Six questions to ask yourself before giving feedback on creative

At some point in your marketing career, you’ll probably be asked to give feedback on creative. Before you open your mouth, ask yourself these questions.

Is this my call? Or just my opinion? Feel free to give feedback either way, of course. But understand that if you’re the decision maker, every passing comment will interpreted as an order, so be careful what you say. And if you aren’t the decision maker, people might decide against implementing your feedback at all. So if that feedback is really important, you need to phrase it in a way that sells it.

Where’s the good in this work? Phrase your feedback so it sounds like you’re not killing something bad, you’re clearing space so the good can shine through. Don't say, "This doesn't work." Instead, try, "This part prevented me from understanding this great idea."

Will my feedback make the work 10% better? If it doesn’t, don’t give it. I got this tip from an ECD, shortly after I became a CD. He told me that if a team loses ownership of their idea, they'll stop giving up their nights and weekends to work on it. And the quality will drop by a lot more than 10%. So if you're going to change something, make sure the improvement is obvious.

Are you giving feedback on their idea, or pitching your own? People become creatives to bring their ideas to life. Not to execute your idea for you. Severing the idea from its execution is a recipe for apathy.

Can I give this feedback without physically touching the work? Especially in today’s virtual culture, it’s tempting to draw lines through things and drop comments into decks. That reduces your feedback to a punchlist that can be ignored. It’s harder to ignore strategically sound direction that’s delivered as a challenge statement.

Do I have a thick skin? The creatives killed 95% of their own ideas before they shared the work with you at all. So if you voice an idea and the creative team shoots it down, don't be offended. Go back and get a different idea. That's the expectation for creatives, and it's only fair that the rules apply to you, too.

The Open Office Doesn't Have to Suck

Last week, I spoke at Ignite Denver 30 at the Oriental Theater. My topic was open offices. How they kill productivity. And what we can do about it. I worked Lord Byron, drugs and a whole lot of vampires into my five-minute thesis.

Ignite is a unique series. Your slides auto-advance every 15 seconds. So if you lose your flow, you're screwed. It's a lot of pressure. But, man, I loved it. The Ignite staff was passionate and committed. And my fellow speakers were supportive and interesting. (You really should go check out all their talks.)

I left the stage so, so happy. If you want to see my talk, well, here you go.

Our relationship is happening all the time

[Ed. - I recently had to send a "see you later" email to a very special group of people. The sentiment is important enough that I wanted to share it here, too.]

 At the end of the 2002 movie Laurel Canyon, blithe spirit Jane asks her straightlaced son if they’re “ever going to have a real relationship.” He replies, “Here we are – having it.”

It’s tempting to believe that to build a relationship, you need to schedule quality time. Sneak out for coffee. Share a secret. Celebrate a birthday. Plan a goodbye toast.

But all the moments we spend together are meaningful in equal measure. Sitting in the conference room. Standing in the elevator. Shuffling in the kitchen. These aren’t hurdles to some other, better relationship. They are the relationship. And they are happening all the time.

I hope on Monday you pause to appreciate the divine nature of mundane moments. And instead of resenting or numbing them, imagine them all as part of the same single sprawling sea, immeasurable and immeasurably important.

This is your life. And here you are – having it. Together.

Email all the time

[Ed. - While this conversation is fictitious, the numbers in it are not. But you know what? I bet your inbox is even messier than mine. I would love to hear any solutions anyone has.]

She asked, "Why wasn't this project done on time?"

I said, "I dunno. I didn't realize we even had a presentation scheduled."

"But I sent you the date in an email last week."

"I'm sorry, I probably missed it."

"You don't read my emails?"

"I try to. But yesterday alone, I got 187 work emails and 96 personal ones. If I spent even two minutes with each one, that'd add up to almost 10 hours a day reading email. And that doesn't include opening any attachments, clicking any links, or writing any responses. I can't devote that much time to reading email."

"So you don't check your email?"

"Of course I do. I spend more than three hours a day on it. I start by deleting the 60 or 70 that appear to be ads. Then I scroll through looking for meeting requests and anything relating to whatever major projects are already on my radar. The remaining 150 get skimmed or ignored."

"So when we need to talk to you, what should we do?"

