When is it right to experiment?

Would you let this man do it? Picture via jbcurio, usual rules apply.

As the last post on anti-social brands alluded to, my position on what brands should and shouldn't do is very much rooted in their history.

Ignoring history is, I think, a problem of the communications industry; it gives what's gone before a short shrift, always trying the newest and most exciting thing, which it claims is going to be the new and revolutionary approach to branding/thinking/marketing/life. This is perhaps unsurprising; agencies are founded and built on their thoughts and approaches - to always be seen to take the lead, so they can 'add value'.

Though it's a bit GCSE Business Studies, what's the damage of doing this? What benefits do you lose when you discard previous thinking? Recently, there's been a raft of new campaigns that fly in the face of the past 10/20 years of advertising. If all you're trying to do with your brand is ensure it's able to be 'remixed', I think you ignore an important point, that brands are founded on points of view - either superior product, or a thought about the world/marketplace they operate in.

That's not to say i'd try to stop brands from innovating, or from agencies from pitching the latest in content, but I would try to stop the relentless need for change that seems to have blighted the marketplace in the last ten years or so. Maybe it's got something to do with the speed of technological change, or the length of time Marketing Directors have in their job, or that agencies have become increasingly like magpies - only interested in the next shiny thing.

In fact, it's a funny thing. In a time where planners are obsessed with the psychology of loss aversion (the fear of losing something, a feeling that's so strong, people go out of their way to avoid having things taken away) it's surprising that we don't apply this thinking to marketing or advertising. Why aren't we more worried about brands trying to do away with our expertise? Agencies like being seen as cutting edge when they suggest it. But why don't they do away with this need? Why don't they man up, and point out the economic danger of playing with the brand, both for the client and the agency.

I think this is also wrapped up in the 'wisdom of crowds' (which, i'd suggest, is used improperly a lot of the time). Often, the masses have a confused opinion when aggregrated - as Jeremy Bullmore highlights. With that in mind, what hope have they of creating a coherent campaign? I'd rather one or two informed people's strong opinion shining through the work, and that opinion disseminated to their respective agency/client sides, so there's a sense that the brand's position doesn't get confused.

Wanting to be the rainmaker in your agency or industry is all well and good, but it's not always the right thing to do. Knowing when experimentation should happen, or how conversation can enable experiments - that's the mark of a top quality comms person.

I'm thinking of brands like Walkers, who took a commonly held truism (that their consumers all would like a specialised version of their products), asked the masses, and then aggregated it themselves. They didn't just blindly turn the brand's point of view and communications over to consumers. That would have flown in the face of their years of building a brand and product that is too good to share.

And, most importantly, I don't think most people can be bothered with it. I'm in complete agreement with Tom Ewing here. Walkers worked because people wanted to get involved, and there was a commonly held thought that people could come up with good flavours.

Participating in conversations about your brand, whether they are about politics, economics or culture is surely a good thing. I worry that the magpie within a lot of comms folk leads to people to getting involved in situations which aren't right for their brand/s.

Anti Social Brands...

Lolcat goodness, via msmail. Usual rules apply.

I'll be honest, I didn't go to IPASocial, despite the ferocious twittering around it. So i'm going to caveat these remarks with that.

I didn't go despite the fact a lot of my friends were speaking. While I like socialising with them, I can be sociable just as easily in the pub, as well as debating the finer points of online and offline behaviour (I'd also forgotten when it was on).

Plus, as Sam rightly pointed out, for an event about social behaviour, it was unusual with its differing charges for members and non members (which I usually don't mind, but it seemed to be against the principles of the evening; especially rule 2 - a social agenda, not a business agenda).

I'll be interested to see whether it goes, and what happens when a brand adopts some of those principles directly from the event; that'd make a case study i'd love to find out more about.

With all of that said, I think there's a point it might all be missing; that being 'social' isn't for every company or brand.

I don't give a stuff what most brands think about things - do I care that my bank thinks about the world differently, or cares that all of its customers are bright, shiny snowflakes? No. I don't. I care that it's able to manage my money, not rip me off, and not go bust any time soon. And, to be honest, i'm more interested in giving to a bank which cares about what I think it should be good at.

