The first manifesto

From airlines to peanut butter to Japanese car companies, they all want one. And not just one. One like the one that started it all. And agencies want to give it to them.

The manifesto. That crisp, concise group of words that at once lays out the philosophy, character, promise, mission and direction of a company.

My friend Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen is the best manifesto writer working, and he's written more of them than anyone I know including me. But as he'd be the first to tell you, even when it's right in front of them, they don't always see it. In a global campaign gang...effort for a luxury car company, I won't say which one - Infiniti - Rich wrote an incredible manifesto. I walked in the conference room where it was pinned on the foam core with about 25 other, lesser manifestos, and was in awe. In fact, I gave it the ultimate copywriter compliment: I wished I'd written it.

At the end of the exercise though, Infiniti stayed with the work it was doing.

The benchmark for all manifestos is and will always be Apple. But that particular one is uniquely reflective of an uncompromising leader with a singular vision. Two things too many companies are lacking.

But don't think I'm completely against them. I'm not. They're good for business.

So here's to the crazy ones. Because people who are crazy enough to think they need to hire freelancers to write manifestos are the ones that do.

Writer squared

Freelancing is a lot like checking into a hotel. A really crowded hotel, with three conventions going on at the same time.

You never quite know what room, or in this case, cubicle, you're going to get.

As any freelancer will tell you, they stick you where they can. They also stick it to you where they can - usually in the wallet. But that's for another post.

The days where a hired gun could expect a spare empty window office to work in for the length of the gig are long gone. Now, they cram you into whatever space they can.

Lately I've been working in various parts of various agencies: open areas (supposedly better for creativity - total bulls@#%), the lobby, the kitchen, the (small) conference room (that I kept getting booted out of every time they had a meeting, which was every half hour because, well, it's an agency).

But there are cubicles then there are Cubicles.

The ones you see above belong to Chiat Day, and they are the most sought after workspaces in the agency. Rarely does a freelancer get to use them, although I have been lucky enough to work in them a few times while a staffer was on vacation. Everyone jockeys for these spaces, especially the ones on Main Street, which is the bottom row.

Say what you will about Chiat, aesthetically speaking it's nicer than any other agency to come into. It almost doesn't matter where they put you. There's always something to see: some interesting design or architectural detail to appreciate. And pretty people? The place is lousy with 'em.

Plus they let you bring your dog to work. There's a park. A basketball court. And a restaurant.

As far as walking into freelance gigs, I file it under "things could be worse."

Speaking of worse, a lot worse, I just finished working with an art director at an agency in Orange County. I've worked at this agency many times before, and all those other times I had an ordinary cubicle, the kind you're imagining right now. However this time, they put both of us in - well, room is too generous a word - a very narrow space about nine feet long and four feet wide. It was clearly one of those leftover spaces - not enough for an office, too much for a closet.

So it's the freelancer room.

As I broke a sweat trying to breathe while the table was smashed into me, and the chair was backed against the wall, the thing I made a point of remembering is that unlike a hotel, I'm not there for the accommodations.

I'm there for the love. Nah, just messin' with you. You know what I'm there for.

Besides, what did I really expect from an agency that thinks chairs like these are a good idea?

Well shut my mouth

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.

Late edition

This won't come as a surprise to anyone who's freelanced more than ten minutes in an agency.

Years ago I was freelancing at McCann and wrote a spot for the McDonnell Douglas C-17 aircraft. Ginormous, window-rattling cargo plane. The idea of the spot was to show how the plane could be used for civilian missions, and showed it bringing supplies to an area that'd been hard hit by an unnamed natural disaster (the best kind). Since the spot required a skill with real people and emotions, I thought Elma Garcia would be a great choice to direct it. So I suggested her to my partner and the creative director: they agreed and we - including me - began talking to her.

Here's the punchline.

Early on in the conversations, when everyone started realizing the spot's potential and how much fun it would be shooting on a base in North Carolina, the creative director suddenly decided my services were no longer needed and cut my gig short. He then went on to shoot the spot with Garcia. Despite the fact he liked to rewrite everything I ever showed him, he wound up shooting this one word-for-word as I'd written it. But just for good measure, he put his name ahead of mine on the copywriting credit (and ahead of the art director's on his credit) on every awards show the spot was entered in. I found this out when I picked up the New York Ad Awards show annual where the spot had won.

At least my name was on it. On a web page I looked at for this post, and I won't say who's page, it's just his name.

I know, so what else is new? Well, that was then and this is now. The ironic part is in the intervening years, I've had many reasons to consider (and still do) that creative director a good friend of mine despite his dickish ways at the time.

Over it. Really.

The reason I even bring it up here, instead of in therapy, is that during those early conversations with Elma, somehow the fact that my Dad worked at Al's Newstand for years came up. Elma couldn't believe it, because she'd shot a print ad using my Dad at the newsstand. The picture you see here.