"I don't know. I worry about it all the time. Any form of communication only works to the extent it captures attention. Face-to-face works best, but can you imagine 187 face-to-face meetings a day? Ditto for calls, texts, and threaded comments on project management systems. Any of them would cease to work the moment the larger team found out about them."

"So what's the solution?"

"The only solves I see are not communication-based. The first is to reduce the noise by accepting only larger projects. The second is to hire a bigger staff and field dedicated, autonomous teams."

"But all over America, clients are cutting budgets and agencies are trimming headcount."

I said, "Yeah, I know." And then we sat in silence for a time, contemplating careers as lumberjacks. 

Perspective on "An overdue lesson in perspective"

Years ago, I stumbled across "An Overdue Lesson in Perspective." In it, Linds Redding wrote about what he called The Overnight Test. You do a bunch of ads, tack them to your wall, go home, and review them the next morning with fresh eyes. Your judgment is clearer. You see what's working and what's not in a way that you never could when you were in the frenzy of creation.

Redding had cancer. And in the essay, he gave his own career The Overnight Test:

[W]hat I didn’t do, with the benefit of perspective, is anything of any lasting importance. At least creatively speaking. Economically I probably helped shift some merchandise. Enhanced a few companies bottom lines. Helped make one or two wealthy men a bit wealthier than they already were. As a life, it all seemed like such a good idea at the time. But I’m not really sure it passes The Overnight Test.

I struggled with Redding's post for a long time. It was fabulously eloquent and deeply personal. I wrote several long comments, all of which I deleted. And what I finally posted was this:

My grandfather spent his working life pulling double shifts in a chair factory. Does that pass the overnight test?

My comment was never approved. Redding had died.

Advertising can be a frustrating way to make a living. Yes, I often wonder if my clients appreciate that I spend the majority of my waking hours trying to make them rich. Yes, I sometimes imagine what my life would've been like if I'd become a novelist or an entrepreneur or a spy. And no, I don't see my family as much as I'd like.

But give me a break. Ninety percent of the world spends 14 hours a day in a rice patty trying to stave off famine and starvation. Of the remaining 10%, a tiny percentage work in the blissful safety of white collar offices. And of that tiny percentage, an even tinier percentage get to come to work in retro kicks and hoodies and run around solving business problems with the funniest, coolest, most energetic group of people God has ever created.

I am lucky as hell to have this job.

And I'm irritated by the idea that human beings are entitled to careers that offers spiritual fulfillment. I get paid a fair salary plus benefits. In return, I make my clients rich and my agency successful. When this ride is over, will my career in advertising pass The Overnight Test? My grandparents are gone, but I can imagine what they'd say. "Quit gazing at your shoelaces. Get to work."

"You want to run around in circles inspiring people to run around in circles."

I have a list of phrases that bother me. Like "throw out some dates" or any noun preceded by the word "per." The latest addition to that list is any title that includes the word "change," as illustrated in the following conversation:

"Hi, Matt. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. Where do you work?"

"Oh, I'm between jobs. Kind of looking around for a company that needs a paradigm shift. Usually, CEOs hire me to be a change agent."

"That's great! What do you change them into?"

"Um, you know, just stir things up. Be more modern."

"More modern how?"

"Like, the Internet!"

"What about it?"

"Its possibilities! I'm like a spark plug. I get people excited."

"About the Internet?"

"No! About change."

"What kind of change?"

"Change for the better."

"No kidding? Change is by definition transitive. What will the change produce? What does the company look like as a result? Has anyone outlined a goal or a vision for the future?"

"Well, I don't deal with day-to-day measurements."

"I didn't ask for any."

"I'm more of an evangelist."

"For what?"

"Change. I'm a change evangelist."

"Are you messing with me on purpose?"

"Oh, I get it. You're afraid of change."

"No, I'm not afraid of change. Some days I crave it. Other days it's just a fact of life, like breathing and dealing with idiots. But I am wary of change that isn't accompanied by vision. And in the absence of evidence to the contrary, I'm going to have to assume that you call yourself a 'change agent' because you have no ideas, no skills and no work ethic. Therefore you're trying to assume a title that precludes you from having to produce any sort of actual results. You want to run around in circles inspiring people to run around in circles. That's not change. It's just a waste of time."