In fact, I somewhat admire this close minded stance for brands who offer an emotional or physical experience which is like no other brand's. Making a virtue of sticking to what you know, and what you're good at still creates loyalists.

And it can even live on 'social' networks. Look at Tower Bridge, or Henry Winter (the Telegraph's tip top football writer). People know about them, and them not being social or responding isn't really an issue.

I think getting too wedded to social brand behaviour is bloody dangerous, especially as 10% of twitter users generate most of the content. Yes, we're inherently social creatures, but to our friends and family. Not necessarily to brands.

Brands - I don't want to be your friend, I just want you to do your job, and do it better than your competition. In fact, I rather like it when that's all you focus on. Be useful to me and i'll like you. Don't get hung up on being social for the sake of it.

I hate to use the 'brands like people' thing here, but it's true to some extent; some brands are the life and soul of the party. Some are the socially awkward introverts who have other interests than being loquacious. And there's nothing wrong with that.

The Great Integration Myth...?

How it should be?

You hear a lot of chat about the importance of being integrated. About how, when all the bits are working together, communication seems to be a lot better. Reading the IPA DataBank backs this up too - when there are 3 or 4 channels, client money tends to work an awful lot harder.

So really, using a myriad of channels isn't in question. However, what that doesn't tend to address is the overlap. It's tricky, because most agencies believe they can do just as well as the others at brand building, at social media (because, let's be honest, isn't all media social in some way?) and at generating 'buzz'.

And who should lead? The ad agency? The PR agency? The digital agency? Media? Should it be divvied up by the activity the client wants to perform, or should people work together and decide who gets the lion's share of the budget?

The problem comes when one agency is clearly the generator of the idea and strategy, and yet, executionally, won't get monetised for making it. What value an idea, and so on - it seems to me why a lot of bright brand consultancies don't last that long, because billing for an idea is like nailing jelly to a wall. It just won't stick.

It gets even more complicated when there's one holding company, with each agency having its own bottom line. And it got me thinking - why don't clients make it quite clear about what channel/s they want to use, and pay for an overall 'organising' agency - the agency which is going to provide the strategic glue to hold it together?

Without this payment, you just get a boatload of activities which either don't correspond, or don't work as hard as they should, as agencies are fighting for their own slice of the pie. And it tends to be woefully short termist. If it were me, I'd reserve 20/30% of the budget to adapt the thinking as the campaign goes on, to be spent refining after the work has been responded to by your audience. That part of the budget would be left as money for the strategic partner to assign to a channel as the campaign continues on; after six months, say.

This thought isn't perfect, I admit. But it's clear that the one stop shop is yet to wholly bear fruit (although there are examples out there - VCCP's integration of digital/search/PR and ATL work has worked well for several clients, it'd seem), and this 'come up with an idea' approach by some clients leads to a bunfight a lot of the time.

Thoughts, gang?

Why I Play Golf...

The great man, Bobby Jones. Better than Tiger. Honest.

It's the evening of the final major of the year, the USPGA (the red headed stepchild of other majors), and i'm about to settle in and see whether Tiger can win another to close in on Mr Nicklaus.

And, I thought - amidst all the nonsense I wang on about brands, I thought I'd write a piece about just why I like the sport so much.

And God knows, I do. I've played ever since I was 14, when I watched my father get into it around the time of his 50th birthday. That was 11 years ago, and my interest has waxed and waned depending on how well I was playing. But I still return to it. And now, based in London, I feel the need to play more than ever. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.

I've always been moderately competent at sport (or cheerfully mediocre). I've got reasonable hand eye co-ordination, and can usually be relied upon to give someone a game of football, tennis or badminton. But as time goes on, I find all of them lacking a certain something when I play. I mean, I love to watch football in any form, along with tennis - some of the things the pros can do really fascinates me. To watch, football is still my favourite, just because when it's played with any degree of skill, there's a lot more artistry to it than any other sport. The likes of cricket and rugby can be exciting, but there's not the constancy of football.

