Room to spare

Here's a lesson I learned early on: no matter how nice my room is, the producers' is nicer.

Years ago, I was in New York on a food shoot for Taco Bell. As anyone in advertising—and by anyone I mean copywriters—will tell you, it's essential to the process to have a copywriter on a food shoot. After all, those bagels on the craft services table aren't going to eat themselves.

Our producer happened to book us at one of my very favorite places to stay in New York, the Essex House on Central Park South.

He met us in the lobby, and before he got us checked in he handed us all envelopes full of cash, which was our "per diem", money to be used towards food, incidental items and other miscellaneous expenses. I looked in the envelope, and it was filled to overflowing with hundred-dollar bills. It was the kind of envelopes you see in the movies.

"Mr. Kensington appreciates you keeping this between us."

I couldn't have spent all the money in my envelope even if the shoot was two weeks, and even though it was New York. But God knows I tried.

I got up to my room, and I was amazed. I actually thought I was in the wrong room. It wasn't a room at all, but an enormous suite overlooking Central Park. The only thing better than enjoying New York on someone else's dime is enjoying it in style.

The little red light on the phone started blinking, and it was a message for the team to meet in our producers' room before we headed out. When we got to his room, I'd fully intended on thanking him for the spacious accommodations he'd somehow managed to arrange given the budget we had. I'm not sure I ever got that thank you out. When he opened the door, all I could see was a long, long hallway that we had to walk down before we even came into the room itself. Come to find out that for as nice as our rooms were, he hadn't skimped on himself. He booked a penthouse. My room looked like the maid's quarters by comparison. Don't get me wrong—I was mighty happy I had it as good as I did, but did he really need this palace all to himself?

Did I mention three bedrooms?

Anyway, I always have and always will love the Essex House, despite the fact it's been bought and sold about twenty times since this all happened (It's currently a Marriott, in case any of my close personal friends happen to work on that account). I'm trying to figure out a way to afford it on an upcoming trip to the city. It's been years, but maybe I'll call and drop the producer's name. No matter how many owners they've had, hotels have a way of remembering parties who book as many big rooms as we did.

Of course this time, it'll be on my dime.

On second thought, the maid's quarters will be just fine.

Brace for no impact

My good friend, former office wife and best-selling author Janice MacLeod had a way of putting what we do (what she used to do) in perspective, summing it up in six precise, well-chosen words.

We’re creating a legacy of garbage.

Besides agency holding companies, the digital team and the person who schedules the meetings, I don’t know of anyone who can’t wait for more advertising to burn their eyes. They say the average person is exposed to roughly anywhere between 500 and 7,000 advertising messages a day.

Whichever number is right, it’s too damn much.

No wonder advertising doesn’t have the impact it once did. If it ever really did. Sure there are quantitative and qualitative studies showing the effectiveness of any given message in any medium. Except digital. No one buys anything because of digital, no matter what the guy in the knit cap and ironic t-shirt says.

They can test the results as much as they want, but as an old friend used to say to me, "The only thing testing proves is that testing works."

There’s a lot of job justification that goes on in advertising. It’s the reason Powerpoint was invented. But every time I sit through a presentation where someone is telling me how effective the advertising has been, I’m reminded of William Goldman’s great line about Hollywood: No one knows anything.

Advertised cold bottled water during the heat wave and sales went up? Who could’ve seen that coming?

There are $6000 rebates on cars during December, and year end car sales set records? Must’ve been that exceptional retail car spot, you know, the one with the running footage and giant supers.

I could go into what I think of brand loyalty, but Bob Hoffman over at The Ad Contrarian said it perfectly. I suppose there’s an argument to be made that consumers wouldn’t know about these deals if advertising didn’t tell them. Fair enough, but like so much of retail advertising, the ads are just the messenger. The deal is the closer.

There are only a handful of ads with enough inherent greatness and lasting impact to make you want to talk about them reverentially. The go-to example is the Apple 1984 spot directed by Ridley Scott.

Seeing it thirty years later, it still stands up and stands out as one of the greatest commercials of all time. You can never underestimate the power of a great looking blonde with a sledgehammer.

If I was looking for a profession where I could create something lasting people loved, talked about and made them feel glad every time they saw or thought of it, I might not have chosen this one.

On the other hand, Michelangelo never got to stay in a penthouse at the Essex House for a shoot on the company dime. So I suppose it all evens out.