If This Is A Blog Then What's Christmas?

When I were a lad the D&AD Pencil was a very clear indicator of massive creative talent. To have one or two was great; to have any more than that was the kind of achievement reserved for a top 1% creative. Many brilliant copywriters and art directors missed out on that final confirmation of their talent because they were not given out lightly. I recall a few years where not only did a certain jury not award a Pencil, they even didn’t let any work into the Book.

So there used to be this kind of mythology about who won them, who missed out, why a great ad won for one thing but not something else. It was all kind of interesting and led to the D&AD Pencil being the one award a UK creative really wanted. I recall someone asking my old boss Mike Cozens if he thought a creative would prefer to win a Cannes Grand Prix (there only used to be four or five of those back in the mid 90s) or a D&AD Gold (Mike had two of those). He replied that the D&AD Gold would be the more coveted, partly because they were as rare as rocking horse shit, and thus jurors were loathe to give them to anything not 150% worthy.

Anyway, fast forward to this year and news reaches me that Pencils are no longer so rare (this may have been the case for a few years; I haven’t been paying attention). They now give a plain wooden pencil for anything that got in the book. so how many did they give out this year? Well according to this count the number is 747.

747.

Seven hundred and forty fucking seven.

Now, I get that the plain ones might be worth less than the yellow ones, the black ones or (Jesus wept) the fucking white one, but this now means that a D&AD Pencil has been utterly devalued. It’s like hyper inflation; the advertising equivalent of the Zimbabwean billion dollar bill. It’s become meaningless. When you flood the shelves of creative teams with that many Pencils they cease to become a respected badge of honour and instead take on the cachet of a Cannes Shortlisting. Perhaps they’ll make trophies for that soon.

I recently followed a Facebook chat about D&AD in general, in which the great Mark Denton, winner of several Pencils when they were hard to come by, added the perfect quote from The Incredibles: ‘When everyone’s super, no one is‘.

I’m currently reading an interesting book called Lying, by a neuroscientist called Sam Harris.

It’s an essay on the damage that can be done by even the smallest white lie and it suggests that we can radically simplify our lives and improve society by merely telling the truth in situations where others often lie. If you lie to a friend in front of another friend the second friend will then realise that you might lie to them, too. This may not be conscious, but it will slide in somewhere and leave your relationship damaged. Or a friend might ask what you think of a painting they just completed. If you don’t like it but you tell them it’s great you’re doing the social equivalent of sending them out with a ‘kick me’ sign on their back. Is that what a real friend would do?

Anyway, it’s full of similar examples and makes a lot of sense, but instead of making me consider the problems caused by lying it made me think about how many great things happen when we tell the truth.

I don’t just mean telling a friend how their painting could be improved; I mean being authentic, open and fully self-expressed. Here’s an example:

Now, I’m not saying that Will Ferrell is in poor condition, but he’s not exactly Brad Pitt in Fight Club. Does he care? If he does we certainly can’t tell. He’s just comfortable in his own skin (literally) and it makes him more likeable. Those of us who would rather not let it all hang out for fear of being judged have to live a somewhat hidden life that reflects fear and a greater value placed on the opinions of others, neither of which are generally considered to be attractive traits.

Another example is Howard Stern, the US radio DJ. I listen to him most days as he goes into ridiculously graphic detail about whether or not he masturbated the previous night, what kind of porn he watched as he did so (usually babysitter scenarios), what his clean up tissue routine is, when he takes a dump and how he wipes his arse. Now, that might sound to you like an unpleasant overshare, but it’s actually surprisingly refreshing. He doesn’t talk about this stuff in a boastful or titillating way; more like an explanation of a trip to the supermarket or attempt to cook dinner, and it tends to come off as self deprecating, particularly as he regularly mentions how small his penis is. Perhaps you have to give it a listen yourself, but millions tune in every day, partly because there’s actually a mega-famous A-list celebrity who happily talks about every part of his life, whether you feel comfortable about it or not. And why shouldn’t people discuss masturbation or going to the toilet? Why are those subjects considered to be taboo or disgusting? Perhaps if more people were open about that kind of thing people wouldn’t behave like 12-year-old boys or matronly aunts when those topics come up, and maybe people wouldn’t be so squeamish about getting checked out for testicular or colon cancer.