Now, when it comes to playing, it's got to be golf. I still remember going down to the driving range with my first club (a slightly too small 7 iron, as it turned out), and thwacking balls. It was in no way as intuitive as tennis, where I was able to return without really thinking about it. When it came to golf, you really had to think about your grip, your setup and concentrate on making good contact. And so, with a mixture of tops, thins, slices and hooks and, now and then, missing the ball, I worked my way through 90 balls.

God, that was bloody frustrating. But it was also exhilarating; when I saw my little yellow ball (range balls are frequently scrubbier/yellower/not as good as normal course balls) flying to the 100 yard marker, I felt a sense of achievement I just didn't get outside of scoring a goal in football - and even then, it wasn't quite the same; who knew if you'd do anything like as well with your next swing?

And, looking around, you saw a mixture of ages, sexes and athletic abilities doing exactly the same thing. People who would quite obviously have been bloody fantastic at the usual sports were bloody AWFUL at golf. And this was interesting to me. A chance to be good at a sport which was as much played between the ears as anything else.

So I embarked on a series of lessons. Lessons which taught me how to hit the ball with some degree of competency, and finally prepared me to hit the course with my little half set.

And, as you'd expect, round a proper 18 hole course, with my first go - I worked up a cricket score. I remember most of the shots in that 110. And you'd have been forgiven for thinking I should have thought about giving up; but no - one of the truly wonderful things about golf is that no matter HOW badly you play, there's always one shot to give you hope for next time, to make you think you should be able to play like that all the time. For me, it was a 5 wood to within 10 foot on a par 3, which I parred. I was hooked.

Golf allowed me to meet up with various people, to play lots of different courses - way before advertising was amazed about 'communities', I was part of an online golf messageboard (yes, sad bastard, I know), and met some of the guys and played with them.

As I got better, I became more competitive, but it wasn't with a person. It was me versus the course. Golf is the only sport where one moment can entirely unravel your day; where a duff iron shot can cost you nine shots on a Par 4, where your carefully planned round can fall apart.

And, of course, my patience with it came and went. I have quit, vowing never to play again, several times. I swear, I mentally beat myself up. But I keep coming back. Why?

Well, it's not just the one perfect shot. When i'm out on a golf course, I feel more at peace than anywhere else. I love the countryside, and walking around, soaking up the beautiful scenery whilst playing with some degree of skill, and just talking to my playing partners. More often than not, it's my father, and we swear and moan our way round, as well as chatting about how well things have gone.

Crucially, I think I love it because of the imagination involved. Every shot is completely different. The skills required to hit a 7 iron off a good lie are completely different to hitting a low, hooking chip and run from behind a tree. You have to be able to think and plot your way round. What's the wind doing? How does the lie look? What would make the most sense - should you play out sideways or go for it?

It's why so many of the top players have such complex pre-shot routines. You have to be able to imagine these things coming off, in a way you really don't for tennis or badminton, or rugby and football - it's too quick. Whereas in golf, you have time to assess your lie, to think about all the things that could go wrong in your swing (and believe me, there are a lot), and be put off by things around you.

I also (and this is the middle class Englishman in me) love the etiquette inherent in the game. There's so much respect. You don't stand in your opponent's line of sight, you rake bunkers, you replace your divots/holes in the ground after you've played. You praise good shots. You don't make noise when other people are playing. You attend the flag/pull it out for your playing partners. You show respect for the course and for others. No other sport has such levels of respect, and I'll include cricket in this. It's not so much a part of the fabric of the game, right through to the highest level. In no other sport can you call a penalty on yourself, and the pros do.

Then there's the 19th hole (or pub, to the uninitiated), where your round is endlessly replayed and talked about. Which will, I'll be honest, bore any non golfers - along with watching golf on tv - which, if you've never played, is about as enjoyable as watching grass grow.

