Encore post: Take the afternoon off

Every once in awhile on a Zoom call, my colleagues see me wearing this hat. And they always want to know the significance of 3:30. I explained it in this post about six years ago. But since I was asked again recently, I thought an encore posting might be timely.

So here you go. More than you ever wanted to know about this hat. Please to enjoy.

You might think what you're looking at is a ratty old baseball cap with 330 embroidered on it. You'd only be half right. What you're actually looking at is a collector's item.

Years ago, my colleagues and close personal friends Alan Otto, Tena Olson and I decided what America, and dare I say the world, was crying out for was another advertising agency.

And really, can you ever have enough?

So to fill the void, and to have a place to go where we could work with people and clients we like all day long, we immediately leapt into action and started getting together every Sunday morning at Starbuck's to map out our plan of attack for opening our own agency. Between lattes and banana bread, we batted around ideas how we'd differentiate our agency from the zillion others out there.

The first name we were going to go with was The Beefery. We took an old butcher cow chart, and instead of the names of the cuts we substituted clever ad terms, none of which I can remember right now. That may be why we never went with it. Under the heading of collector's items, there are also Beefery t-shirts and hats hidden away deep in some storage locker somewhere.

Anyway, we knew an agency called The Beefery wasn't going to get any vegan clients, but we were okay with that. Then, somewhere in the course of those caffeinated Sunday morning discussions, we decided to go with a name that represented something the three of us had experienced many, many times in our combined years in the business— nothing really good happens after 3:30 in the afternoon.

Ideas. Strategies. Disruptions. Pitches. Performance reviews. Client meetings. They all happen, but just not as well as they should after 3:30PM.

Our promise was we were going to get while the gettin' was good in the first three-quarters of the day. People were fresh, their creative juices flowing, they hadn't burned out yet. Every single day, we were going to hit the ground running first thing in the morning.

We'd be unstoppable. Then completely stoppable by 3:30.

Of course almost immediately it occurred to us, what with this being a "service business" and client emergencies having a timetable all their own, that clients would have a tough time buying into our philosophy. Which explains why, at the end of the day, 330 never got off the ground.

Despite that fact we continued to meet at Starbucks for months afterwards, occasionally talking about opening an agency but mostly just enjoying each other's company and the people watching.

Optimists that we were, when enthusiasm was at its highest we ponied up and had these hats made. I wear it all the time, and have to say I still like it a lot.

But not nearly as much as I like the idea of calling it a day at 3:30.

Encore post: Radio radio

Yesterday I was talking about radio with my pal Rich Siegel, author, owner and grand poobah of Round Seventeen. In one of my many business schemes, I asked Rich why don’t we start a radio production company. We’re both good writers with lots of radio production experience. It seemed like a win-win to me.

Rich replied, “Who pays for radio anymore?”

Thanks pal. Here’s my balloon –pop it.

Of course, he’s right.

For starters, there’s not a lot of radio being done, and what little there is certainly doesn't have any money – real money – thrown against it. Agencies usually just hand it off to the juniors, or the interns because they pay them even less than the juniors.

In most agencies, radio is considered the bastard stepchild to, well, to just about every other media. Maybe it’s because good radio is so hard to do, but many writers suddenly seem to get swamped when a radio assignment is up for grabs.

I’ve never looked at it that way.

The fact is, for the most part, the agency leaves you alone when you write radio. It’s not that high on the glam-o-meter, so you can usually fly under the radar and write some pretty fun stuff. But let me go back to an earlier point: good radio is hard to do.

There are of course basic rules to writing good radio. But if you've listened to any radio commercials lately, I'm sure you'll agree there need to be more.

Here are a few I’d add:

First, no more spots where the listener is eavesdropping on the recording session, and then the talent realizes they’re recording.

Next, no fake stand-up comedians with bad fake material and fake canned laughs.

Then, no more spots where the talent is talking about a sale with another talent, and suddenly there’s a door slam sound effect and the first talent says something to the effect of, “I guess everybody’s going to the (CLIENT NAME HERE) sale!”

Even though many writers use them, filler lines have got to go. You know the ones I mean. Lines like “so what’re you waiting for?” or “Hurry in now, the only thing that’ll be gone faster than these (PRODUCT NAME) is this sale.“

Lastly, the direction “more energy, have fun with it” must be banned from all recording sessions. No real person is that happy about having to take erectile dysfunction pills or diarrhea medicines.

This isn't the first time Rich and I have talked about starting a business. Just a few days ago, he suggested we start a deli.

I thought it was a good idea. Obviously, since we work in agencies, we already have enough baloney to stock it.

Encore post: My head hurts

A little over six years ago, I put up this post about overthinking. And I'm happy to say in that time, what with the thousands hundreds dozens nine industry power players who've read it, absolutley nothing has changed.

Even though the advertising world looks drastically different today what with working from home, hybrid home/office situations, the great resignation, Zoomers and reimbursed wi-fi, it's comforting to know one thing that will never change is the uncanny ability for (certain) agency people to make mountains out of molehills.

Whatever you do, don't overthink this little updated intro too much. It's clear I didn't.

Please to enjoy.

