Well shut my mouth

Tonight's repost from April 6, 2012 is a tale that's hush-hush, on the Q.T. and very confidential.

It's not brain surgery or rocket science, but some ad agencies would have you think it is.

I recently had to sign an NDA (a Non-Disclosure Agreement, sometimes called a confidentiality agreement) before this one firm would hire me for a freelance gig. It's become common practice the last few years. But here's my question: what exactly are they protecting?

If you work on a fast food account, you get asked to work on other fast food accounts. Same for cars. Same for airlines. Same for most categories. Like any profession (stops and laughs hysterically for using the word "profession"....okay, regaining composure...), leveraging your experience is what keeps you employed.

No one goes from one job to the next yakking about everything they did, saw, wrote and learned at the last one. You just assimilate it all into your own personal database.

Just like the borg, except without all that nasty face metal.

Agencies like to flatter themselves that what they do is so proprietary, their processes so innovative, that spilling the beans will cause them "irreparable damage and financial loss and hardship."

Here's the reality check: there are no beans to spill.

Every agency has a catchy name for their process. You say tomato, I say tom-ah-to. They're all doing the same things to win, keep and grow business. And the idea that your car client doesn't know what the other guys car client is up to is a sweet notion from a bygone era.

A copywriter friend of mine was fired from an agency because he had the unmitigated gall to post an ad he'd done on his website, along with all the other ads he's done. It's a common practice. But his agency blew a fuse, saying he was not only violating his confidentiality agreement but was trying to steal the business. Neither of which was true. To my way of thinking there are felonies and misdemeanors: if they were upset he didn't ask first, they should've reminded him to next time and moved on.

Here's the thing large agencies have in common with small ones: the level of paranoia, based on nothing, is genuinely frightening.

Does an account get stolen from time to time? Of course. Do employees get poached from one agency to another? Sure. But if either were genuinely happy where they were in the first place, it would be a lot harder to do.

The other thing about these agreements is there's usually a time period attached to them. Agencies don't want you to write on an account in the same category for 1, 2 or 3 years without getting signed permission from them.

Good luck with that.

In case you don't know, this is how I make my living. I can be writing on Taco Bell one day, and Del Taco the next. Or Land Rover and Chevy Tahoe. Southwest or Jet Blue. That's the nature of freelance.

Fortunately I know how to use the strikethough option before I sign one of these contracts.

Don't misunderstand what I'm saying. I believe your word and honor are all you have, and if you sign a contract you should abide by it.

But some contracts, like the one on the back of your ticket in the parking lot, just aren't worth the paper they're printed on.

I'd tell you which ones, but I'm not at liberty to say.

Bad form

I hate form letters, regardless what form they come in.

I just received one from someone I used to work for. It starts off, "Hi Jeff, my name is (HIS NAME) and as one of my connections I wanted to connect with you..." Blah blah blah.

I wouldn't have used the word connect so close to the word connections. That's just me.

Because this person does know me, I think a better idea would've been to cull through his network and personalize his communication to the people he actually knows. I've known him twelve years. I worked for him. He unceremoniously let me go, then washed his hands of it. Then he didn't bother returning any of my calls or emails.

Does he really think I forgot his name?

Don't get me started.

Anyway, I don't like form letters from faceless corporations, and I like them even less from people I know. They're just one more way the world is depersonalizing communication, while trying to give the impression it's very personal. Meant just for you.

It's the direct mail piece you're holding that addresses you by name. You know, the one five-hundred thousand other people got. It's the human-sounding software that uses voice-recognition to get your credit card balance and answer your questions.

Form letters are the equivalent of saying, "I don't really care, but I want to look like I do." They're a lot like my high school girlfriend that way.

Over the years, like all of us, I've received form letters from publishers rejecting my work, banks rejecting my loan application and potential employers rejecting my resume. I've also gotten them from publishers telling me I might already be a winner, credit card companies telling me I'm pre-approved and politicians earnestly trying to have a conversation with me one-on-one.

Actually one-on-twenty million.

In order for a letter not to be a form letter, the sender has to know you. Not know something about you that can be gleaned from your spending habits or website visits. But know you.

I think the feeling they're shooting for is the one you get when you eat at your local coffee shop and they ask, "The usual?" I'm pretty sure they're not going for, "Your hold time will be seventeen minutes."

I understand the convenience of a form letter, especially when you have hundreds of connections. It's the easy way out. And while I don't like being on the receiving end, more than most people I appreciate easy.

