Over 70% of the advertising jobs in New York are under the auspices of the three major holding companies.
I routinely hear stories of 15 people being let go--all making $200K plus and being replaced by people making less than half that salary.
On Friday I got an email, I assume it was a form letter, praising me for Ad Aged and extolling my industry "expertise."
They then offered me a job opportunity.
I could write ten to twenty 400-600 word articles a month for $75 a piece.
Five years into the Great Depression, advertising has officially become a low wage industry. Except, of course, for the chosen.
And more often than not, the more chosen you are, the farther removed you are from creating what we're ostensibly paid to do: create ads.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Friday, September 27, 2013
Plutocrats.
Plutocrats are back with a vengeance. More often than not, these people (if you can call them that) act as if their vast wealth and power were the product of predestination. That is, they were chosen by god to be wealthy beyond all wealth. As rich as Croesus, as it were.
These people make Ayn Rand look like Mother Teresa.
I read about two plutocrats this morning in an op-ed by Nobel-Prize winner, Paul Krugman of "The New York Times."
One was an ex-client of mine, Robert Benmosche, the Chief Executive of American International Group (AIG.) Benmosche, whose financial malpractice almost brought down AIG and the world's economy, granted large bonuses to key AIG executives. Benmosche compared the backlash over these bonuses "just as bad and just as wrong" as lynchings in the Deep South.
Another such bloodsucker is Steven Schwarzman, chairman of the Blackstone Group. He declared the movement to get people like him (who make billions and pay tax at a 15% Federal rate) "it's like war; it's like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939."
Yesterday a friend wrote that he saw a job listing online.
You had to be award-winning.
Had to know all current software.
Had to have your own Mac.
Had to work onsite.
The pay was $20/hr.
The plutocrats deserve billions.
The workers deserve to starve.
These people make Ayn Rand look like Mother Teresa.
I read about two plutocrats this morning in an op-ed by Nobel-Prize winner, Paul Krugman of "The New York Times."
One was an ex-client of mine, Robert Benmosche, the Chief Executive of American International Group (AIG.) Benmosche, whose financial malpractice almost brought down AIG and the world's economy, granted large bonuses to key AIG executives. Benmosche compared the backlash over these bonuses "just as bad and just as wrong" as lynchings in the Deep South.
Another such bloodsucker is Steven Schwarzman, chairman of the Blackstone Group. He declared the movement to get people like him (who make billions and pay tax at a 15% Federal rate) "it's like war; it's like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939."
Yesterday a friend wrote that he saw a job listing online.
You had to be award-winning.
Had to know all current software.
Had to have your own Mac.
Had to work onsite.
The pay was $20/hr.
The plutocrats deserve billions.
The workers deserve to starve.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Early morning meeting.
I got into a taxi early this morning and I knew right away I was in a bit of trouble. In New York, hack licenses are issued numerically. So, the lower the number on the license, the longer the tenure of the driver. New drivers have license numbers of around 550,000. Brand new drivers are higher than that. That's where my guy's number was.
He started off saying, "I need help, I don't know uptown."
I directed him to Lex for heading downtown, as opposed to Second, which is a battlezone thanks to the never-ending construction of the Second Avenue Subway.
We dropped my wife off at 42nd and Lex, just a block or two from the "crossroads of the world." Then I told him to head downtown to Greenwich and Barclay.
"I need help," he repeated, "I don't know downtown."
We headed west to Seventh Avenue and sped downtown.
When we reached West Broadway and Warren I said, "I'll get off here." I was twenty minutes early and two blocks from my destination. I figured I'd hop in to Victor's Shoe Repair and get a shine. $3.
I made it to my client meeting.
Not once did I ask for directions.
He started off saying, "I need help, I don't know uptown."
I directed him to Lex for heading downtown, as opposed to Second, which is a battlezone thanks to the never-ending construction of the Second Avenue Subway.
We dropped my wife off at 42nd and Lex, just a block or two from the "crossroads of the world." Then I told him to head downtown to Greenwich and Barclay.
"I need help," he repeated, "I don't know downtown."
We headed west to Seventh Avenue and sped downtown.