Ad agencies are overflowing with lots of things. Creative ideas. People with opinions. Knit caps. Tattoos. Bad coffee. One thing there's also no shortage of is The Overthinkers - people who overthink every little thing. Every single thing. Over. And over. And over.

Don't get me wrong: I'm all for the well thought out question. A dash of examination. A pinch of should we or shouldn't we. But I’ve often wondered what it is The Overthinkers actually bring to the table. Sure, they manage to turn every item on the brief (all fifteen pages of it) into an event in the Second Guessing Olympics, with all of them going for the gold. But beyond that, what does it all add up to?

Every time The Overthinkers reconsider a point they reconsidered a minute ago, the work has to change, because “this time they’ve got it.”

Until the next time.

It’s the reason work is constantly being revised, rewritten, revamped and regurgitated all way up to the last minute. It’s why meetings and more meetings are held to reveal the latest insight and observations.

Until the next ones.

And it’s the cause of enormous amounts of time and confusion being unnecessarily added into the process.

Planners, brand strategists, VP's of Cultural Trend Metrics - or whatever they hell they're calling themselves this week - have managed to turn what should be a single-focused insight into a Three-Card Monty game of strategy. If you can guess which card it’s under, you win the strategy to work against.

Spoiler alert: you never win.

The Overthinkers have to keep changing the rules, because if they don’t they’re out of a job. It's like the paid consultant who has to create a problem so he can solve it, and then create another one to keep the checks rolling in.

In the name of simplicity, efficiency and a better product, it might be a good thing for The Overthinkers to take one for the team and move on.

Then creatives could execute against a simple strategy, in a short, concise brief we’d only have to meet about once.

Of course, The Overthinkers might wonder why they ever left such a cush position. The good news is they’d have plenty of time to overthink about it.

Firing squad

I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you get fired in advertising, all it means is you showed up one day.

Jobs in the ad biz hinge on a number of factors, and often job performance is the least of them. How you get along with A) the creative director B) the client C) the clients' wife D) creative services or any number of other individuals can affect how long your shelf life is at an agency. Decisions that determine your fate at an agency are almost always entirely out of your hands, and can be made based on campaigns you've sold (or not sold), the shirt you're wearing (or not wearing) that day or the color of your eyes. The tag line for this blog says "We didn't invent random." Ad agencies did.

Like many people who make ads that make America buy, I've been laid off a few times in my career (pausing until giggling fit is over for using the word "career"). And I can tell you from experience, it takes a village. It's not as straightforward as it once was. No one says, "You're fired! Collect your things and get out!"

Well, they say the second part, but now they say it in accordance with state labor laws.

Here's an example. I'm not going to name the agency I was working for, Y&R, but I was let go after almost three years there. I'd originally been brought in as a freelancer, but the creative director and I hit it off and he decided he wanted me to stick around. So he offered me more work and less money, and I said, "Where do I sign?"

Fast forward a few years later. I'm in a meeting in Versailles, which was the agency's big conference room. For some reason, ad agencies love to name their conference rooms after cities. Or cars. Or explorers. Or movie characters. We take our creativity where we can find it. I worked at this one shop that just had numbers for their conference rooms. It was a nice change of pace.

Where was I? Oh yeah.

As I'm in this meeting, my creative director pokes his head in the door and says, "Hey Jeff, can I talk to you for a minute?" This is how it always begins.

I walk out of the room with him, and while we're walking he's making uncomfortable small talk about the meeting he pulled me out of. I notice we're going upstairs towards HR. When I ask what's up, he says to the office of the head of HR.

Alright, so I know what's coming, and I said, "Are you kidding me?" To which he said, "It's out of my hands. There was nothing I could do." To which I said, "Really? I thought you were the boss. How about you let me speak to the person in charge?"

I was pissed.

In the office, he sat uncomfortably to the side, not making eye contact - as they always do - while the head of HR told me I was being let go, gave me an end date, paperwork, blah blah blah. I learned shortly thereafter I was one of five people let go that day. I'm sure it was out of their boss' hands as well.

I came back the next day and spoke to both of them about getting more severance. My boss said nothing, and the head of HR said no. But this story does have a happy ending.

Some time later, that head of HR got let go - ironic ain't it? I was talking to a mutual friend, and come to find out the former head of HR had wanted her to ask me if I'd write some copy for a website she was setting up for her post-agency life.

I'm nothing if not a giver, so after a nanosecond of thought, I told my friend I'd like her to relay my two-word answer to the former HR head verbatim.

Since this is a family blog, I won't repeat them here. But they were exactly the two words you think they were.

Sounds familiar

Almost six years ago, I wrote the post you see here. I know what you're thinking: "He's been pumping out this crap for six years?!"

One man's crap is another man's shinola, or something like that.

The point is I don't like to recycle my posts, but six years later this one is still as relevant as ever.

How do I know? Because in my day job writing about a luxury automotive brand, I find myself using the same exact words I speak about in the post. I'm not proud.

I guess what I'm saying is even though this is a pre-owned article, it's been through a 140-word inspection and reads just like new. Take it out for a test read, and experience it for yourself.

Like a lot of writers living in Southern California, I’ve worked on many car accounts. From top end $90,000 luxury vehicles to $14,000 coffee-grinders, I’ve written it all.