Eight things people have said in meetings at ad agencies that could be the title of a song by The Smiths

1. Nothing We Do On This Whiteboard Will Change The World
2. Anything Is Better Than The Nothing We've Got
3. Late Night, Alone On South Broadway
4. I Can't Seem To Stop Having Ideas You Hate
5. Can You Get Me A Drink, Then Again Nevermind
6. No One Ever Posts Photos Of The Old Folks
7. Meeting Is Just Another Word For Judgement Day
8. The Bathroom Is Where The Girls Go To Cry

It's all free time

"When will you be free?"

"Can you grab me when you're free?"

"What do you do with your free time?"

These questions drive me nuts. Not because I never have free time. Quite the opposite.

Every second I have is free time.

I'm not overworked, overstressed or overcommitted. I choose to work. Partially because I enjoy it. Mostly because it's how I feed my family.

Yes, there are people who actually have moments that aren't free. They live in a dictatorship somewhere. Or they have a health condition. Or they're living paycheck to paycheck. Right now, I'm not talking about them.

I am talking about average Americans who choose to think in terms of "work time" and "free time." Those people are boxing themselves into a miserable corner of their own making, relinquishing their  lives to the dictates of cruel bosses and nagging clients. And the only thing they need to do to escape this self-imposed prison is repeat to themselves, "It's all free time."

Dear Me, on my first day in advertising

A video we put together for The Denver Egotist:

11 more potential band names inspired by things people have said in advertising meetings

26. Hannah and the Interns
27. A Flood of Mango
28. A Lot of Lindseys
29. No More Metaphors
30. The Fleece Situation
31. Unleashed Upon An Unsuspecting Planet

32. The Action List

33. Fall Back to Lucinda

34. Millennial Minuses

35. Soft Measures, Hard Measures
36. Own This City

[Ed. - The third installment in an ongoing series.]

More potential band names inspired by things people have said in meetings at an advertising agency

15. Patching Java
16. Strategic Mumbling
17. Dark Social
18. 10 Point Plan
19. The Flash Situation
20. Monkey With A Handgun
21. The Devil In Industry
22. The Mirror Cling Issue
23. When Normal People Sleep
24. Jump Into Emoji
25. The Money Police

[Ed. - This is the second installment in a very occasional series. Here is the first.]

The most important lesson I've learned at Karsh Hagan. So far.

"You need a new job every three years."

I don't know where I first heard that advice. But it's true. Careers are like sharks. You swim or you sink. You need a new client, a new promotion, a new responsibility, a new agency, a new something every three years. Or you're drowning and you don't even know it.

I joined Karsh Hagan five years ago. The agency offered me the chance to do something I've never done before. Take on new challenges and responsibilities without job hopping. And my time here has been all hopscotch and kisses.

Not.

These years have been a whirlwind. Often exhilarating. Frequently exhausting. Sometimes tragic. And they've taught me something that everyone needs to know.

Character is not revealed through victory. Or at an office party. Or over coffee.

You learn what people are made of when you're climbing into a production van together at 4:00 a.m. on three hours of sleep because you have to chase the sunrise.

And when you're sweating at the agency at midnight pulling a deck together for a presentation that's happening in nine hours. Tick tock.

And when you realize that if you don't win a pitch, a friend is going to lose his job. So you find a way to make it happen.

You learn what people are made of when you're all standing in the same room staring up at the ceiling or out the window, trying figure out how you can bear to go on after someone you all loved dies.

Celebration is nice. And important. But it doesn't teach you much. I've learned to welcome the foxhole. To be inspired by it. To let it bring out my best. To trust my team. To find ways to win.

And you should learn that too.

[Also posted on the Karsh Hagan blog and the Egotist.]

14 potential band names inspired by things people have said in meetings at an advertising agency

1. 7:30 Syndrome
2. TILT! SHIFT!
3. The Black Dress Theory
4. The Modal Layer
5. Back Office Winner
6. Scrolling for No Reason
7. Taxi Takeover
8. Permanent Rod
9. Suck at Illustrator
10. Blue Up the Sky
11. Crazy in the Header
12. Officing From Nowhere
13. Born Digital
14. Crush the Horizon

Working with humans

I have worked with people who are always kind, always reliable, always creatively excellent. But not many. Maybe five. Certainly less than 10.

