A Leopard approached the leader of the litter and said, "Sir, I think I would like to try something else."
The leader was incredulous. Even though leopards are basically solitary animals, he was one of those types who can't imagine why anyone would ever want to be disloyal to him. "What do you mean? How could you do this to me?"
"I was thinking that I might try hunting for monkey. I know how you love eating birds, but hunting a more clever animal might be more challenging for me; and I have to say, I'm a little tired of eating birds. They all taste like chicken."
"Fine," said the leader, "no sweat off my spots. You may do well for awhile, but mark my words, you'll miss us. You'll be a flop with those monkeys and end up coming back a beaten and crushed woman, which, of course, will give me great pleasure."
The Leopard bolted, left the litter and soon discovered that she felt about eating monkeys the way others felt about eating frog legs and tripe. Whether her aversion was irrational or not, didn't matter. Monkey, she thought, was gross. It was like eating a human being and that was really gross, because humans put all sorts of things into their systems that couldn't possibly be any good for anyone in the food chain.
So the Leopard went back to hunting birds, though not with her old litter. The simple truth was, even if she never hunted monkey again, she enjoyed knowing that she had the option and that maybe one day, in an effort to hide any reminder of the fouler primate, she might try to filet the thing. One way or the other, it no longer mattered if she was back to eating bird ninety-nine point nine per cent of the time. Somehow it now felt more rewarding.
Moral: No one sticks around where they can't express themselves or eat something once in awhile that doesn't taste like chicken.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Category profiling
Not too long ago I read the
sequel to The Woman Who Walked Through Doors. I sought out Paula Spencer, because its heroine
became so real in the original that I wanted to spend more time with her. I
wanted to see how the once battered house cleaner in Dublin, a widow and
alcoholic was getting on 9 years later. Paula’s an amazing woman, with an
inspiring tenacity and sense of humor, and her story was told with such empathy
that it’s perhaps surprising a man wrote it. But I guess if you know the author,
Roddy Doyle, it shouldn’t be surprising at all.
For
that matter, it shouldn’t be surprising that a human being directed a movie
about an alien (ET), that Joyce Carol Oates wrote perhaps the best book ever on
the sport of boxing (On Boxing), that
Dylan could go electric, Bill Murray could play serious roles or I could write
something other than an ad.
The
typical labels of our business are just as unreliable. Personally, I have never
sought any category experience. I have gathered a bit of it, a range that some
might even consider enviable, but I don’t consider myself a CPG guy or a car
guy or a healthcare guy, a luxury goods, retail, financial or technology guy.
In the course of my career, I sought out promising assignments and somewhere along
the way discovered I was better at certain things than others, but products per
se could never define the areas that were fertile for me. When I was asked to
run another car account, I turned down the job to avoid being labeled a “car
guy.” Yet I work in a business that insists on pigeonholing us, especially in
new business pitches.
I’m
no expert, but I do have a few theories, a few categories that are probably
more useful to a creative director than anyone else, but might generally be a good
place to start.
As
I see it, there are people who are really good at producing many ideas for a
given task. Once there’s an idea, it’s like they become fluent in it. They’re
good at pooling things out. And last I heard, integration, or whatever we call
it these days, is kind of important.
Other
people are really proficient at showing shifts in thinking. They come up with a
variety of ideas. They’re flexible. They create a Gerry Graf style campaign one
day and a Hal Riney one the next. Tell me, what client doesn’t like to see a
real assortment of ideas before committing to one?
Some
people show unusual, remote and clever solutions. They’re what we call “out
there.” They might think of new uses for a particular media or come up with the
next Cannes Titanium winner. If you’re looking for attention-getting
differentiation, it’s good to have some of this.
Still
others excel at building out details. A great platform of an idea surfaces and
someone like this thinks through and crafts all the appropriate minutiae–execution,
execution, execution.
One
other quality comes to mind. In our business, creativity works most effectively
when it is channeled through empathy, creating communication that touches
people to their core. In the same way that, say, Dickens could put himself in
the shoes of a hundred compelling characters, someone else could succeed on
Mercedes-Benz one minute and chewing gum the next. Some people just get a kick
out of putting themselves in various consumers’ shoes, whether Timberland or
Manolos.