Anyway, I digress…

I’m not saying that everyone should share every thought that pops into their head; that would be disastrous. But I am suggesting that repression and suppression can often end in misery and restrict our connection to other human beings. After all, what is it about art that we really appreciate? It’s anything that shines a light on the human condition and makes us feel as if our experiences are not ours alone. You may not want to be the one who puts their hand up to express a vulnerability, but you sure appreciate those who do.

And it’s a path to artistic success:

Louis CK suggests the way to creative fulfilment is to say what you believe, and that trying to please people is a short-lived victory.

Richard Pryor’s open, truthful style broke barriers for people to talk about race and sex: “When you hear him do those routines they are making it easier for people of different races to talk to each other and laugh with each other. It was groundbreaking.”

You may not like Kanye West, but he was the one who said what we were all thinking:

And what about the way social media silently encourages us to present the very best sides of ourselves? Wouldn’t it be great if the fear that surrounds every dismal humblebrag were replaced by bold authenticity?

Just to be clear, I am as guilty as everyone else of the sins of mendacity mentioned above, but I’d be delighted if there were more truth shared around the planet. And why does it seem so hard? I can’t help thinking that we’re liars by habit, drawn to the short-term gain, somewhat unaware of the long-term pain. It’s scary putting the real version of yourself out there, because if it gets rejected it’s a rejection of you instead of one of the masks you wear. But on the flipside of that, if people accept the false version of you then they’re only accepting one of the masks, and that sounds more than a little sad.

I think the above also applies to brands. Pretty much all of them try to present their best face, but only a few actually have a face that’s worth presenting. It’s the dodgy ones that want to seem so much better than they actually are that don’t endear themselves to us: lying about your CO2 emissions to fool people into buying your car; using sweat shops to make your products while preaching about global togetherness; using the words ‘natural’ and ‘healthy’ in their loosest and most flexible senses; banks wittering on about how they help small businesses while they help the super rich to avoid tax and launder money for drug cartels. All crashingly disappointing, but does it do them damage? Well, the corporate world in 2016 seems to default to the kind of behaviours we disapprove of, but then they’re so powerful that the negative consequences aren’t as prevalent as we might like. The Sun still sells millions of copies post-Hillsborough and Leveson; Starbucks is still full of queuing punters even though it shamefully pays little tax; Donald Trump lies several times a day and his support only grows. Perhaps our knowledge of this subterfuge is interpreted as some kind of authenticity, strengthening the brands in a roundabout way.

Hopefully this blog has been an expression of authenticity: I’ve told you all about my salary record; even as a freelancer I’ve criticised work/agencies that I see as damaging to the industry; and I blab on in great detail about my actual opinions on a wide range of topics. Has it done me any harm? Not that I’m aware of. Has it done me any good? Well, I like to think that any benefits have come from my authenticity – there aren’t many outlets for this sort of thing; perhaps that’s why some people appreciate this one.

As David Abbott once said: a small admission gains a large acceptance. So what does a large admission gain?

Steamboat Willie – Koyaanisqatsi remix (thanks, T):

Brilliant wooden sculptures of famous film directors.

What it’s like to be Stanley Kubrick’s assistant for three decades.

Celebrities photoshopped to look like their crappy fan art (thanks, V).

Forklift Driver Klaus (thanks, A):

15 things you didn’t know about Pet Sounds.

Every Metallica riff played in four minutes (thanks, J):

Excellent observational photographs (thanks, J).

Drive, the Uber version (thanks, J):

Funny photoshopping (thanks, J).

Great Hamilton article.

Finally, there’s an introduction to Landmark for creatives happening in London 7pm this Monday (23rd). Let me know if you’re interested (bwmkay@gmail.com). It will be amazing (I promise!).

A friend and I were just discussing the recently-relegated Newcastle United. We both found it kind of odd because we’d lived through the 90s, during which time Newcastle were a frantically entertaining and relatively successful club. One week they’d lose 4-3 to Liverpool, the next they’d buy Faustino Asprilla to shore up their title challenge.

So the dissonance comes from the old perception we had of the club vs the current reality (being shite, run by a malevolent discount sporting goods CEO, only playing well when they’re on TV etc.).

I experienced this first-hand when I freelanced at one of the post-Frank versions of Lowe in 2009. My AD and I had lived through years of Lowe producing some of the best advertising in the world, and although we knew it was no longer that Lowe, we couldn’t help thinking it still had something in its fundamental structure that would still allow it to produce greatness. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case; by that stage it was mainly the London outpost of an uninspiring international network, producing some pretty dry ads for Knorr, Vauxhall and Cif.