Yes, there's a lot wrong with the sport - the sexism at certain clubs, the exorbitant price of playing, the slightly over the top dress code (though any sport which insists on a collared shirt being worn is frankly doing the world a favour - no-one wants to see 40+ year old men in football shirts) and the snobbishness. But that's getting better, in my experience.

The sheer pleasure of walking 18 holes, of all the little dramas that come and go in the course of one hole (never mind 18), the camaraderie, the continual thought process of each shot, and the beauty of wandering around beautiful countryside is why I play.

Anyway. I'll get back to seeing if Tiger can hold off Paddy. Let's see.

Responsibility & Job Titles..

Ah...it's all clear. Via T.Young, usual rules apply.

In the hubbub of a summery Friday, two seemingly unconnected things happened. One was this post from Ben, which sparked a lot of anonymous anti-planner chat in the comments. Which is fine. I despair at some of the planning, and some of the briefs i've seen(not mine, obviously - they're always excellent...*cough*) in the time i've been a planner. Some of the worst are those which lift too directly from the client brief, and don't have any hint of a lateral thought, or any kind of springboard. But I digress.

The second was something which happened at my work. I don't tend to write about work, partly because it's pretty standard stuff if you've worked in an ad agency before - making ads/not enough Don Draper esque antics - and partly because detailing the inner workings of an agency often makes said agency look a bit farcical (unless you're W&K, whose blog is excellent). Anyway. We have a brief in the agency which involves writing an awful lot of football orientated headlines. The sort of brief which is a bit like the Economist, in that anyone with a vague knowledge of the topic could write lines for.

And that's what we did. We opened it up, whilst assigning a team to work on it. And you know what? It all went swimmingly. The creative team in question didn't mind us opening it up to other people, and we had a cracking collection of lines to go back with. What was telling was that they were prepared to admit they didn't know it all about the subject, and didn't get defensive when yours truly, a dastardly planner critiqued stuff. It helps that my English degree background (and slightly obsessive football fan nature) means I can have a reasonable stab at what'd work and what wouldn't in this case. I'm not saying it'd work all the time, but in this case, it was the best solution when we didn't have a creative director to hand, and an impending deadline.

And yet, I'm sure a lot of folks reading this have worked in places where people get needlessly defensive if their job feels like it's being done by other people, or 'assisted'. The sort of jobsworthiness that leads to planners getting pissed off if account handlers come up with a better proposition than them, or creatives being able to present ideas better than the account team.

There are many things I can't do. I can't really code HTML at all, create CSS, draw, present without going umm or swearing to break the tension, use photoshop (but i'd like to learn) or write blog posts without using too many ellipses. But there's a host of stuff I'd like to think i'm not bad at - and for this to be shelved because of my job title is frankly, fucking ludicrous.

I mean, why would you want to adhere so religiously to your job title? I may not be the world's best presenter, but for me to put this down to me being a slightly bumbling planner and not attempt to learn how to do it better is a nonsense. To me, it just makes you close your mind, and, in my opinion, ultimately stops you from getting better at your job.

Outside influences are hugely, hugely important to how you think about things. They shouldn't take over - obviously, a well trained copywriter is a much, much better judge of creative work than yours truly - but when your other talents are allowed to come to light now and then, it allows you another perspective, and that surely helps. Think about your favourite musicians, and how they are influenced by other artists/groups. They don't say they haven't had influences, do they?

I think those guys who want to close their minds should watch this video from Google, specifically the piece about Hippos in organisations and how they damage product development and innovation. (NB: A hippo is the highest paid person's opinion, able to kill ideas quickly):



Some of the best people I know are multi-talented ad folk, who've been creatives, planners and account handlers when required. Strategy isn't a department. (Yes, I know that's hugely glib, but it's very true).

Whingers who just want to have their own corner in their agency somewhere, who will take their ball in and not let anyone play with it aren't long for this business. And that can't happen too quickly.

We ALL work in PR.

Looks like a flume, but isn't. Guess. Photo via Whatsername?

It's a little bit of a black hole, isn't it? This being on the internet malarky, creating a digital footprint with every tweet. God knows where it all goes.