I have also worked with people on the other end of the spectrum. Full-scale hacks lying and stabbing their way through their lives. But only a couple.

One of the people in the former category decided to eject from the industry recently. His departure probably doesn't qualify as a blow, but it is kind of a bummer.

It got me thinking. I've worked with hundreds - maybe thousands - of people. Only a dozen of them lie at either end of the spectrum. Which means my career has been defined by the huge mass of people in the middle. Good people who are just trying to live their lives, take care of their families, do their jobs, and have a little fun along the way. People who are occasionally lazy. Sometimes irrational. At times belligerent. Open to the infrequent dishonesty.

You know. Humans.

Working with excellence is easy. Just throw it the ball and get out of its way. Working with awfulness is also easy. Run. Fire, if you can. But working with humans, absorbing their failures, celebrating their wins, and forgiving their imperfections - that's hard. It is an evolving, inconsistent and subjective process. It guarantees that I, too, will fail. And need celebration. And forgiveness. Lots and lots of it.

Random thought about director-level hiring

I have heard some iteration of this sentiment from three agency leaders in the past year:

I have been trying to find the right interactive director for my agency. I keep hiring these brilliant, inspirational thought leaders and they always flop. Great speakers, but they just can't get projects done. The next hire I make, I am am going to ask to see applicants' code. And if they can't show me actual code they have written, I am showing them the door.

This makes sense to me. After all, I have never met a creative director who didn't start his career in the trenches, creating work as a copywriter or art director. Why should any director-level position be different?

But then again, maybe it doesn't make sense at all. Not all great workers are suited to be managers. (I know genius creatives with stellar portfolios who never became creative directors.) And not every great manager was a screaming success as a worker. (For instance, John Fox never played a down in the NFL.)

I don't have an answer. I'm not even sure I am asking a question. It's just what's rolling around in my head. Who wants to buy me CD: Y0?

Three ways to get your first creative job in advertising

[Ed. - I wrote the guts of this post at the same time I was working on Our Answers to Your Job Questions with Carmel. The two posts seemed redundant, so I shelved this one. I recently discovered it sitting around and decided to publish it. Enjoy.]

"I want to get into the creative side of the advertising business, but don't have a clue what to do. Help."

I have heard some variation of this question least four dozen times. My answer has become so pat it is more like a speech. Here it is:

"The calculation is simple. Great personality plus great book equals job. But I feel your pain. You can't get a job without a book and you can't start on your book without a job. You're stuck in a chicken versus egg scenario. What are you going to do?

First, look around you. Every single designer, art director and copywriter you see has found a way to break out of the loop. So take heart. It can be done.

There are all sorts of ways to make it happen. Be lucky. Have the right parents. Be named David Droga. But in general, I've seen three successful, repeatable strategies that anyone can use. And here they are:

First, try to get a job as an account coordinator. That's not to say that being an account coordinator is any easier than being a junior creative. It's not. At all. But the financial barrier to entry is lower. Ten bucks to print resumes versus several hundred dollars to shoot spec ads, buy layout software, and assemble a book. If you can land a job on the account side, you'll be able to spend a couple years learning how to work hard, speak intelligently and sell great advertising. And you'll be in an environment where you can get ahold of briefs, printers, software and most importantly, mentorship. Work on your book at night and on weekends. After a couple years, you can have a surprise epiphany. "I want to be a creative!" And you'll have the tools and the personal network you need to make that happen.

Second, you could go to ad school. The real benefit of Creative Circus or Miami Ad School isn't only a great portfolio. It's access to a giant network of working professionals all over the world. This is a foolproof method. It is also time-consuming and expensive.

The third strategy is the cheapest and fastest, but also the most bruising. It requires you to be fearless and persistent. Take your crappy samples and show them to everyone you can. Even people who you feel might be more junior or less talented than you. Explain that you do not expect a job, just some advice. You will get lots of conflicting comments and you will hear things that hurt your feelings. Don't let it get to you. Instead, go away and work to make everything better. Try new colors, new layouts, new headlines, new media, new everything. You must demonstrate that you are taking the advice you are getting seriously. Within two months, come back to everyone (yes, everyone) and ask to show your book again. Then ask them if there is anyone else they know who would be willing to give you even more advice. Repeat this process. A lot. With each round of showings, your book should get 25% better and your circle of contacts 50% wider. Eventually, you will be in the right place at the right time."