Commercials, collateral, radio spots, print ads, online banners, interactive content, Twitter posts, Facebook posts, outdoor, customer kits, dealer kits, CPO kits, sale kits, employee bonus kits, warranty kits.

Oddly enough, no matter the price or quality of the car, they all have something in common. The words used to describe them.

Pick a car, any car. I bet it’s exhilarating. It’s probably also a leader in innovation. No doubt it’s been engineered to maximize your driving experience, and designed to turn heads as well as corners.

Let’s not forget the fact it’s also loaded with state-of-the-art technology, as well as class-leading aerodynamics whose job it is to keep you connected to the road. How else could you get a car that makes setting the standard, standard.

But there's no point to any of it unless you're around to enjoy it. That's why the car you're thinking about is loaded with the latest active and passive safety features.

The cars come with airbags. The agencies come with windbags.

Differentiating parity products - different brands with the exact same features - has always been a problem in advertising. Often the only thing that does it is the quality of the creative idea, the consistency of the execution and the personality it establishes for the brand.

I bet you know what BMW builds. But I'm fairly sure you aren't nearly as familiar with the tagline Toyota - which builds awesome cars for all income levels - just spent millions to introduce.

Unless there's a real product difference, almost every category from athletic shoes to cars to fast food use the same words to describe their product. Which makes it even harder to tell them apart.

Sort of like ad agencies.

Take the afternoon off

You might think what you're looking at is a ratty old baseball cap with 330 embroidered on it. You'd only be half right. What you're actually looking at is a collector's item.

Years ago, my colleagues and close personal friends Alan Otto, Tena Olson and I decided what America, and dare I say the world, was crying out for was another advertising agency.

And really, can you ever have enough?

So to fill the void, and to have a place to go where we could work with people and clients we like all day long, we immediately leapt into action and started getting together every Sunday morning at Starbuck's to map out our plan of attack for opening our own agency. Between lattes and banana bread, we batted around ideas how we'd differentiate our agency from the zillion others out there.

The first name we were going to go with was The Beefery. We took an old butcher cow chart, and instead of the names of the cuts we substituted clever ad terms, none of which I can remember right now. That may be why we never went with it. Under the heading of collector's items, there are also Beefery t-shirts and hats hidden away deep in some storage locker somewhere.

Anyway, we knew an agency called The Beefery wasn't going to get any vegan clients, but we were okay with that. Then, somewhere in the course of those caffeinated Sunday morning discussions, we decided to go with a name that represented something the three of us had experienced many, many times in our combined years in the business— nothing really good happens after 3:30 in the afternoon.

Ideas. Strategies. Disruptions. Pitches. Performance reviews. Client meetings. They all happen, but just not as well as they should after 3:30PM.

Our promise was we were going to get while the gettin' was good in the first three-quarters of the day. People were fresh, their creative juices flowing, they hadn't burned out yet. Every single day, we were going to hit the ground running first thing in the morning.

We'd be unstoppable. Then completely stoppable by 3:30.

Of course almost immediately it occurred to us, what with this being a "service business" and client emergencies having a timetable all their own, that clients would have a tough time buying into our philosophy. Which explains why, at the end of the day, 330 never got off the ground.

Despite that fact we continued to meet at Starbucks for months afterwards, occasionally talking about opening an agency but mostly just enjoying each other's company and the people watching.

Optimists that we were, when enthusiasm was at its highest we ponied up and had these hats made. I wear it all the time, and have to say I still like it a lot.

But not nearly as much as I like the idea of calling it a day at 3:30.

How low can you go

In the limbo dance (I'll pause while you all hear "Leembo Leembo Leembo" in your head), the goal is to see how low you can set the bar before you decide you can't go any lower.

Sound familiar?

In advertising unfortunately this is a dance you get invited to on a daily basis. It comes at you from all directions: Client. Budget. Holding companies. People on your own team. And if you say no to the invite, then suddenly you're not a "team player" (as if I ever was), and pegged as difficult, which I may have been called once or twice. Today.

Most creatives I know would wear that label as a badge of honor. We'd all rather fail with quality than succeed with garbage. But it's easy to see just by grabbing the clicker and turning on the TV or radio, opening a magazine or going to a website, that it's not a landscape that supports that point of view very often.

It's not a state secret that in this world of reduced budgets, no AOR/project-based clients and the amount of money being spent on 360 campaigns for everything from running shoes to laundry detergent (how're those Twitter and Facebook engagement numbers for Tide working out?), agencies operate much more fearfully than they ever have.

So I just want to take this opportunity to raise a glass and say thank you to my fellow creatives, creative directors and everyone who keeps pushing to make the work better, tirelessly fighting the powers working against them and managing to turn out work that's as creative, interesting and inspiring as it is results-getting.

Also, thanks for leaving your dancing shoes at home.

Watered down

Like the lawn in a torrential downpour, or cocktails at the craps table in Las Vegas, ideas for Super Bowl spots from advertising agencies—like the people who create them—are often not what they start out to be.

For a lot of creatives, the Super Bowl spot is the Holy Grail, the pinnacle, the showcase where you can either make your mark and launch into a career arc filled with money, location shoots, media girls (another time) and a title too long to fit on the puny business cards you'll never carry.

