The fifteenth of last month marked a particularly rare occurrence in my line of work. The vaquita, the kãkãpo if you like, of professional milestones, considering the oft revolving doors of most creative departments. Yep, 10 years in the one place.
I don’t know if this is testimony to Rumble or an indictment of the non-committal, nay, perpetually itchy hands of creative types. To be frank, earnest even, it’s the former. 10 years at Rumble, and what a 10 years it has been. Full transparency, I don’t really have another 10 years to gauge it against, but after experiencing this one for the first time, I can safely say it’s been a goodie.
I’ve seen the agency grow in numbers, including square meterage. I’ve been there as it leapt onto the pages of industry history, being named Agency of the Year on multiple occasions. I’ve crossed paths with many fine bipeds who were (and likely continue to be) beset with acute cases of topblokedness – both male and female. I’ve said “all the best on your next ADventure” to many more. Oh, yes, and created a fanny pack full of good stuff too.
Now some might doff their hats at my unconscious support for the proverb, ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss’. Others may state with salted ire that this now lichen-encrusted lump of matter is daft for staying put. Both have their merits, maybe, and equally both don’t, perhaps – that sounded way more insightful in my head.
To let the tiger out of the tote, dear reader, between you and me, I almost completely forgot about this milestone, until the winsome, never wince-some folk at 9/33 brought it to my attention in consummate style with a beer-shaped balloon, then a beer-shaped beer at the Boundo. For anyone who has ever made the 650m pilgrimage to the hallowed brass and glass on Boundary Street, would know what a ‘derrr’ moment it would’ve been to suggest any other venue.
Yet while I was having a drink, I found myself doing a think, about of a question asked over a decade past… sick rhyme, I know.
The question: Where do you think you’ll be in 10 years? This wasn’t put to me by any of my supreme leaders at the time. It came from a new, relatively young face in the agency I was working at. I feel it was a clumsy attempt at steering the conversation away from a hive-inducing awkward silence at the lunch table. Though, on reflection, I was aggressively gobbling a tuna-avo sushi roll at the time, which likely didn’t help the general vibe in the immediate vicinity – I have a tendency to prison eat. No, I think the ponderance probably did the opposite and hastened said dermatological eruption. Eitherway, I couldn’t provide a substantive response. Maybe it was due to my underdeveloped prefrontal lobe, or that I didn’t want to pierce the veil of mystique that I had been working so hard on at the time. I think I said something glib like, “I don’t know, but not here”. Again, wasn’t trying to be a tough guy, I was working on my inscrutability. Well, as if fate was being a nosy Nelly, I was right… weirdly. Because a few months later, I left that place and started at Rumble.
Now I could spend the next chunk of space guiding readers, with metaphorical torchlight, through the annals (never has a digraph been so important) of my past achievements. Or hand over the retelling reins to an affable host blessed with an unfairly robust hairline – alas, Mike Munro wasn’t available.
I figure I’d attempt to share a few neural crumbs that I hold to be true and have assisted me, from time to time, during my tenure at the mighty, little indie on Vulture Street. The following has a rather obvious skew towards the creative types, although, that’s not to say anyone looking to spend a decade in one place can’t also absorb something useful.
1. Stay junior.
Not in title or skillset, but in mindset. Approach each brief with the naïve optimism and hunger that your best work will fall out of the sacred piece of paper you’re destined to unpack. This also leads to fresh thinking in my view, and if your ideas aren’t chosen, for whatever reason, at least you’ll start building your bottom draw. Which brings us to the next mental morsel.
2. No doesn’t mean never.
No simply means not this time or with this group. Getting great work up takes great work beyond cracking the brief. No simply means the idea is meant for someone willing to take the journey with you at later time. Remember, anyone can poke holes in an idea, the best ones find a way to make it float – not my quote but excellently put. Actually, there should be an award category which recognises the sheer number of barriers needed to traverse and blazing rings required to leap through in order to see beautiful work up in lights.
3. It will feel like you fought polio to get work into your portfolio.
The struggle is real, but the struggle is rewarding. It is quite hard to beat that ‘zero to lightspeed’ moment when an idea is formed, then presented, then green lit, then created
4. Think the stupid, dumb thought. Say the stupid, dumb thought. Write down the stupid, dumb thought.
I would’ve said try to ‘think different’, but apparently this line has already been taken. Strange, really, I’ve spent over 15 years in advertising and never heard of it. And for the love of Norm de Plume, avoid self-censorship like my newborn disregards sleep. Yeah, this too: never follow the teachings of the infamous Hellenic philosopher, Mediocrates.
5. There are three budgets: big ones. Not big ones. And Simply Reds.
For clarity, Simply Reds are ones when money’s too tight to mention. To anyone who smugly declares that budget shouldn’t matter has either only worked on accounts where budget, indeed, doesn’t matter, or they’re a scoundrel without valour. But that’s not to say that gold can’t be derived from dust. It’s just extremely rare, like literally creating gold from dust. It requires a lot of brow sweat, back sweat, and maybe at bit of sweat from that weird skin hole where your neck and collarbones meet.
6. Hobbies are where the magic happens.
For those sick freaks who say advertising is also their hobby, please disregard. For us regulars, spend your spare time wasting it on the stuff that whisks your mind away from the brief or advertising full stop. You’ll likely find those squishy, foreign parts of your brain begin to mingle, chat, make out and, in no time, welcome a beautiful bundle of thought into the world – or you’ll simply get random things (good random things) where you’ll likely experience the gold/dust analogy from above for reals.
7. Everyone is creative, but not everyone is a creative.
There is a distinct line between making something and making something with commercial intent. Applied creativity, with barriers and lines that can’t be crossed is what separates artists, auteurs, and auspicious careers in our industry. Probably a controversial take, but a borderless brief is a horrifying thing for an advertising creative to encounter.
8. Always have a problem with not having a problem.
As advertising practitioners, we need to solve things for people, not create things for no one. Needle moving shouldn’t be only relegated to the underbelly of the Valley, rather a core intent of the work that you put out into the world. Awards are a consequence of great work, not the cause.
9. Learn to let go, but don’t be scared to DM your old ideas with, “U still up?”.
You will think a lot, present a lot, and say goodbye to a lot. That’s why having skin comparable to a pachyderm will serve you well, and remembering the old ones that got away will serve you even better.
10. And for peated whisky’s sake, laugh.
You know that laugh where it hurts your stomach and your intercostals, and you can’t breathe because you’re laughing so hard and can’t stop laughing to the point where you get slightly worried that you may never stop laughing and begin thinking about how you’re going to eat, travel, work, raise a family, and help little Mary who’s struggling with math if you can’t stop laughing? Laugh like that and do it regularly with your fellow agency bros and brosephines. Because something I know to be indisputable is that a good many of them are the nicest, raddest, and – here comes my street cred – illest people you will ever meet.
That’s it – see you again in 10 years.