People in advertising have almost infinite patience for passionate, hardworking, humble young creatives. But they won't waste time on anyone who comes off as lazy, helpless, or full of themselves. So work hard and don't be a jerk. That's my advice.

Five things I think I think about books

1. Account people should carry books: Account people have a big role in strategizing, selling and even creating work. Yet agencies hire them based on their resumes. How stupid is that? If I was responsible for hiring account people - and I'm not - I would demand to see their books.

2. Copywriters need to show copy: When I graduated from the Creative Circus, my book was full of visual solutions. And creative directors asked me for examples of copy. And I thought, "Pft. Whatever. Old dude doesn't get it." Now I'm on the other side of the desk. And I have to ask to see copy. And I know the kids think I am hopelessly hopeless. But that's the way it goes. Yes, concept is king. But I don't know too many agencies in Denver who can afford to hire writers that can't write.

3. Books are really hard to put together: Not the first time I've said this. The coolest stuff out there is integrated and experiential. And it's really hard to communicate that in a fast, fun book. I have no good solution. But I share the pain.

4. Sometimes books don't tell you as much as you think they do: A friend of mine, a creative director at a well-known agency in Seattle, told me that there are two types of genius writers. The geniuses who come up with the first ad in a campaign and the geniuses who come up with the 50th. (Actually, he didn't phrase it that way. I brushed the quote up because I can't f'ing help myself.) Both skills are equally valuable. But they're different. It's hard to tell from a book who did what.

5. Books favor the occasionally great, not the consistently good: Your book may have five campaigns in it. I know people who have five A+ campaigns and pretty much everything else they've ever touched sucks. And I know people with B books, but everything they ever do is a B. Who do you hire?

[Ed. - I'm illustrating this post with a Facebook photo of me looking at portfolios at NDAC Connect. Crossposted on my blog and on Karsh Connect.]

Students inspire, amaze and scare the hell out of me

For more than a month, I have had Autumn Wallace's resume on my desk. She handed it to me at the NDAC's student job fair in March and I got the chance to talk with her briefly. Our conversation began like this:

Her: I want to use human-centered design to address the flaws in complex systems that have been overlooked by the modern world.

Me: Huh?

She took me through her book. It was unlike any book I've ever seen. And I've seen a kazillion. Autumn redesigned an ambulance ride from the patient's point of view. She redesigned shopping technology from a blind person's point of view. She redesigned a fruit brand from a community's point of view. By the end of our talk, two facts were blindingly obviously to me:

1. Autumn was doing what agencies in America ought to be doing. She was finding places where brands and consumers intersect and making them beautiful and efficient.

2. It would be a gamble to hire Autumn based on her book, because after looking at it I wasn't sure she was passionate about doing the tasks that junior designers are expected to do - logos, packaging, websites, and, frequently, shelf talkers and counter cards.

My usual gripe about junior designers and art directors is that their books lack ideas and inspiration. But Autumn's book had the opposite situation. (I can't bring myself to call it a problem.) It was nothing but vision. So at some point in the conversation, I said something like this:

Me: I don't want to kill the dream here. You are doing something wonderful at a high level. But at most agencies, your first assignment will probably be something like, "Design a website." If you're lucky. It might be, "Design a mirror cling." Are you sure you're ready for that, both skill-wise and emotionally?

She assured me she was raring to get going in the real world. And if I had an open job, I would like to think I'd have the courage to hire her. But I keep looking at her resume and feeling confused. And then inspired. And then sad. And then just sort of confused again.

A memory from 1997, my first year in the ad business

My creative director left the agency to go pick up a box of brochures from a printer. When he returned, his eyes looked even wilder than usual. I asked him if everything was OK. He said, "I got to the printer to pick our stuff up and the guy behind the counter told me that the guy who'd been working on it killed himself last night in their parking lot. And then he just looked at me and there was this awkward pause so I said, 'God, sorry to hear that. So, like, did he finish my stuff first?'"

A quick exercise

Write down the five international agencies you most want to work for. Then go to Creativity's list of the most awarded agencies of 2009. How many agencies were on both lists?

[Ed. - h/t to AdPulp.]