So anyway dear (NAME), I want to thank your for taking your valuable time to read this post. I know you're busy with raising (NUMBER) children, maintaining (NUMBER) cars and traveling (NUMBER) miles to work and back each day. I hope you'll find time on (DAY & DATE) to read my next post.

Feels good, doesn't it?

Typo happens

Has this ever happened to you? You work on a commercial for weeks, concepting it, selling to the client, getting the budget approved, shooting it and then finally seeing it on the air. Only to discover there's a typo in it.

Not talking about a little teeny typo buried in the legal copy. I'm talking about a big ass typo right out there for the world to see.

It happened to me years ago. I was working on the Coco's Restaurant account, and they wanted to promote a Prime Rib, Steak and Shrimp offer. Should've been easy enough.

Except when the spot got to air, the end title card read "Prime Rib, Steak and Shimp."

The interesting part is the spot ran for three weeks before some eagle-eyed viewer called to say there was a typo.

Afterwards, I did a little math and figured out that between myself and my partner, all the account people, all the clients, all the production and editorial people who had seen it before it was released for air, over 61 pairs of eyes had missed the typo.

The promotion was over before we had to do anything about it. To this day I don't know if the client even knew.

In today's marketing wars, I'm sure heads would roll if an obvious mistake like that somehow made it out the door.

But back in the day, we all had a good laff about it.

Danny

I don’t know if other industries are like this, but the ad community is a small one. Especially in L.A. Because of that, you wind up seeing a lot of the same faces at different agencies around town. Sometimes a good thing, sometimes not.

In the case of Danny Alegria, it was more than a good thing: it was a blessing.

Danny either worked in the studio or was the studio manager at three agencies I had the good fortune to work with him at: DBC, DDB and Y&R.

Ad agencies just love their initials don’t they?

Danny was always a bright light in what could be a dark environment. Being in the studio, he was ground zero for stressed out account and creative people throwing fits when it came to getting something they usually needed yesterday out the door to a client, or materials for a big presentation or new business pitches.

Regardless of the pressure and tantrums that came his way, he had a good word for everyone (something extremely difficult to do at agencies). And there was never a question about him getting what you needed done.

Even though I’d known him for years, I’d never really sat down and talked to him until one very slow day at Y&R about nine or ten years ago. We wound up sitting down and literally talking for over three hours. He told me about his time in the Navy, his background as a singer, his years as a jockey, exactly how horseracing worked (not the way you’d think or hope), his family and more.

I couldn’t believe this fascinating person had been steps away from me for years, and yet only now was I just discovering who he was and learning about him.

I had always loved horseracing. In fact, when I was in college I loved it a little too much, to the tune of rent money on occasion. Danny and I made an agreement we’d take a trip out to Santa Anita, and he’d give me the lowdown on the horses and be my betting Yoda.

Sadly, we never got to make that trip.

Danny was diagnosed with cancer. But like everything else in my experience with him, he handled it with grace, honesty and dignity.

He would post unflinchingly on Facebook about how he was doing - the progress of both the treatment and the disease.

As to be expected with cancer as widespread as his had become, there were good days and bad days. But even on the bad days, the really bad ones, there would be a thread of optimism.

On one of his good days, he invited me to come see him give what he knew would be his last singing performance. I wouldn't have missed it. Not only did I get to see Danny perform, I got to see a lot of long, lost friends from agencies past we'd worked with over the years, who were also out in force to show support for him, and his talent that we didn't get to see nearly enough.

Danny was in great form that day, but it tired him out. It was easy to see the toll his cancer was taking.

I would text back and forth with him. I told him I'd come out to where he lived in Riverside and take him to lunch, or if he wasn't up to going out, bring it to him and we'd eat at his place and talk about the race track. I believe he was confined to his bed at that point, but even so he just told me he wasn't feeling well, but as soon as he rallied we'd do it.

Shortly after that conversation, on July 10, 2012, Danny died at the age of 60.

For me, it's certainly a personal loss, as I know it is for his family. But it's bigger than that: it's a global one. The world simply can't afford to lose people as decent, caring and loving as Danny always was to not just his family and friends, but everyone he encountered.

His Facebook page is still active, and every now and then I find myself re-reading some of the posts he put up as he was going through his ordeal. They are honest, inspiring, funny, heartbreaking and hopeful. I'm also friends with his daughter on there, and though I've never met her in person I feel as though we have a strong connection.

