explain that the internet's most popular sites, Google, Facebook, Craig's List and Amazon are essentially information and word driven?
Saturday, April 2, 2011
100 Rembrandts.
I've lived in New York my whole life. I live now just six or seven miles from the hospital in which I was born, two miles from where I went to college, and fifteen miles from where I went to high school. But my inundations with New York haven't left me jaded or any less wondrous at all it has to offer.
Today Spring is in the air. A long-awaited Spring after a bleak and snowy Winter and the threat of snow as recently as yesterday. But today the air is warm, little tow-headed boys are playing catch with their Jamaican nannies in Central Park, the crocuses and daffodils are blooming and buds are showing their colors on trees that until recently were as grey as old soldiers.
My wife and I took a medium run and ended up by the Frick Collection, where in addition to their usual splendors, there's an exhibit called "Rembrandt and His School: Masterworks from the Frick and Lugt Collections." Dozens and dozens of Rembrandts with only dozens and dozens of viewers. (One of the great things about the Frick is that it's near the Metropolitan, the Whitney and the Guggenheim. These larger museums take the huge tourist crowds, leaving the Frick to cognoscenti and scores of art students copying the Rembrandts.)
No advertising point today. Though I'm sure there's one buried here somewhere in that art that's 350 years old is worthy of study but no one in our business seems to study advertising older than the last awards show.
But like I said, no advertising point today. It's too nice out.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Future Babble.
There was a book review published in "The New York Times" last month on a book called "Future Babble: Why Expert Predictions Are Next to Worthless, and You Can Do Better" by a writer called Dan Gardner. You can read the review here, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/books/review/book-review-future-babble-by-dan-gardner.html?ref=review
But here, in a nutshell, is what I think has gone dramatically wrong with our world and our industry.
We are living through a period of massive change. Virtually all of the old verities have been smashed. Along with virtually all of the old authorities.
For most people a Church is something you can't park in front of. A teacher is someone to fire. A business leader is a thief. An athlete is a drug user. These people and institutions can no longer show us the way.
What we are left with now that these scions have diminished is "experts." Experts are whom we turn to to help us find underpinnings and foundation--to make sense of a confusing world.
Here's the thing--there are no "qualifications" for expert-hood. There's no "Six Sigma Course" of experthood. All you really need is a little pecker and a big ego.
With those requisites met, experts do what experts are expert at. They issue proclamations. Most often, these proclamations serve to underscore the expertness of the experts.
No one gives experts report cards.
So, the ad agency "Huge" still lauds the accomplishments of the Pepsi Refresh campaign which according to some estimates cost the soda maker hundreds of millions of dollars.
In fact, I think there's probably some inverse correlation between the amount of times an expert is wrong and how many people believe that expert.
One of my favorite writers, Mark Harris (whose baseball tetralogy remains some of the best fiction I have ever read) said this in one of his novels. "The only hero is the man without heroes."
I think the only expert is the man who doesn't trust experts.
I leave you with this, which I lifted from the "Times."
"Philip Tetlock,[is] a professor at the University of Pennsylvania. Beginning in the 1980s, Tetlock examined 27,451 forecasts by 284 academics, pundits and other prognosticators. The study was complex, but the conclusion can be summarized simply: the experts bombed. Not only were they worse than statistical models, they could barely eke out a tie with the proverbial dart-throwing chimps."
But here, in a nutshell, is what I think has gone dramatically wrong with our world and our industry.
We are living through a period of massive change. Virtually all of the old verities have been smashed. Along with virtually all of the old authorities.
For most people a Church is something you can't park in front of. A teacher is someone to fire. A business leader is a thief. An athlete is a drug user. These people and institutions can no longer show us the way.
What we are left with now that these scions have diminished is "experts." Experts are whom we turn to to help us find underpinnings and foundation--to make sense of a confusing world.
Here's the thing--there are no "qualifications" for expert-hood. There's no "Six Sigma Course" of experthood. All you really need is a little pecker and a big ego.
With those requisites met, experts do what experts are expert at. They issue proclamations. Most often, these proclamations serve to underscore the expertness of the experts.
No one gives experts report cards.
So, the ad agency "Huge" still lauds the accomplishments of the Pepsi Refresh campaign which according to some estimates cost the soda maker hundreds of millions of dollars.
In fact, I think there's probably some inverse correlation between the amount of times an expert is wrong and how many people believe that expert.
One of my favorite writers, Mark Harris (whose baseball tetralogy remains some of the best fiction I have ever read) said this in one of his novels. "The only hero is the man without heroes."
I think the only expert is the man who doesn't trust experts.
I leave you with this, which I lifted from the "Times."
"Philip Tetlock,[is] a professor at the University of Pennsylvania. Beginning in the 1980s, Tetlock examined 27,451 forecasts by 284 academics, pundits and other prognosticators. The study was complex, but the conclusion can be summarized simply: the experts bombed. Not only were they worse than statistical models, they could barely eke out a tie with the proverbial dart-throwing chimps."
I have nothing to say.
As prolific a writer as I am, there are days when I feel stymied. Where nothing bubbles to the surface. Where putting one word in front of another with some semblance of coherence or direction just isn't happening.
When it comes to writing this blog, I have a few "block busters" that help me when I am stuck. "The Economist" has a lifestyle website called moreintelligentlife.com. I go there and see if something tickles my fancy. I also look at a site on Jewish books and learning called tabletmag.com. My other usuals are, of course, "The New York Times," forbes.com and businessweek.com
And then I've always got my nose in one book or another, so those give me ideas. And I'm usually mid-stream in some silent movie or something by Ernst Lubitsch. That usually helps. This is from a 1930 movie he directed called "Monte Carlo."
Count Rudolph Falliere a.k.a. Rudy the hairdresser: I have a system that can't miss. If I happened to be standing beside a brunette I bet on red. If I am standing next to a redhead I bet on black.
Armand: But suppose you're standing next to a blonde. What do you do then?
Count Rudolph Falliere a.k.a. Rudy the hairdresser: I ask where she lives.
When it comes to writing this blog, I have a few "block busters" that help me when I am stuck. "The Economist" has a lifestyle website called moreintelligentlife.com. I go there and see if something tickles my fancy. I also look at a site on Jewish books and learning called tabletmag.com. My other usuals are, of course, "The New York Times," forbes.com and businessweek.com
And then I've always got my nose in one book or another, so those give me ideas. And I'm usually mid-stream in some silent movie or something by Ernst Lubitsch. That usually helps. This is from a 1930 movie he directed called "Monte Carlo."
Count Rudolph Falliere a.k.a. Rudy the hairdresser: I have a system that can't miss. If I happened to be standing beside a brunette I bet on red. If I am standing next to a redhead I bet on black.
Armand: But suppose you're standing next to a blonde. What do you do then?
Count Rudolph Falliere a.k.a. Rudy the hairdresser: I ask where she lives.
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