Dave Trott’s Blog

I don’t think creativity belongs only in the so-called creative dept.

In fact, that’s often the least creative place.

As Edward de Bono said, “There are lots of people calling themselves creative who are actually mere stylists.”

Creativity isn’t a particular discipline.

It’s the quality of originality and unexpectedness that you bring to whatever you do.

So what forms can creativity take in other departments?

In Kung Fu the have an expression,”Wu Wei”, translated as ‘action by inaction’.

(Meaning, if possible it’s always better to get your desired result by doing as little as possible.)

Amanda Walsh used to be our CEO and head suit (or frock).

One day she got a call from a new business prospect asking if we could help them sort out their strategy.

They weren’t a client, but it was an obvious carrot for us.

If we helped them sort out their strategy, they’d issue it as brief for a pitch and we’d be on the pitch list.

They asked us because they knew we had Murray Chick as a partner, one of the best strategists in town.

For me, this was a great chance to get an unfair advantage over the competition.

If I got Murray’s strategy before the other agencies, then our creative dept. could start work earlier.

A bit like starting a race before the other competitors.

So I kept pestering Amanda and Murray:

Me (week one):          “Is the brief ready yet?”

Amanda:                   “Not yet, the client hasn’t had a chance to read it.”

Me (week two):         “Hey, is the brief ready yet?”

Amanda:                   “Not yet. The client’s still thinking about it.”

Me (week three):       “Where the fuck is the brief?”

Amanda:                   “The client still hasn’t made up their mind..”

Me (week four):         “You’ve just wasted four weeks when we could have been working on the pitch.”

Amanda:                   “Look, calm down Dave.

We’re not hassling the client because, while they’re dragging their feet they’re running out of time.

The whole process has gone on so long that that they’ll suddenly realise they’re about to miss their airdate.

They won’t have time for a pitch and they’ll have to give us the account without one.”

And that’s exactly what happened.

Wu wei.

Personally, I tend to find that the more you live in the academic world, the less you live in the real world.
I suppose it has to be that way really.
Being able to write a paper about something is, in that world, more important than actually doing something.
After all, the person who actually did it might not know why they did it.
It might have been an accident.
But if you can analyse it, debate it, argue it, you must have truly understood it.
(Which is why creatives might find planners can be patronising.)
Anyway, university is a little world unto itself, it’s a closed loop.
Ergo, the more illustrious your university career, the further you recede from the world the rest of us inhabit.
This was illustrated to me once by a young account man (names don’t matter, do they Seb?).
He had, apparently, a very fine mind, and an honours degree.
He sent down a brief for the creative department, for me to sign off.
It was the launch of a new product.
The part I’ll always remember is his final sentence: “For details of pack artwork, see attached reference.”
I turned the page and there in the middle of it was a one inch black square.
Nothing else, just a black square.
I called him down and asked if we could discuss his brief.
When he came in he asked if I had a problem with the strategy.
I said, “No, not the strategy.”
He said, “Only I’ve heard emotional and affinity strategies always seem to vex you.”
I said, “I bet you went to a really good university didn’t you?”
He smiled and said, “Yes I did. Cambridge as a matter of fact, how did you know?”

I held up the page with the single black square on it and said, “Because, you twat, you’ve Xeroxed a 35mm slide.”

As Napoleon said, “Generals don’t win wars. Sergeants win wars.”

Gordon Smith used to work in the studio at CDP.

One day the studio head gave him a piece of artwork for a finished ad.

The artwork was ripped in half, and the studio head asked him to repair it.

Gordon said, “What happened to it.”

The studio head said, “Frank just sold it.”

Apparently, what had happened was that Frank Lowe , then a young account man, had presented the finished ad to a junior client.

The junior client made the most of the opportunity.

He stroked his chin, narrowed his eyes and said, “I don’t think it’s quite there yet.”

Frank said, “This is the ad I agreed with your board to do, and we already have the space booked.”