There was no longer any Stella Artois, Olympus, Paul Silburn or Vince Squibb, so what made Lowe Lowe? And, indeed, what was ‘Lowe’? I suppose once the great accounts and brilliant staff had departed it was no different to any other so-so ad agency. Soon after, it merged with an agency which, up to that point, had been pretty mediocre, becoming DLKW Lowe, and the transformation was complete*. But I still hear the word Lowe and think ‘good advertising’, which makes me wonder how long perception lasts beyond a material change.

I recall David Abbott once suggesting that a person or company could live off its reputation for three years. I think that period of time differs depending on the strength of the reputation and who is regarding the person or entity. The rational, analytical side of an observer may understand that the good times have definitely left the building, but the emotional memory may live on. I wonder if it takes as long to fully lose a reputation as it does to gain one; Lowe had spent so long being so good that I found it hard to wipe away the entirety of that perception.

And of course it works in the other direction. Look at Grey: for so many years the punchline of jokes about the worst agency in London, it now regularly wins the most creative awards in the country, and genuinely pushes the advertising envelope (even if some of its efforts are depressingly scammy). However, in the back of my mind it’s still slightly Grey, slogging its way through a depressing series of P&G shitefests.

I suppose we experience so few spot-changing leopards that it’s a situation we rarely have to confront. Most things stay somewhat consistent over time so we’re used to retaining our initial impressions of them. Perhaps it takes a long time to trust any kind of change because we need enough examples of the new entity to cancel out our perception of the old; one swallow doesn’t make a summer, nor a single penguin a winter.

So live off your fat days, or accept that if you’re crap today it’s going to be hard to shift that perception, even after the reality has changed.

*By the way, I don’t pay enough attention to the current UK ad scene to know what state Lowe is in these days, but I do know it has a fine pair of ECDs and some excellent senior creatives, so I’m hoping for the best.

The utterly wonderful and excellent book on old VW ads is back,       bigger, better and more complete.

I'll let one of its authors, the great Alfredo Marcantonio, take up the story of the new edition:

I did indeed, and continue to do so. 
If you'd like a copy, it's available all over the world, and would make a fine gift for any ad nerd, VW nut or person with exquisite  taste.

100 years of film in 100 shots (thanks, D):

Punks look back to their wildest days (thanks, T).

Cool inventions (thanks, P).

Bicycles built off people’s shitty drawings.

Al Jaffee explains how he created those fold-ins at the back of Mad magazine:

Social media overshares (thanks, T).

Fantastic John Stewart interview:

Have you ever wondered why we admire the things we do? What is it about Guernica, Astral Weeks or Great Expectations that has left them venerated as lasting classics?

Sure, they are all beautifully crafted, but what does that mean?

I think it all comes down to difficulty. Could you have conjured up the ideas for those works of art then executed them to such a high standard? Almost certainly not, so that makes them worthy of your respect.

And it’s not just art: Rosa Parks, Edmund Hillary, Albert Einstein, Usain Bolt, David Attenborough, Marie Curie, Emmeline Pankhurst, Gandhi, Amelia Earhart… Can you imagine going through what they went through, or coming up with their ideas? It’s not impossible, but it’s ridiculously hard, so they get to be admired. Whereas the average bus driver, dog groomer or copywriter? Not such a big deal because their achievements tend to look achievable.

Think of the ads that have made you jealous. I think some will have seemed impossible:

…while others might have just made you kick yourself for failing to come up with them:

That Economist ad is a great example of the latter. Could you have done it? Possibly. Did you do it? No. As someone who spent many, many hours trying to come up with Economist posters I can tell you that it never seemed within my ability. If it had been I might have got close to it, but I (and many other people far more talented than me) literally could not come up with it. It was too difficult, and therefore worthy of our respect.

It’s the reason why, when it comes to writing, people admire economy of expression: it’s fucking hard. Wittering on and expressing yourself vaguely in cliched terms is pretty easy, so even if it manages to convey the point we don’t admire it as much. Maximum meaning, minimum means is both a brilliant encapsulation of itself and a guide to artistic difficulty and excellence.