When we reached West Broadway and Warren I said, "I'll get off here." I was twenty minutes early and two blocks from my destination. I figured I'd hop in to Victor's Shoe Repair and get a shine. $3.
I made it to my client meeting.
Not once did I ask for directions.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
A trophy for everyone.
There's an op-ed in today's "New York Times" that everyone should take three minutes to read. It's called "Losing is Good For You." And you won't be many words into it before you realize that the substance of the article can be applied to our industry. You can read the article here.
The article is about the ubiquity of winning and it brings to my mind our industry's current mania for awards. In fact, it states that trophy and award sales are now an estimated $3 billion-a-year business in the US and Canada. That's about $8/person on cheap Chinese loving cups.
In other words, everything is trophy-worthy. Everything wins an award. Even if it never ran. Never made a cash register ring. Never changed a perception.
The article specifically talks about kids. And if that isn't relevant to advertising what is? It states: "Awards can be powerful motivators, but nonstop recognition does not inspire [people] to succeed. Instead it can cause them to underachieve.
"Carol Dweck, a psychology professor at Stanford University, found that [people] respond positively to praise; they enjoy hearing that they're talented, smart and so on. But after such praise...they collapse at the first experience of difficulty. Demoralized by their failure, they say they'd rather cheat than risk failing again."
Cheating, of course, is endemic in the awards-industrial complex. And, "it's part of a larger cultural message: to succeed, you just have to show up...In the office, they still believe that attendance is all it takes to get a promotion."
Showing up isn't enough.
Working hard is.
The article is about the ubiquity of winning and it brings to my mind our industry's current mania for awards. In fact, it states that trophy and award sales are now an estimated $3 billion-a-year business in the US and Canada. That's about $8/person on cheap Chinese loving cups.
In other words, everything is trophy-worthy. Everything wins an award. Even if it never ran. Never made a cash register ring. Never changed a perception.
The article specifically talks about kids. And if that isn't relevant to advertising what is? It states: "Awards can be powerful motivators, but nonstop recognition does not inspire [people] to succeed. Instead it can cause them to underachieve.
"Carol Dweck, a psychology professor at Stanford University, found that [people] respond positively to praise; they enjoy hearing that they're talented, smart and so on. But after such praise...they collapse at the first experience of difficulty. Demoralized by their failure, they say they'd rather cheat than risk failing again."
Cheating, of course, is endemic in the awards-industrial complex. And, "it's part of a larger cultural message: to succeed, you just have to show up...In the office, they still believe that attendance is all it takes to get a promotion."
Showing up isn't enough.
Working hard is.
Casting pearls.
I'm flying back right now from two days in LA, casting for some spots we'll be shooting in about ten days.
I've never enjoyed casting, even when casting impossibly beautiful women. It's hard work, sitting there judging, looking, usually, for something inexplicable that makes someone stand out. It's long. It's boring. And it's filled with pressure.
That said, there's always something to learn when you're casting. Mostly about how important it is to make decisions. How it pays to be fast, to be firm and to be ruthless.
Today we looked at 116 callbacks, for a cast of about 20.
We'd have been there all night if any of us had trouble making decisions.
Fortunately, not only were all of us decisive, all of us have a certain amount of confidence that we have the capability of getting the performances we need from the talent even if we've fucked up somewhere along the way.
There's too much dithering in our business. Too much hemming and hawing and keeping things alive when the plug should be pulled. There are too many people with too big heads who over-think and under-smart.
Things are better, I think, or at least advertising is, when we're a little more black and white about things. When we reduce the world to: that's good, or that sucks.
I've never enjoyed casting, even when casting impossibly beautiful women. It's hard work, sitting there judging, looking, usually, for something inexplicable that makes someone stand out. It's long. It's boring. And it's filled with pressure.
That said, there's always something to learn when you're casting. Mostly about how important it is to make decisions. How it pays to be fast, to be firm and to be ruthless.
Today we looked at 116 callbacks, for a cast of about 20.
We'd have been there all night if any of us had trouble making decisions.
Fortunately, not only were all of us decisive, all of us have a certain amount of confidence that we have the capability of getting the performances we need from the talent even if we've fucked up somewhere along the way.