Or it can be a spectacular flop seen by a billion people and sink you faster than the Quizno's Spongmonkeys—which by the way I think is awesome and one of my favorite commercials ever. Call me crazy, but I admire the bravery of it all. Just try not singing the tune after you've seen it.

I know, right?

Anyway, there are a few rules about the annual Super Bowl assignment that seem fairly universal no matter what agency you're at. First is the freelancer's spot never gets chosen, even if it does. No agency hands the biggest boondoggle and budget of the year to the freelancers to produce. And if their spot is picked, it's—take your pick: refined, evolved, massaged—just enough for them not to be able to claim it as their own.

Next, you would think that since the date of the Super Bowl is known over a year in advance, agencies would give themselves enough lead time to concept, sell and produce the spot they really want to make. Not so much. Virtually every agency starts working on their Super Bowl spot late in the game. Then it's a mad rush to meet the goal, with everyone hoping they don't fumble.

Ok, I'm done now.

Finally, just to prove God does have a sense of humor, it's almost always the team who couldn't care less about sports who has the winning spot. Then they have to go through the entire ordeal, pretending they're interested in the game and that they have a favorite team.

Sometimes, even though it's a score (sorry) to get your Super Bowl spot sold, it takes almost more than you can muster to get motivated to see it through.

But to quote Don Draper, "That's what the money's for."

An agency by any other name

A few weeks ago, , an article in the online edition of Adweek called Why Today’s Ad Agencies Are Reluctant To Call Themselves ‘Ad Agencies’ attempted to explain why agencies are now opting for more relevant and contemporary descriptors.

Like new-model, multidisciplinary marketing communications firm. Strategic content innovation partners. New media integration facilitators. And the ever popular, rarely true, agents of disruption (Great band, saw them at the Roxy in '08. You're welcome Rich Siegel).

The argument is that they feel being called an ‘ad agency’ is too limiting, and connotes all that mid to late '60s, Mad Men hijinks and buzzword whammy jammy they've tried hard to separate themselves from. More than anything, they'd like current and potential clients to think of them as jacks of all trades, everything to everyone.

I of course would like people to think of me as Chris Hemsworth's body double, but that isn't happening either.

This agency identity crisis is nothing new in the ad world. There isn’t an agency new business person worth their weight in cold calls who doesn’t know how to give a hearty handshake, pick up the lunch tab and bark "yes" when the question is “Can you guys handle that?”

Digital? We’re all bits and bites baby.

Social? This rather lengthy sentence you’re reading right now is exactly 140 characters – how many “ad agencies” do you know that can pull that off? (Go ahead, I’ll wait while you fire up character count).

Traditional? We haven’t forgotten our roots, even though we’d like you to.

Experiential? It’s an experience in itself just working with us.

I understand the thinking behind offering one-stop shopping for clients: agencies don’t want pieces of the new media pie going other places that specialize, have expertise and a track record in it—especially if those places are going do a better job of it.

The other thing is when it comes to new business, pride has never been a quality that's run rampant in agencies. They'll gladly over-represent capabilities, say they can when they can't and for the most part let clients slap 'em silly and call them Sally if it means more business.

Part of the problem is consumers don't draw a distinction between the "ad agency" that created, say, the legendary Apple 1984 spot, and the one that does local ads for Empire Carpets. All they see are good ads and bad ads.

Another reason none of these companies want to be called an ad agency is that in almost every survey of least popular occupations, advertising professional comes in right behind used car dealer and prostitutes, both of whom work with considerably higher margins and know how not to leave money on the table. Or the dresser.

Maybe next time they do a survey, they can ask about a name that might command more respect, like Communication Response Alliance Partners.

Or they can just use the acronym.

In the zone

Here's a sign you'll never see in advertising agencies. Not because it's a bad idea, but because you couldn't buy enough of them to cover all the areas, cubicles and open seating that would need them.

That and the fact no one would observe the rule anyway.

There are a lot of ingredients that fuel successful agencies. Coffee. Creativity. Insight. Brains. Energy. Endurance. Optimism. Pessimism. Humor. The ever shifting line between art and commerce. Those innocent, wide-eyed, crazy bounders who believe against all evidence and reason what consumers are really looking for are more ways to engage with your client's brand.

But because of the nature of the beast—buildings loaded with egos, knit caps, planners, egos, man-buns, ironic t-shirts, skinny jeans, millennials, unrestrained enthusiasm, egos, people who know better, egos, people who enjoy inhaling their own fumes, egos and meetings, help me Jesus the meetings—agencies can't help but run on another more fragrant ingredient.

It is after all a sales job. And while there are good salespeople and bad ones, tolerable ones and insufferable ones, at the end of the day (EOTD = ad term, don't get me started) it all boils down to the size shovel they're using.

I know a lot of people in the business will call bullshit on this post.

But that's only because they didn't read the sign.

Travelin' man

Depending how much you enjoy packing five days worth of clothes into a carry-on, TSA pat downs, crying babies (on the plane, not at the agency), and off brand hotels your per diem more than covers (always a bad sign), travel can be one of the better perks of working at an advertising agency.