I’m sure there’s deeper and better thinking than this. I’m sure there are, for
instance, educational studies about the nature of creativity and approaches to
identify creative individuals. Regardless, we need something to reevaluate what
is too often a superficial criterion for new business, consultants being way
off the mark here and supplying a disservice to their clients. No wonder the
work portion of a pitch has so much baring, given there’s so little else to go on. I
guess I just don’t see enough science being applied–sadly, very little
discipline for a task upon which, especially in this economy, so much is at
stake.
Those
are my thoughts on the matter. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I think I
might go write an ad.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Don't be an ass
One
of the pleasures of the holidays is visiting with relatives who express points
of view that are different from my own, usually on subjects pertaining to religion
and politics. Part of being in the holiday spirit is, after all, being in the
state of knowing everyone around you shares your opinions on everything, as if
under one great big mistletoe.
Yeah
right.
When
you think about it, it’s not the difference of opinion that bugs us; it’s the assumption
that we’re in agreement. And this is just on top of all the usual
presumptuousness around the holidays.
So
if I can dare to assume that there’s more bad advertising during the time of
year when there’s the most advertising, then ‘tis the season for assumptions. Hey,
do you hear what I hear? It’s the consumer crying out:
Don’t assume I like you. Don’t assume I’m in the
market for your product
or that I care or that I’m interested. Don’t assume like some sort
of psycho stalker that my disinterest is a sign I might someday come around. Don’t
assume that if you’re happy and cheerful and ALL blue-sky and optimistic, my
feelings about you will change. Don’t assume – NOW! – that I want your new gizmo.
Don’t even assume I want your product now that it’s on sale. Don’t assume that I’m
more likely to like you if I see people I like liking you. And don’t assume
Like means Love. Don’t assume that I’d like you if I can choose the color and
add racing stripes. Don’t assume I’ll like you if you send me a note with
my very own name on it. Hell, don’t assume I’ll feel like you know what I want,
if you know a lot of details about me already, because that’s just creepy.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Details are not for morons
A
psychologist friend of mine was saying how she loved graduate school but
dreaded the mandatory course on Statistics, that is, until she learned of its
practical importance. She illustrated her point with a little dialogue:
GUY:
Let’s go to the Chinese restaurant in town. It’s kind of crowded but the food
is good.
WOMAN:
How crowded is it?
GUY:
What do you mean?
WOMAN:
What’s a lot of people?
GUY:
I don’t know, a lot of people is a lot of people.
WOMAN:
Well, is it always crowded?
GUY:
Since it opened, it’s becoming crazy popular.
WOMAN:
Okay, how big is the room?
GUY:
Pretty big.
WOMAN:
What’s that mean?
GUY:
For the size, it's getting pretty crowded.
WOMAN:
You’re such a moron.
The preceding dialogue was
brought to you by someone who doesn’t know the value of details. It would have
been helpful to know the size of the room, how many people were in it or the restaurant’s rate of growth so we could predict how crowded it would
be on that day. Here’s another situation:
We
open on a baby giggling hysterically. We cut to other babies giggling, then we
cut to kids laughing, teenagers laughing, young adults, middle-aged adults and
then old people, all belly laughing. We cut to a super: “It’s not the
miles, it’s how you live them.” The message is brought to us by Volkswagen.
It’s a familiar message to the car category, and, for that matter, it could be for a comedy club,
an amusement park, a game or a toothpaste that brings out your sparkling smile.
It’s a grand statement, that life is best spent joyfully, and grand statements
can potentially be very compelling because they get to the heart
of life. But unless you have an unexpected message for that product, it needs proof,
even the appearance of proof, to make it appear special. It needs detail.
And
what about our recent presidential race?
As voters, we were frustrated because one candidate offered no details and
asked us to trust him, while the other candidate promised to be nothing like
the other guy. Many of us felt it was moronic.
If you were going to invest in a product, any product, you
would undoubtedly want to show good judgment. Why would we leave out the thing that would make others feel good about a decision? No one wants to find
out that they are vulnerable to manipulation, not even consumers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)