There's too much dithering in our business. Too much hemming and hawing and keeping things alive when the plug should be pulled. There are too many people with too big heads who over-think and under-smart.
Things are better, I think, or at least advertising is, when we're a little more black and white about things. When we reduce the world to: that's good, or that sucks.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
The Interfraud.
There was a news item that was circulating last night that said up to 30% of the five-star reviews that appear online are written by interested parties, most likely the people who own the stores, restaurants and services that received the lofty rating.
Fraud of this ilk is not exclusive to the internet, of course. It's everywhere. Press releases posing as newspaper articles, fake reviews in movie ads, Zagat's surveys adorning every window or every restaurant everywhere.
But there's little on the internet that seems anything but fraudulent.
Whether it's your inbox stuffed with weight loss miracles and penis enhancement blandishments, or inducements for dental whitening on Facebook, the very proposition of the internet seems tainted beyond credibility.
I know it's quaint to remember things like journalistic integrity and standards of truth and decency--that's all gone. But the era of self-publishing has opened up an onslaught of crap that cascades unabated through every portal.
There is no fact checking. No fair-balance. No correction published when a mistake is made.
I'll continue my old-fashioned ways as long as I can.
When I want the news, I'll ask my brother what's happening.
Fraud of this ilk is not exclusive to the internet, of course. It's everywhere. Press releases posing as newspaper articles, fake reviews in movie ads, Zagat's surveys adorning every window or every restaurant everywhere.
But there's little on the internet that seems anything but fraudulent.
Whether it's your inbox stuffed with weight loss miracles and penis enhancement blandishments, or inducements for dental whitening on Facebook, the very proposition of the internet seems tainted beyond credibility.
I know it's quaint to remember things like journalistic integrity and standards of truth and decency--that's all gone. But the era of self-publishing has opened up an onslaught of crap that cascades unabated through every portal.
There is no fact checking. No fair-balance. No correction published when a mistake is made.
I'll continue my old-fashioned ways as long as I can.
When I want the news, I'll ask my brother what's happening.
LA's fine.
I'm in LA right now casting for some upcoming spots.
My producer is of the old school and, oddly enough in this day and age, we are doing things the right way. That is, not on the cheap.
We are out here for call backs--we aren't making selects according to video we watch online. And we are meeting face-to-face with the director to finalize our cast.
Along the way, there are some niceties that seem to be relics of a bygone era. We're staying at a sumptuous hotel. And we are eating every heirloom tomato that comes within three yards of us.
The world has grown into a meaner place during my lifetime.
Most companies look aggressively for ways to be cheaper--to not pay people a living wage. Or to threaten them with dismissal because they make too much.
The pendulum has swung a long way back from the halcyon days of the 60s and 70s.
Over the next few weeks I will easily bill 80 hours a week shooting these spots and in post-production.
The way I look at it, I've earned a few nights on 800-count sheets.
My producer is of the old school and, oddly enough in this day and age, we are doing things the right way. That is, not on the cheap.
We are out here for call backs--we aren't making selects according to video we watch online. And we are meeting face-to-face with the director to finalize our cast.
Along the way, there are some niceties that seem to be relics of a bygone era. We're staying at a sumptuous hotel. And we are eating every heirloom tomato that comes within three yards of us.
The world has grown into a meaner place during my lifetime.
Most companies look aggressively for ways to be cheaper--to not pay people a living wage. Or to threaten them with dismissal because they make too much.
The pendulum has swung a long way back from the halcyon days of the 60s and 70s.
Over the next few weeks I will easily bill 80 hours a week shooting these spots and in post-production.
The way I look at it, I've earned a few nights on 800-count sheets.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
I'm not one of the cool ids.
It's finally happened.
After four years with my MacBoo Pro (they gave me a new one here when I started) one of my eys has finally fallen off.
I have used tape to try to eep the ey on and I have tried glue in an attempt to stic it bac on. But the ey eeps falling off.
The cool ids get brand new MacBoo Airs. You see them in s inny jeans with s inny computers.
But I am not one of them and I now I never will be.
So, I persist without a " " ey.