Needless to say I was beside myself when she sent me the picture. My dad was from Brooklyn, and to me it looked like a classic New York newsstand, instead of one at the corner of Fairfax and Oakwood in L.A.

My Dad used to go to open the newsstand at 4:30 in the morning when all the papers and magazines were delivered. I hated that the heavy metal doors covering the stand weren't on sliders, and he'd have to lift them off one by one and set them to the side. To me it seemed so unfair that Al (who was great to my father for many years) would ask a man my Dad's age to do that.

But my Dad never complained even when he should've. Yet another difference between us.

I'm at a crossroad here, because my instinct is to get sloppy in my beer and go on and on about my Dad. I don't think I will.

Instead what I'll do is just look at the picture, this picture that came to me by grace and chance, and smile while I remember how much he must have enjoyed having his moment.

And how much I enjoyed having my Dad.

The stupidest thing anyone's ever said to me in advertising

It doesn't matter whether they're just starting out or seasoned pros, every copywriter and art director I know has a "stupidest thing anyone's ever said" story. In fact, there are a bunch of websites like this one devoted entirely to stupid things people in the business say.

People more frightened, more practical and more employed than me have said I shouldn't name names, because "You never know where you'll wind up and who knows who and blah blah blah..."

So I won't name names. I'll leave clues. See if you can get in touch with your inneR Colombo and figure out the genius who said it to me.

Here's the thing. I was freelancing at this big agency that prints money off its one main automotive account. I'm tempted to tell you the name of the agency, but those same people who say I shouldn't name names also say I shouldn't name agencies, so I won't.

Saatchi.

I was writing the brochure for the 2007 Toyota Matrix. Now brochures aren't something that put a big smile on any copywriter's face. However they do put a big deposit in their bank account, so thank you very much and I'm available for any and all of your automotive brochure needs.

I mean I don't want to sound mercenary about it, but it is freelance. What do you need, a roadmap? Anyway, it's kind of the same way I feel about agency tItles. They're pretty useless. I really don't care if you call me creative director or janitor. As long as you say it with cash.

But I digress.

The person who'd hired me and another freelance writer named Lori neglected to tell us he'd given notice. So the second week we were there, he was gone. Which was fine. Lori and I are both senior people, and we just carried on creative directing each others work and getting the job done. One part of the job was that Matrix broChure. I'd written it, it'd been routed and was virtually on its way out the door.

Right at that point, a freelance associate creative director (speaking of useless titles) was brought in to oversee the work until someone permanent was hired.

Again, not naming names, but I Hope you're reading closely.

This acd (lower case intentional) stopped the presses and wanted to review all the Copy.

This is where it gets good.

In the brOchure I talked about the cargo space in the Matrix, mentioNing all the different kinds of things you could carry in it. It was something along the lines of three mothers-in-law, two surfboards and eighteen wiener dogs.

The wiener dogs are what did me in.

The project manager told me that the freelance acd, who'd been on the job and immersed in the culture of Toyota and Saatchi for a staggering total of two days, wanted to talk to me about the copy. I asked what the problem was, and she rolled her eyes and said I'd better speak to him myself.

So I called him. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Hey, what's up?

Him: I wanted to talK to you about the Matrix copy.

Me: Okay.

Him: Here, where you say "wiener dogs", you're talking about dachshunds right?

Me: Yep.

Him: Well there could be some confusion between that and hot dogs. (by the way, that wasn't the stupid comment, although definitely a close second).

Me: I don't think it'll be a problem. Look - you're a bright guy, you figured it out.

Him: Well, the other thing I'm really worried about is that PETA might come after us. (THAT was the comment.)

I couldn't help myself - it just came tumbling out.

Me: Are you f#$&ing kidding me?!

Him: Well you know Toyota is a big target with deep pockets, and I'd hate to have PETA all over us for this. (Third runner up.)

Me: First of all, driving small dogs in a car isn't animaL abuse. And second, I'm pretty sure PETA has better things to do than go looking through Matrix brochures for things to sue over.

Him: Alright, I'm still worried, but go ahead and use your best judgement.

Me: I already did, but thanks.

Now I know I sounded a little hostile. But the stupid needle was way in the red, and, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I have a low threshold. Especially when it's coming from the new kId on the block.

Funny thing is apparently the new kid had a low threshold for my hostility, and the next day, out of the blue, my services as well as Lori's were no longer needed.

So there you go. It would've been nice to finish the gig, but judging from this one conversation we both had sized up each other pretty quickly: he was going to continue to say unbelievably stupid, chickens#&t comments, and I was going to keep calling him on it.

I don't know if this person is a good writer or not. I know he's had a lot of automotive experience. I may have just been on the receiving end of one incredibly stupid comment in an otherwise brilliant career. And now that some time has goNe by, even though I know there's no chance he's reading this, I want him to know I wish him luck no matter where his journey takes him.

Unless it takes him to an agency I'm working at.

Then I wish he just shuts his trap and gets out of the way.