The client said, “Yes, but I’d like to see a couple of changes.”

Frank turned the ad over, ripped it in half and threw it in the corner.

The client screamed, “What are you doing?”

Frank said, “Well you said you didn’t want to run that ad. Perhaps you can tell me what you do want to do.”

The client said, “I didn’t mean that.”

Frank said, “Of course, starting all over again means we’ll miss the copy date that’s already paid for.”

The client said, “Hang on, you’ve misunderstood what I meant.”

Frank said, “And the board will want to know why you’re not running the ad they asked me to do.”

The client began picking up the two halves of the ad.

“Look, isn’t there some way we can salvage this ad and still make the copy date?” he said.

“I thought you didn’t like it.” Said Frank said.

“No, no, I want to run it exactly as it is. Can you help me, please?” said the client.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Said Frank.

Which is why Gordon had to put the ad back together because Frank had just sold it.

Now that’s an account man.

My first encounter with a planner was at BMP in the seventies.
I’d just come back from New York, and they didn’t have planners there.
Over there the creatives had to do the thinking for themselves.
So I’d never met a planner before.
The first one I met (like every single planner I’ve ever met since) had a university degree.
He also had a beard.
And glasses, roll neck jumper, corduroy trousers, and Earth Shoes (the seventies version of Birkenstocks).
In fact the whole university, intellectual look at that time.
Anyway, we were working on Pepsi.
The target market was 13 year old kids, and they were trying to find out more about them.
So I sat behind a two-way mirror and watched this guy run the group.
They were a scruffy little bunch of 13 year olds from Poplar.
The planner pointed to a large board with the names of lots of TV shows on it.
He said to the kids, “Now, do you watch any of these shows on television?”
One little kid said, “Yeah, we watch all them. Except Star Trek, UFO, and Thunderbirds. We don’t watch them.”
All the other little kids agreed.
The planner stopped and said, “Would you repeat that?”
The little kid said, “Yeah, we watch all them, except Star Trek, UFO, and Thunderbirds. We don’t watch them.”
The planner looked towards the mirror, which he knew we were behind, and raised an eyebrow.
He turned back to the group of kids.
He said, “So, does this mean that speculation about some vague technological future has no place in your everyday lives?”

The little kid said, “No, they ain’t on no more.

Interesting question.
What’s the difference between a great piece of film and a great ad?
A great piece of film moves you.
It touches you.
It plugs into a truth inside you.
It might make you laugh.
It might shock you.
But you think, yeah I recognise that, how perceptive.
That’s a great piece of film.
Fine.
Next question.
Did it change your mind?
Did it make you want do, or buy something?
Do you even remember who it was for?
You see a great piece of film doesn’t have to do anything, except make you like it, for itself.
A great ad has to make you do something, beyond itself.
It has to change your mind.
That’s the difference.
Advertising isn’t entertainment, it’s propaganda.
It has to do a job.
Making you like it isn’t enough.
We’re not in the business of writing sketches for The Fast Show.
We’re in the business of motivating people.
Liking what I do isn’t enough.
Making you laugh isn’t enough.
Awards isn’t enough.
Hits on YouTube isn’t enough.
They’re all very nice but I haven’t done my job unless the ad has changed your behaviour, or at least your mindset.
I love some of the current ads as pieces of film.
They’re clever, well shot, nicely edited, watchable again and again, on YouTube.
My only problem is that everyone outside advertising I’ve spoken to doesn’t remember who they’re for, or what the point was.
And yet they really like them as pieces of film.
So how do explain that?
Sounds to me like the production companies are doing their jobs really well.
My only question is, are the ad agencies doing their jobs?
As Shakespeare said:
“WHEN CAESAR SPEAK PEOPLE SAY, WHAT A WONDERFUL SPEECH.
WHEN MARK ANTHONY SPEAKS, PEOPLE MARCH.”