Amateurs.

About 62,000 years ago, I was shooting some spots with the great director, Errol Morris. Errol and I just hit it off. Like go to the movies after a day of shooting hit it off--or have a cuppa coffee and three or five breakfasts one morning in Sao Paolo. 

Further, he didn't care for the art director the agency sent out to the shoot. I had worked alone on the campaign--nobody seemed to mind that--but they made sure I had someone with me on set, just in case.

But like I said, Errol and this art director had a fight. And Errol decided he would talk to no one but me. Which was fine by me.

He was setting up a shot. In just a few frames we were trying to create the effect of a college graduation. The set designers were hanging a green and yellow banner that said something like, "Congratulations, Graduates."

Errol turned to me and said, "that's a little much, isn't it?" I mumbled something like, "well, it will read quickly. You'll get it." He then said something that stuck with me, "You're right. Subtlety is for amateurs."

As I travel in new worlds these days--having aged out of old ones, having lost to the nefarious know-nothings who hate all those with more experience than they, I am seeing a lot.

I'm seeing people who make excuses to delay working. "I don't have a job number," they'll claim. Or, "the brief isn't ready."

I've seen people who kick and bellow like a pig to the slaughter about making a logo bigger.

I've seen people barking about having to write an email, a tweet, a Facebook post. They bark for hours about something that will literally take seconds.

I've seen writers fight, again for hours, against adding something small to their copy, or taking something equally small away. Or simply screaming when a client asks for a rewrite.

I've seen people avoid working because they're not "feeling it. Or they're stressed. Or they have too much to do.

Right now, I am seeing different things as well. I am working with one of the biggest creative names in the business. She's rolling up her sleeves and doing work she wouldn't have done five years ago or three. Because the business is different today--or our jobs are different. And somehow we have to teach ourselves to do more and carp less.

What I've seen is this.

Foolish rules are for amateurs.

Preciousness is for amateurs.

Prima donna-ness is for amateurs.

Estheticism is for amateurs.

Dawdling is for amateurs.

The great Steve Hayden once said something to me that stuck in my brain. It's the kind of thing I've tried to pass down to my own children--who are young and successful in their careers.

"The trick to work," Steve said, "is spending 20% of your time doing the 80% of the shit you have to do that you hate. And 80% of your time doing the 20% of the shit that you have to do that you love."

That's why you get in early.

That's why you practice until you become fast.

That's why you train your mind so that you can concentrate and accomplish things.

Anything else is for amateurs.

Every day advertising.

Advertising is a funny business.

And by funny, I might just mean stupid.

In days of yore, when our work was big and loud, it was on TV and in magazines and newspapers every day. People saw the work we as an industry did. In short, we SHOWED clients what we did--every day and every night. If those clients liked what you showed them--every day and every night--you got more business, or at least more interest in your agency.

To be very simple about it, you knew what kind of work agencies did. And you knew where to get it. You knew who was who according to the work they did.

Today I'm afraid that system isn't working anymore. Most work--and most agencies--seem to me all but invisible. I'm a student of the business--I assiduously follow the trade magazines. And with the exception of TBWA\Chiat\Day, Wieden, Goodby and maybe a few other agencies--it's really hard to know who does what. 

And a brief look at a dozen or so agency sites doesn't give the reader much information. Many agencies seem more bent on displaying their award-winning work on Lego and Scrabble than on real work for real clients. Some, I presume I know the unmentionable reasons why, show no work at all.

What I do see are agencies that seem to promote themselves via something I call Insta-pablum. They say things like this:

Insta-pablum. Insta-babble. Insta-platitude. Insta-Hallmark.

The opposite of Insta-funny. Insta-wise. Insta-though-provoking.

Their "advertisements for themselves" are a great big Insta-who-cares. Or in the words of the Bard, "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Our job isn't producing homilies--like Edgar Guest after a focus group. Or inscrutable "white papers." Or to bang a silent drum announcing the win of a revenueless account.

Our job is to be noticed.

To add value.

To define the amorphous.

To afflict the comfortable. Comfort the afflicted. To get them to act.

Our job is to make a product--good communications--that serves the needs of a client.

And these days--our job is to show that we can do that every day. 

Fussy is dead. Precious is dead. Snobbery is dead.

Doing. Doing. Doing.

In many ways advertising, at least to me, is a lot like playing professional baseball. 

You play every day. Which means you show up every day. And you take your whacks every day. Not just when you feel it. Or are in the mood. Or are limbered up.

Every day.

About 15 years ago, I decided to write a blog. I've written it every day, every day.

In large measure I started this blog as a challenge to myself--could I do it? And in equally large measure as a demonstration to the industry and to clients. It's my way of showing people who I am and what I can do and the intensity at which I do it. Every day.

Advertising is different today. 