It’s also the reason why certain examples of modern art are derided: it’s easy to dribble paint over a canvas or set up a pile of bricks. But that misses the point: it’s actually very difficult to do those things and have them represent an element of the human spirit or the state of society.

And it’s really only when the difficulty of something hits us that it the excellence reveals itself. For example I recently showed this to my son:

He plays guitar, so he watched the first things Prince did and said they were good but possible. Then I showed him what happens around 4:03 and he conceded that his mind was blown. The playing in that sequence is so difficult he couldn’t get his head round being able to do it. He then said that he wanted to be better than Prince, a man he now admires.

You might think of examples of difficult achievements that you don’t admire, but I’d argue that you can admire the quality of the achievement without liking it or the people behind it. For example:

So that’s all there is to it, really: do things that are either difficult, apparently difficult, or easy for you but difficult for everyone else; then life will be a breeze.

The email-coveting shiteness of all websites.

People mispronouncing Jeremy Hunt’s last name (thanks, P):

Every Prince album reviewed and rated (thanks, A).

Perfectly recreating fashion pictures on a budget (thanks, L).

Cool drones (thanks, P):

Awesome new Radiohead vid:

The 50 most influential gadgets.

Handwriting porn (thanks, C).

At the time of writing, Leicester City haven’t quite won the 2015-16 Premier League title, but they will.

For those of you who don’t follow football, I feel I’m going to need a few facts to explain how seismic and unlikely an occurrence this is. Actually, I only need one: at the start of the season the bookmakers believed it was more likely that Dean Gaffney would win an Oscar.

At 5000-1, the chances of Simon Cowell becoming PM were ten times more likely.

Some have called it the biggest upset in recorded sports history.

As I’ve mentioned before, I love an unlikely success story, and despite the racism, diving and cynical fouls that have accompanied this win, I am fully behind it. It’s a modern day fairytale, where a cheaply-assembled collection of also-rans bested the billionaire-funded behemoths of Manchester City, Manchester United and Chelsea (and everyone else). It gives us all hope.

But it also makes me think: what conditions would you have to replicate in order to repeat the achievement elsewhere? Well, in the world of advertising I couldn’t help thinking of Dave Trott’s creative department of the 1980s. They laid waste to all comers by producing the world’s most popular and award-winning work, but they were a collection of relatively untried youngsters.

It’s well known that Dave wanted his department to operate his way; putting together a team of superstars from other agencies would make this much harder, as they’d be more inclined to question him and try to do things their way (plus they’d cost much more). So Dave found a bunch of talented, hungry juniors and shaped them into a team of world beaters.

The real question is: why does this method work? I have a theory: these days most Premier League footballers earn millions. They drive supercars, date (page 3) models and have colossal entourages hanging on their every word. This makes a manager’s life difficult. How do you dictate terms to a young, stupid millionaire whose friends spend all day blowing smoke up his arse? I think that’s where Wenger and Mourinho now struggle: unless you show yourself to be a faultless legend (at the moment that’s really just Guardiola and Ancelotti, perhaps with Simeone thrown in) there will be doubts, and those doubts will shave 10-15% off a manager’s ability to exert his will. But for a team to play brilliantly together the manager has to assert his will. He must be obeyed, otherwise the plan goes awry and the points are lost. But if you put together a team of players/creatives who are lower down the totem pole they will be less likely to question the manager or CD’s authority, and that can give you the extra 10-15% you need to beat the less committed teams.

Sure, it takes a very good manager, and possibly an alchemical combination of hunger and talent, but you can either make the whole greater than the sum of its parts or, it seems, less.

I also concede that various circumstances also contribute to this situation: lower expectations; an underdog spirit; no giant overlord (holding company/interfering owner) to corrupt the momentum; the power of the novel (teams unprepared for the strength of Leicester; rival agencies similarly unprepared in pitches, or awards juries moved by the upward trajectory of the latest star agency)… But these are circumstances often made by the team/agency, which means they’re also malleable.

So there you go: be a great manager/CD and fill your department with the talented, hungry and cheap.

The rest will be history.

Inside Guillermo Del Toro’s house of curiosities:

Great art in ugly rooms.

Animated Kafka (thanks, T):

People literally ask Reddit for abuse (thanks, T).

Steve Buscemi onesie, anyone? (Thanks, G.)

Best/worst celeb workout videos supercut (thanks, J).