In the early stages of my career (pauses to consider fraudulent use of the word "career"), it seemed everyone was looking for a reason to walk the jetway as often as possible. It usually boiled down to one of three: an out-of-town client meeting, shooting on location (“We open on the Eiffel Tower...”) and the occasional new business pitch (“Every agency needs a casino…”).

A fourth reason that comes up a few times a year is award shows (Cannes) and seminars (wherever Adweek’s having one this week), but those are usually reserved for agency brass. After all they're the ones who've been working on their acceptance speech for your work for a couple weeks, so they should at least get to go.

Traveling for work on someone else’s dime is an easy inconvenience to get used to. Right up until you come home and realize the baby you left a week ago grew two inches while you were away.

Or you missed the piano recital your middle-schooler has been practicing for two months.

And that thing you wanted to do around the house didn’t get done by itself.

Travel happens to be on my mind because I’m currently on an out-of-town gig in San Francisco. A city I love, working with people I enjoy a great deal. If I wasn’t being put up in a hotel that's like the Hotel Earle in Barton Fink - without the warmth - the trip would be perfect.

Since the advent of digital, email and FaceTime, the need to travel doesn’t rear its head very often. I’ve worked for agencies in cities all across the country right from the pampered poodle comfort of my own living room. And let’s just say when I did I was always dressed for the office. Mine, not theirs.

For whatever reason, this San Francisco agency, who I’ve worked with from home for a year and a half, decided for this particular project they wanted me in the office live and in person this week. Happy to oblige.

So here’s the bottom line: Yes I miss the dog (when he’s behaving). Yes I miss the family (when they're behaving). I do miss having my own car (when it's behaving), although I’m getting to be the Lyft king of San Francisco and now know more about Lyft drivers than I ever wanted to.

On the flip side, at the end of the day, I get to walk out the door, be smacked in the face by the breeze coming in off the bay, and I'm in San Francisco. I like to file this under "things could be worse."

To sum it up then, travel is good this time. Missing home is tolerable (I'll be back tonight). I'm in a great city, with lots of chowder and sourdough. And, most importantly, the checks clear.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go present a storyboard to the creative director.

In the first frame, we open on the Eiffel Tower.

Ad hair day

Creative directors often have an over-inflated sense of their contribution to the process.

Their value to the agency.

Their rapport with the creative department.

Their indispensability.

And, if you read the Revolving Door section of AgencySpy.com, apparently quite a few of them also have an over-inflated sense of hair styles.

It seems there's no middle ground. In the pictures that accompany the articles, they either look like a nice guy, or a douche who's trying way too hard. Which is a shame, because they might actually be the first one coming off as the second.

Part of the problem is too many creative directors want to make sure their clients, their department, their bosses and the viewing public know exactly how creative they are at first sight. And what better place to start than from the top down.

From perms to pigtails, curls to comb overs, I believe none of it makes the impression they think they're making.

Some of these people have worn their hair the same way for years. Ironic for an industry that waves the banners of change and disruption every chance it gets.

There is a great benefit to the readers of AgencySpy.com every time one of these pictures pops up: we get to read the comments. AS is kind of a lawsuit free zone, where readers can anonymously post any kind of disparaging, libelous, childish, defaming and derogatory comments they want. They're always a great read.

I think the lesson we can take away from all this is to dial down the judgment, and try as hard as we can not to judge a book by its cover.

After all, some of these salon-challenged people might be hair apparent to running the agency. All the more reason not to wig out at something as superficial as a hairdo.

Or hair don't.

Powering down

In an ad agency - excuse me, I mean a fully integrated, digitally progressive, socially engaged, experientially driven, disruption oriented, communications consortium - it's not hard to tell when the holiday season finally arrives. The telltale signs are all around you.

Like the fake Christmas tree in the lobby, the one that's been dragged out of storage and decorated with the same ornaments since 1979.

Emotionally-arrested frat-boy account guys, giggling like baby hyenas and tucking mistletoe in their belts, like they're the first ones ever to do it.

People trampling each other for restroom stalls like it was Black Friday, so they can change before heading out to the debauchery, free bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvres, open bar and regret-filled morning after that is every agency Christmas party.

But before any of that happens you can see Santa coming to town weeks ahead of time. The agency starts to power down.

Suddenly, attention spans are even less than they normally are. Lunches are longer, because they include shopping time. Starting the first of December, the office begins to thin out as vacations of various lengths start kicking in.

Client meetings get pushed back. You hear a lot of people ask, "What's the difference between getting it to the client the end of the month or the beginning of January? They won't even be there !" Well, you hear me asking.

Laughter happens more often, shop talk happens less often, and there's food and candy everywhere you turn. Which is great, because I was just thinking I wasn't fat enough yet.

If you listen you can hear the agency gears slowly grinding to a halt. It's as if all the hard work, late hours, frustrations, bad client decisions, disappointments, long meetings, pitches, revisions, bad hires and do-overs of the past twelve months have finally caught up with everyone.

And now, as the year comes to a close, they have a chance to finally catch their breath.

One of the great benefits of agency life I wrote about here is the fact many of them close from Christmas Eve day to the first Monday after January 1st. In an age of no bonuses, open offices (don't get me started) and uncovered parking, it's one of the last remaining perks to look forward to.

I'd write more but, you know, it's December. I'm ready to do a little powering down of my own.