I will try to adjust my copy accordingly.
And eep a level head.
After four years with my MacBoo Pro (they gave me a new one here when I started) one of my eys has finally fallen off.
I have used tape to try to eep the ey on and I have tried glue in an attempt to stic it bac on. But the ey eeps falling off.
The cool ids get brand new MacBoo Airs. You see them in s inny jeans with s inny computers.
But I am not one of them and I now I never will be.
So, I persist without a " " ey.
I will try to adjust my copy accordingly.
And eep a level head.
A cricket in Secaucus.
The brunt of that punishment was felt this weekend, when on a sunny Saturday, I had to head out to New Jersey, by train from New York's Penn Station.
New York's Penn Station was once a glorious building. Grand, imposing and of marble and granite. It was designed by Mead, McKim and White, the famed architectural firm. Urban-renewalists in the 1960s tore it down--this was during the brief apotheosis of the American automobile era, and they replaced it with a low ceilinged dump of dull linoleum and flickering fluorescence.
Everything about the place reeks of cheap and urine. I think even the rats stay away, preferring the more fertile stomping grounds (and they do stomp, these rats, like bison on the range) of the IRT and IND subway lines which feed into the station.
So there I was, heading out to New Jersey, a state they should pave over to finish the job they started a century ago. I've been told there are nice parts of New Jersey, and yesterday I saw irenic evidence. As I was switching trains in Secaucus, amid the gales of blowing fast-food wrappers, I heard over the rumble and ringing of the rails and the roar of the not-so-distant turnpike, the sweet chirping of a cricket that made its home alongside the tracks.
The cricket reminded me of Hemingway's snow leopard: "Kilimanjaro is a snow-covered mountain 19,710 feet high, and is said to be the highest mountain in Africa. Its western summit is called the Masai "Ngaje Ngai," the House of God. Close to the western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude."
Friday, September 20, 2013
Taxis and advertising.
As a life-long New Yorker (except for one year in San Francisco and two in Boston) I've learned you can learn a lot from cab drivers.
I'm not talking about finding an alternate to the Van Wyck for getting home from JFK (the Belt to the BQE to the Queensboro) I'm talking about what you can learn from literally the first few moments you get into their car.
"I'm going to 83rd and York," I say in a clear voice like a bell.
"86th and Park?"
I repeat myself.
"I'll go up 10th Avenue."
"No, 8th" I say. "It's quicker and cut through the park at 81st."
We head up 8th but he goes speeding past 81st and crosses the park at 86th.
"I said 81st."
"No, you said 86th."
"You said 86th," he repeats, getting angrier.
"I said 81st," in a voice that would make John Gielgud cower.
"Ok, ok, ok," he answered, cowered.
This is a typical ride home for me from the new breed cab driver.
It's not a matter of language.
It's a matter of listening. Or not listening.
I fear that we in advertising are afflicted with the same malady. Clients often tell us what their issues are. And we persist in trying to form-fit agency agendas as a means of answering them.
We don't listen.
We tell.
That's what I see in cabs. I suspect it's the same on Madison Avenue.
I'm not talking about finding an alternate to the Van Wyck for getting home from JFK (the Belt to the BQE to the Queensboro) I'm talking about what you can learn from literally the first few moments you get into their car.
"I'm going to 83rd and York," I say in a clear voice like a bell.
"86th and Park?"
I repeat myself.
"I'll go up 10th Avenue."
"No, 8th" I say. "It's quicker and cut through the park at 81st."
We head up 8th but he goes speeding past 81st and crosses the park at 86th.
"I said 81st."
"No, you said 86th."
"You said 86th," he repeats, getting angrier.
"I said 81st," in a voice that would make John Gielgud cower.
"Ok, ok, ok," he answered, cowered.
This is a typical ride home for me from the new breed cab driver.
It's not a matter of language.
It's a matter of listening. Or not listening.
I fear that we in advertising are afflicted with the same malady. Clients often tell us what their issues are. And we persist in trying to form-fit agency agendas as a means of answering them.
We don't listen.
We tell.
That's what I see in cabs. I suspect it's the same on Madison Avenue.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)