She is funny, bright and optimistic. Just like her old man.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about Danny and the meal together I was so looking forward to.

It's comforting knowing he's finally resting in well-deserved peace.

And that he's making heaven a much more rockin' place.

Now how much would you pay?

Once in awhile I get an email from the Writer's Store. This one came today. My first thought was "What're they trying to say?"

Here's what they're trying to say: apparently there's a whole copywriting industry waiting to be broken into. And the best news is you don't even need experience or talent. If you're "even just an avid reader, you can turn your love for words into a lucrative career as a freelance copywriter."

I wish to hell someone had told me that sooner.

I wouldn't have wasted my time crawling out of the mail room at two different agencies. I never would've inhaled all those toxic chemical fumes I did as a stat camera operator. I would've passed on the chance to be the world's worst traffic person (excuse me, project manager). I wouldn't have bothered being the agency producer's assistant.

I now know how overrated all that getting to know how an agency works was. Of course, that first time I had a chance to write an ad for Bran Chex, when the account guy came running to me in a panic because all the creative teams were out of the agency, I do think it helped that I was actually in the agency.

But again, according to The Writer's Store, experience isn't a necessary tool in the copywriter's box.

I did find it amusing this ad asks me to "Find out how you can become part of this rising industry..." For the last three years, the only thing that's been rising is the rate of unemployed copywriters. No matter how avid a reader you are, the economy wins every time.

I'm old school about this, but I think you should have to pay more than $99 to become a copywriter. You should also have to pay your dues.

Unless of course you want to write ads like this for copywriting classes.

Letting the account go

One thing you can say for ad agencies is they're not quitters. Especially when their largest account goes into review. If they're invited to pitch it - again – there’s no doubt they'll give it everything they've got.

Even when they shouldn't.

We've all been there. First come the rumors of trouble. Then the hushed closed door management meetings. Sometimes, an email goes out letting people who work on the business know. But as a rule, they find out on their own from somewhere else. Like Adweek. Or a friend at another agency pitching the business.

When a sizable account goes into review, agencies predictably knee-jerk into "we can't just let $200 million walk out the door mode."

But sometimes they should.

I understand the economics and the responsibility to try and keep everyone employed. But there comes a time when done is done. The fat lady is singing.

The problem is most agencies don't hear her.

The rank and file, people working on an account day in and day out, have a much finer honed ability to take the client's temperature than management. They know when the ground shifts and something doesn't feel right. They've seen it coming weeks if not months before management. Sometimes they've even sounded a warning.

But when it comes to management hearing about the possibility of losing business, denial ain't just a river.

From a new VP of Marketing to the client's wife not liking the work, there are a million reasons accounts go into review. Agencies always feel if they can just give it one more go, they can really understand the problem and come up with a solution.

And granted, on rare occasions, they can.

But sometimes what the client is looking for most from the agency is to be taken at their word.

Even if that word is goodbye.

Clients, like dogs, smell fear and desperation. And the scent is never stronger than an incumbent agency fighting for business, or begging for the chance to fight for business, at all costs - including its dignity, reputation and morale of its employees.

You know what's worse than losing a piece of business? Trying to rally the troops with false and tired arguments like "it's a level playing field", or "our client is working for us on the inside", then grinding everyone for weeks or months with them knowing full well it's gone regardless of what they do.

I suppose there's an argument to be made it's a few more weeks of work before the first round of layoffs. But like I said, the people bound to be most effected have already seen it coming. They're usually ahead of the curve on calls to headhunters and other agencies (especially ones pitching the business) .

Advertising is a business that rewards imaginative thinking, and punishes realistic thinking when it’s needed most. Pride before a fall.

What agencies should do, especially when business is good and clients are satisfied, is have an ongoing open and transparent new business directive everyone can take ownership in. After all, management isn't the only one in the agency capable of cultivating connections beyond the agency's doors. Leads can come from any department.

And if the lead pans out, you get coffee. Because coffee is for closers.

Wouldn't it be better to spend all the money they'll inevitably pour into a review on new business pursuits throughout the year, so when one account finally does decide to leave the agency isn't crippled by it. Better to have ten $2 million dollar accounts than one $20 million dollar one.

Of course, when an agency does have to fight for a piece of business, it usually brings in a ton of freelancers for a fresh perspective. It's always a good gig, and keeps their bank balance happy for quite a while.

On second thought, just disregard this post.