It's a small, daily business. It's more like writing a small-town newspaper--getting to know the ins-and-outs of your world.

It's no longer three commercials a year and live off the media dollars.

Every day you have to shit or get off the pot. Fish or cut bait. Come back with your shield, as the Romans said, or on it.

You have to do something good--and put your name on it--for the world to see. Every day.

In fact, when I present to clients now, I don't show three print ads. That's irrelevant. I usually show 30. Something they can do every day.

Client creatives can do three ads. Client MBAs can do powerpoints. Client strategists can write white papers.

But who can do what I do. 

I plan to keep things that way.

I plan to keep working.

Which means I'll keep making work that's built on a platform that can hold--not a few ads--but a few hundred.

Some months ago some friends and I did these ads. I didn't write them all. But you get the idea.

Do something.

Every day.

Translation. And meaning.

My wife, who is a creative director and copywriter, told me the other day at lunch that she'd like to get a desktop monitor for her home office. This ain't the Flintstones with Wilma asking Fred's permission to buy a new saber-tooth print dress. If my wife wants something she certainly doesn't have to check in with me.

It was her way, however, of asking me to take care of the matter. I've bought most of the electronics in our homes--from our wireless mesh systems, to our computers, pads, printers and phones. I'd say my success rate on things I buy is about 65%--so in the scheme of things, I'm doing pretty well.

However, I haven't bought a monitor since the world switched to laptops about 20 years ago. The last one I got was about the size of a Mini Cooper and I bought it used when I was at an agency called Lowe and they were getting rid of last year's models.

I went where I go when I buy things--from garden hoses to washer-dryers: the Wirecutter. A service of The New York Times that supposedly rates products with objectivity. Whether or not they do, I've been happy with their recommendations and I quickly went to Amazon to price the monitor they suggested.

I knew I was really at their mercy--I know nothing about monitors. After visiting the appropriate product page, I still knew nothing. On that page, I was shown a list of bullet points, none of which meant anything to me, none of which the seller bothered to explain. 

Like so much "advertising" today--there is an abundance of crap and a shortage of information. Virtually none of the information below means anything to me. Does it mean anything to you?

Brightness: 250cd/m2
Static Contrast Ratio: 1.000:1
Response Time: 5ms
Resolution: FHD 1080p

Or this:

Or this:

Screen Size	24 Inches
Resolution	FHD 1080p
Display Technology	LCD
Brand	ViewSonic
Series	VA

---

About this item

• GREAT FOR HOME AND OFFICE: An ideal all-around display for desktop, or laptop
• SEE THE DIFFERENCE: Razor-sharp clarity and detail with Full HD (1920x1080p) resolution
• ENHANCED VIEWING COMFORT: Flicker-Free technology and Blue Light Filter for all-day comfort
• FLEXIBLE CONNECTIVITY: The VA2446MH-LED supports laptops, PCs, Macs, and POS systems with HDMI, and VGA inputs
• INDUSTRY-LEADING WARRANTY: 3-year coverage with access to our US-based customer service team
• INCLUDED IN THE BOX: LCD Monitor, Power Cable, VGA Cable, and Audio Cable

Maybe the truth is that nobody knows what these things mean--not even the manufacturer. Certainly, no one feels it's important to take the time to explain anything to anyone.

I'm not an ignoramus but I feel just as in the dark when I go to a high-end restaurant, even a high-end restaurant in Connecticut, which is hardly the Right Bank of the Seine. The other night my wife and I went to a restaurant that had 'nduja, gremolata, ribollita, yuzukoshu, and frico on the menu. I think I wound up with spaghetti and meatballs--'cause I didn't want to eat pigs' nostrils by mistake. 

For more than half my career I've worked on technology accounts and financial services accounts. Most people--including people who work on those accounts in agencies and who work on those accounts at the client--have no idea what about 9/10ths of the things they sell do.

Try to get someone to explain the difference between a home-equity line-of-credit and a homeowner's loan. Or what a hybrid cloud is and what its advantages are. Or a dual-core processor. 

For many of those years, I would say to other creatives, to planners and to account people, that our job is essentially to be translators. We take things that no one understands and we make them simple and human. Write about them so they become something people will want. I can't help but think that's our job.

Many years ago I was working on Mercedes-Benz. I was told the car had a braking system called "Brake Assist." For whatever reason, I felt compelled to explain it in terms people could understand. 

I found out something simple but interesting. The brake, based upon how hard you slam your foot on it, can actually sense trouble and panic. Slam your foot hard enough and takes over braking for you. It can pump the brake many times faster than you can: 60 times a second. That lets you stop straighter and faster than you could before.

No, that explanation never won me a small figurine at Cannes. But I'd wager it helped sell a lot of cars. Which was, after all, the point.