Time after time

Every ad agency has their own way of recording hours employees put toward each job. And you couldn't blame anyone for thinking that, being the creative places they are, they might have a more inspiring way of going about it.

But sadly, like insurance offices, mortgage companies, law firms and other traditional businesses, agencies use timesheets to track hours, and reconcile them against the budget and scope of the assignments.

It's the only way they can find out if they’re allocating their resources properly (laughs hysterically – they never allocate properly), and if not, fine tune them to at the very least break even.

In days of old, back around 2003, agencies still required paper timesheets. Creatives would guestimate the number of hours they put against each job (why do you think they call it creative?), and then hand them in to a smiling, welcoming HR person waiting to make sure every thing goes perfectly with regards to you getting paid for your efforts (Cough, cough, couldntcareless, cough, cough).

Digital time sheets soon followed, but even so most agencies today still require you to print a hard copy then hand it in. Which begs the question why bother with an online version at all.

Of course, agencies beg the question "Why?" all the time.

Why pitch an account they’re completely unqualified to service.

Why embarrass themselves fighting to keep an account that’s been out the door since it arrived, and is making a beeline for it no matter what they do.

Why keep hiring alcoholic posers in leadership positions who've been “quitted” from their last five jobs (perhaps I've said too much).

Online timesheets also require you to account for every minute of every day. And if you don't happen to be slammed wall to wall every day, there's always a job number for a category called "General Overhead." It's the column where you list time spent for things like Facebook, Words With Friends, watching Apple movie trailers, (ahem) writing blog posts, going to lunch and reading What Would Tyler Durden Do.

On the spreadsheet the client sees it's called Research.

The point is - and yes I have one - that it doesn't matter how well agencies manage to finesse their digital timesheet algorithms. It seems that, for the foreseeable future, even though they're going to tout the convenience and efficiency of filling out timesheets online, they're still going to want you to print out a hard copy for accounting to hang on to.

You know, for the lawsuit.

Dangerous words

According to some estimates, there are over 1,025,029 words in the English language.

But to anyone who works in an agency creative department, you know there are four extremely dangerous ones that should be avoided at all costs.

"What do you think?"

Those four little wolves-in-sheeps'-clothing words have caused more unnecessary frustration, anger and heartache, not to mention destroyed more great advertising, than the other 1,025,025 words combined.

Well, maybe not. But go with me here.

Here’s the thing: the vampire at your doorway at midnight, hungry with fangs bared, can’t come in. He can’t simply cross the threshold and suck the life out of you, even though that’s what he wants to do more than anything. You're safe inside and he's stuck outside.

Unless you invite him in. “What do you think?” is that invitation.

It gives people without jurisdiction, judgment or experience the opening they’re waiting for to – as Albert Brooks said in Broadcast News – lower our standards bit by bit.

Now, not all opinions are unwanted. But you can be sure the people who need to chime in, who have a dog in the race, will do it without being asked. They’re the ones that'll see what you’re trying to do, offer ways to keep it on track and true to your vision and, more often than not, make it better in the process.

Next time you're in an internal review, in the big conference room, and the chairs are filled by people who don't have more than a glancing relationship with the work being presented, do yourself and your career a favor.

Instead of asking "What do you think?", ask something that'll do a lot less damage and might actually put you in everyones' good graces right from the get-go.

Something like, "Are those bagels for everyone?"

Ready? Set? Wait.

Here are two things you need to know about Rich Siegel, proprietor and managing editor of Round Seventeen: First, he'll be very happy I started this post with a link to his blog. Second, he's away camping - as Jews do - and reposting pieces he's written while he's away. So yesterday, I took a page from his blog and did the same thing. It went pretty well. So even though I'm not away camping (my idea of camping is a hotel without cable), or out of town, in solidarity with my vacationing friend and colleague I'm going to take the week and revisit the classics. And by classics, I mean posts you may have missed, forgotten or wish you'd forgotten. The more cynical of you might think it's an easy way out of having to come up with a bunch of new posts this week. Shhhhhh! Have a gander at this one, originally posted April 4, 2011.

My friend Janice, a swell writer with a blog of her own, used to have this sign in her office. I think she hoped it would work as a deterrent.

But she knew better. After all, she worked in an advertising agency.

Hurry up and wait is standard operating procedure at virtually every agency I’ve ever worked at. It usually falls somewhere between their mantra and their mission statement.

The philosophy manifests itself in several forms, and when it strikes it can happen quicker than Charlie Sheen going from $2 mil a week to zero.

The way it usually begins is they - you know, “they” - hastily assemble a team of whoever happens to be unlucky enough to be in the building.

Everyone is quickly gathered in a conference room that hasn’t been cleaned since the Eisenhower administration, and wreaks with the sweet perfume of cold cuts and bagels.

Serious as a heart attack, they brief everyone with the few threadbare morsels of information they got from a casual conversation with the client. Then they send everyone scrambling to do work that has to be presented in two days.

Two days! 48 hours!

“We’re pulling out all the stops on this one people!”

"This is our chance to make a real impact!"

"We won't have this chance again so it has to count!"

So, everyone puts on their thinking caps and scrambles.