Back to my monitor. I'm about 75% sure I bought the wrong thing. And paid too much for it. I guess that's what they call buyer's remorse. I think my mother had it within seconds of the moment I was born.

My point is, I don't think anyone gives a shit anymore. No one takes the time to find out things. No one realizes how much little things matter to people--giving them the confidence that they're making a good decision.

I think we should all attempt to exert maximum effort at every juncture. That is, try harder.

And...

-

By the way, here's a "New York Times" article on the negative effects of jargon.

But apparently, it's too laden with jargon for anyone to bother with.

 

Fear. And loathing.

We live in a strange world. My take is that the people who say aloud that they have "imposter syndrome," are the ones who aren't imposters. And the ones who strut around like the cock-of-the-walk are among the world's biggest shams.

The quotation I'm thinking of is attributed--at least in some places--to Charles Bukowski. But I'm sure people have been expressing the sentiment since Hector was a pup: "The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence."

You could change that sentiment for the ad industry. "The problem with advertising is that the thoughtful people are nervous about everything, while the pretenders strut about."

A lot of the current lingua franca in our business--and every business, I'd suppose, is the imperative to "be brave." To "act bold." To grab the gender-normative bovine by the horns.

Such directives are more than a little bit foolish. First off, any of those behaviors are not like a light switch. You don't just turn them on and off at will.

When you run your own business, it means you're never protected by a phalanx of associates, colleagues, support people and an entire agency. Your name is on the door--even if the door, in this zoomy era, is metaphorical. 

The work springs from your brain. And is made up, at least somewhat, of your world view, passion and miscellaneous chazerai. 

When you enter the room, even if it's just a virtual one, it takes a certain amount of nerve. Your ass is in a sling.

Almost everyone I know and like in our business has techniques for mustering up the nerve. For writing when they could be dawdling, delaying or perseverating. For presenting work to a tough boss or client. For reading to a boss or a client or even a peer something unusual--or even funny.

I handle my own egregious nerves by pretending I'm getting dressed for winter. Before I enter a room--a real or a make-believe one, I put on a heavy overcoat made up of synthetic confidence. It's a pretty good synthetic--and no one can really tell that it's fake. I put on a hat that says "you're smart." And gloves, one says, "you did your homework." While the other says, "you worked your ass off." Maybe some galoshes too. One says, "don't worry." The other says, "they can't hurt you."

I suppose a few decades or even years ago I would have been too embarrassed or timid to say all this publicly. But of late I have been talking to friends of mine in the industry. Some are my age and famous--some of the brighter lights of metaphorical Madison. Some are my kids' age--and will be famous one day.

I've taken to asking them--do you still get nervous.

They usually tap-dance a bit when I ask them. I'm direct, I suppose, in weird ways.

Eventually, they all come clean. They all admit that they do.

So all that Hallmark shit you see on LinkedIn and Twitter about people being brave, about going big, about owning it. All that "you go girl," back-slapping. Fine.

But for most people, it ain't about a bonfire and a pep-rally. It's about taking a few moments and mustering up the courage.

That's about how everyone I know does what they need to do.

I'm 63-years old and never heard the phrase imposter syndrome until about six-months ago or maybe twelve. But of course, it's nothing new.

I remember as a 14-year old--that's almost half-a-century-ago-- making the varsity baseball team and starting at third-base for my high-school nine. Our first game of the season was against a vocational school of long-muscled and sinewy Hispanic kids with hands like wild birds who had won something like ten league championships in the last dozen years.

I think the first five guys in our batting order whiffed, and whiffed badly. The other team was jabbering in the infield, mocking us, mostly in Spanish, to intimidate us even further. It worked.

I walked up to the plate batting sixth, and I was the youngest boy on the team. I'm not sure if my uniform wasn't falling off a bit because I was so bony; I weighed just over 150-lbs--and we still wore flannels in those days, and I had no belt. But I hiked up my pants and I went up to the plate repeating to myself, "they're no better than I am. They're no better than I am. They're no better than I am."

The first pitch came in as chin music. I strained my head to get out of the way. I could hear the buzz like Emily Dickenson and I got scared all over again. And then I repeated my silent incantation and stepped back into the batter's box.

A couple of pitches later I went the other way with a curveball up and hit a hard line-drive over their second baseman's outstretched glove-hand. 

It wasn't much of a hit. But it was my first of my high-school career and our team's first of the season. It didn't exactly open up the floodgates but it helped. I think we still lost 11-4 or something like that--but at least we scored four runs and when we played them again later in the season, I think we might have jumped out to an early lead and even won the ballgame.

There's no denying that there is such a thing as imposter syndrome. I don't know anyone who doesn't have it one time or another. 

Everyone who acts like they ain't got it isn't better than you. 

Just a better liar.