And even though we cry like babies and complain like Rosie O'Donnell when the buffet is closed, we’re all professionals. After a round-the-clock coffee, pizza and cynicism fueled night, we deliver everything that’s been asked for: tv spots, web site, emails, print, radio scripts. The whole shootin’ match.

We present our work to extremely non-committal reactions, then wait to hear.

And wait.

And wait.

Oh, the meeting got pushed back? So you didn’t need it in two days? Uh huh.

Ah, and the client’s not sure he really has the budget to do the program? Huh. Might’ve been a good question to ask up front.

So you want us to wait, and you’ll get back to us on next steps.

Okay. We'll wait here.

What’s that you say? Maybe we can think about it some more until you decide what comes next.

Yeah. We'll get right on it.

Five good things about advertising. You read that right.

I don't know whether you've noticed, but every once in a great while I use this blog to rag on advertising, the monster egos, the hipster planners and the open space seating (don't get me started).

But don't get the wrong idea. Despite my occasional rants, there are great things about working in advertising you don't get in, say, the insurance industry. Or working for the DMV. For example getting to dress like a fourteen-year old every day. Free food every single place you turn. Enjoying some of the most creative people you'll ever meet in any business on a daily basis.

Plus covered parking if you get to work early enough. So I hear.

Anyway it occurred to me I've had some great things happen as a result of being in the biz, and I don't talk about them nearly enough. But all of that's about to change. Here are five good things that've happened because I'm in the business I'm in:

1. I met my wife.

Of all the things that've happened and I've experienced since I've worked in advertising, I have to say the very best has been meeting my wife.

And when I say I have to say, I mean I have to say.

She was on an agency tour her first day, and they brought her around to the creative directors' office where I happened to be. I saw her in the doorway and thought "She's kind of cute." She saw me and thought, "OK, I can work with this."

She is the wind beneath my wings, the woman behind the man. She is my editor - yes I have one - and my best friend. She has the patience of a saint, although she doesn't really need it because being married to me is a walk in the park. Central Park at midnight, but still.

She makes me, my writing and my life better than it had any chance of being without her.

Well I think I've banked enough marriage points for one night, don't you? Love you honey.

2. I saw Springsteen in Atlanta.

I've worked on Taco Bell at three different agencies in my career (pauses until giggles are over for using the word career). And all three times, I had a great relationship with the client.

The first agency I worked on the account, the client was also a Springsteen fan. So when she went on a thirteen-market store tour, one of the stops was Atlanta, and it happened to be the same night as Springsteen was playing at the Omni.

She called their local market agency, and had them get some killer seats for the concert (media people can do anything). Then she called my agency in L.A., and told them to fly me to Atlanta so I could see the show with her and a few franchisees. My creative director told her I was swamped and wouldn't be able to make the trip. She told him she wasn't asking.

Next thing I knew, I was in a Lincoln Town Car on my way to LAX for a flight to Atlanta. That was a great day in advertising. And it was a great show.

3. I talked to Lee Clow about German Shepherds.

If you're not in advertising and don't know who Lee Clow is, suffice it to say he's an advertising legend. The real deal. Google him now.

If you're in advertising and you don't know who Lee Clow is, then you're not in advertising.

I freelanced for almost a year at Chiat Day, working on the Uncle Ben's account. I sat right behind Lee's office. Since Chiat is an extremely dog friendly agency, one day I brought the world's greatest dog, my long-haired German Shepherd Max to work with me. He was two and half at the time.

I started to walk Max past Lee's office, and Lee, who was with a group of people across the agency, saw him and immediately came over to us. He got down on his knees, started petting Max and asking me about him. Then he took us in his office, where he showed me pictures of his shepherds, both past and present. One of them looked startlingly like Max.

We talked about a half hour, not just about the dogs but about advertising in general, life, family, and then the shepherds again. Then he had to get back to the meeting he'd left when he came over to us. When Max and I came out of his office, the Associate Creative Director who'd brought me in for the job saw us walking out with him. He came up to me after and said, "What was that about?" To which I replied, "Geez it gets so old. Every day, it's 'Jeff, how would you do it?'"

4. I overcame my fear of flying.

You'd never know it now, but I used to have a horrible fear of flying. Now I just have a horrible fear of flying coach.

I'd go out of my way and do just about anything not to get on a plane. One time, I took at train to San Antonio, Texas for a client meeting. At the time, the head of the agency thought I was being creative. Today he'd just think I'm an idiot.

Anyway, years ago I wound up freelancing at Foote, Cone and Belding in San Francisco. I lived in Santa Monica. But I figured it was only an hour flight twice a week, and the odds were in my favor I'd be fine.

Turns out my first week, I flew to San Francisco, then to Dallas for focus groups, then back to San Francisco, then to Atlanta (also for focus groups), then back to San Francisco, then to L.A. for a friend's going away party, then back up to San Francisco. Seven flights the first week. There were also weeks I'd go back and forth from L.A. two or three times.

I earned a lot of United miles, got upgraded frequently and learned to love flying. A friend of mine even gave me a charm that says Flyboy. Of course statistically, flying is still the safest way to travel. And the nicest. Did I mention the upgrades?

5. The friends I keep.

Maybe the best thing about working in advertising are the people I get to work with (for the most part - you know who you are). I get to hang with exceptionally creative people I learn from, and who force me to raise my game every time. We're in the advertising foxhole together, and it makes even the worst days more bearable.

There you have it. Now you can't accuse me of not saying anything nice about advertising. And if I'm going to be truthful, there are many other good things to say about it. So much so, I was thinking maybe I should turn this into an ongoing series of posts, like my wildly successful Don't Ask, Guilty Pleasures or Things I Love About Costco series. But then, I had another thought.

Let's not get carried away.

My head hurts

Ad agencies are overflowing with lots of things. Creative ideas. People with opinions. Knit caps. Tattoos. Bad coffee. One thing there's also no shortage of is The Overthinkers - people who overthink every little thing. Every single thing. Over. And over. And over.

Don't get me wrong: I'm all for the well thought out question. A dash of examination. A pinch of should we or shouldn't we. But I’ve often wondered what it is The Overthinkers actually bring to the table. Sure, they manage to turn every item on the brief (all fifteen pages of it) into an event in the Second Guessing Olympics, with all of them going for the gold. But beyond that, what does it all add up to?

Every time The Overthinkers reconsider a point they reconsidered a minute ago, the work has to change, because “this time they’ve got it.”

Until the next time.

It’s the reason work is constantly being revised, rewritten, revamped and regurgitated all way up to the last minute. It’s why meetings and more meetings are held to reveal the latest insight and observations.

Until the next ones.

And it’s the cause of enormous amounts of time and confusion being unnecessarily added into the process.

Planners, brand strategists, VP's of Cultural Trend Metrics - or whatever they hell they're calling themselves this week - have managed to turn what should be a single-focused insight into a Three-Card Monty game of strategy. If you can guess which card it’s under, you win the strategy to work against.

Spoiler alert: you never win.

The Overthinkers have to keep changing the rules, because if they don’t they’re out of a job. It's like the paid consultant who has to create a problem so he can solve it, and then create another one to keep the checks rolling in.

In the name of simplicity, efficiency and a better product, it might be a good thing for The Overthinkers to take one for the team and move on.

Then creatives could execute against a simple strategy, in a short, concise brief we’d only have to meet about once.

Of course, The Overthinkers might wonder why they ever left such a cush position. The good news is they’d have plenty of time to overthink about it.

Under inflated balls

In the last few days we've been hearing a lot about under inflated footballs. Allegedly, the New England Patriots used them to help win their AFC Championship game against the Colts last Sunday.

Let's pause for a minute and congratulate me on the fact I actually know the names of two teams and what they were playing for. I'm as surprised as you are.

The reason under inflated balls (I'll never get tired of that phrase) make a difference is that they're easier to grip and throw.

Here's the thing: while the issue of under inflated balls is a relatively new discussion for the NFL, it's been rampant in ad agencies ever since the very first "new and improved." Many have suffered the affliction for years. Surprisingly, the condition is anatomically agnostic. It affects both men and women in the business.

The symptoms are readily apparent, although they do vary. They can run anywhere from letting the client write the copy, to telling the creative team, "I could present this but I know you can do better." Other symptoms include run-on meetings, not challenging client mandates, letting the work go down in flames without so much as a whimper, insisting the bulk of the budget be shifted to digital and reading the brief word for word.

If you find yourself in a completely ridiculous argument lasting four hours or more with someone who has never created a thing in their life, yet continues to criticize your work, they most likely have an untreated case of under inflated balls.

Try to be understanding and not judgmental. Give them the same reassuring, constructive advice their doctor would.

Grow a pair.

Both sides now

When you work in the insurance business, you don't get to have an opinion about whether the claim form is filled out correctly - it either is or it isn't. If you're fixing cars, no one's looking for an opinion about the intricacies and meaning of the repair - it's either fixed or it's not. In the case of the Saab 900 I used to own, it was not. Whole other story.

In advertising, the lines are more blurred when it comes to the work. There's room for opinions. And, as anyone on the creative side of the business will tell you, everyone has one.

One of the unspoken agreements when you work at an agency is the expectation you're going to be a company man, an advocate of the work regardless of its merits, good or bad, subtle or crass, exploitative or not. And if you're a stakeholder in the work - a writer, art director or producer - the agreement isn't that unspoken. Of course you're going to defend your work.

Here's the thing though. If you're going to work in this business, you have to put on your big boy pants and realize that there are going to be lots of opinions about the work, and they're not all going to agree with yours.

Case in point: the recent McDonald's "Signs" commercial. I already told you what I think of it here. Over 20 years ago I worked on McDonald's, but their advertising has changed several times over the years. And the fact that I got paid to work on it a very long time ago didn't buy them a promise I'd love everything they do forever and ever.

No one sets out to do a crass, exploitative, manipulative, cynical spot on purpose. At least I hope they don't. But even if you're a stakeholder, you have to realize the world is not having their checks signed by the same people you are. There'll be different opinions.

It's the price of admission to work in this business.

So it really comes down to two choices. You can let opinions that don't agree with yours roll off your back.

Or you can gear up and spend a lot of energy fighting each and every one like they're a kitchen grease fire that needs to be put out.

Which would be a complete waste of time. Not unlike that McDonald's spot.