I was a touch worried to find out (don't worry, I haven't been googling myself that much...honest) from Priyanka that if you type in my name into google, it begins to auto complete. Fuck me. I'm one of them proper internet people (or tremendous nerds - in fact, almost certainly the latter).

Something, in truth, I never really thought about when I first got into blogging, or writing nonsense on the internet. I wrote to amuse myself. And it got me to thinking. Has this sort of attitude changed?

With the tremendous takeup of twitter by celebrities, do people now primarily use the web as a source of fame, rather than writing to express their opinion? And if so, at what cost? Has 'honesty' been bastardised?

I've always been acutely aware of just what I write online. I don't write anything that I wouldn't say in real life (yes, even taking the piss out of social media, or ranting about how badly put together most organisations seem to be). And I wonder, as people grow up with the technology to say whatever they want, whenever they want to - whether it'll begin to have more negative aspects.

Kids who've never thought about censorship will continue to be positively encouraged to tell brands what they think. With this power, do you honestly think it'll make things better in real life? I don't. I think it'll lead to a lot of people who speak first and ask questions later.

Surely, some of the benefits of being online - being able to enforce change, to speak your mind and improve things - will persist. But I do worry about the other side of things. Is it a job for parents? Part of me shudders at that; no-one had to teach me how to 'be' online. But then, I didn't get online properly until I was about 14 or so, I didn't blog until I was 21.

I'm not suggesting anything so drastic as a code of conduct. That seems like bollocks to me, tremendous overkill.

But, as the title of the post aludes, we are all in PR. All of us have a measure of responsibility of ensuring our online image corresponds to the real thing. I'm not suggesting naming your kids some unique name to ensure you can get the URL (God, that'd be cringey, wouldn't it?), but taking care when you're online is undoubtedly a Very Good Thing.

And this includes those older folk in the communications business. I get hacked off when I get told how to think about twitter by a supposed communications 'guru' who has 34 tweets to his name. Or worse, one with 20,000 followers, who hires people to tweet for him (which he does constantly) - that's not communications, that's the equivalent to pushing 5 yellow pages through the internet's post box daily.

Maybe it comes down to some form of web manners. Which shouldn't mean a stuffy, fastidious code - but more behaviour centred around basic politeness or thoughtfulness.

And to even THINK about this sort of thing boggles my mind. Alongside people needing media training (which is one of the ultimate examples of money for old rope), it's staggering to think people don't interact with media as an everyday thing.

I'm sure the passive massive are out there, but i'm sure their number is dwindling, what with ever increasing opportunities to interact - either to post product reviews or participate in their interests.

And, to me, it's somewhat comforting to know the individuals, not the organisations behind certain things. I like knowing who i'm dealing with, not some faceless agency or business. I can have a relationship with a person. I'm not quite so sure I'd ever value a PR or ad bod's paid opinion in the same way.

In short, it seems honesty's a bit of a two way street online. I'm interested in how it helps (or hurts) people. Especially those who have always had the tools to express it.

Funny old thing, nostalgia...

What a cheeky chappy. Not as good a frontman as Liam, but still.

Like a lot of people, last weekend, I was at Glastonbury. Yes, I'm sure you're sick to the back teeth of hearing about it. Hell, I am, and I was there.

There's a point to this post, rather than shamelessly sticking it to those who weren't there. Chiefly, this; it was the first time in my life that a band (that I can actually remember, and know most of their music) that formed a major part of a musical movement, were reformed. I remember both incarnations.

It's not like the Smashing Pumpkins reforming. In truth, I was too young to properly remember the early Pumpkins - i'd have been about 6 when they first started making music.

No, Blur reforming and headlining on the Sunday was an odd experience for me. I was always more of an Oasis fan (they have two cracking albums, whereas, in my eyes, Blur have none, though they are a great singles band), and in all honesty, was keen to see Blur, but just as excited to have seen the Dead Weather earlier in the weekend, as well as Neil Young (who was the unquestioned highlight of the weekend for me).

And, looking back as the week went on, I failed to understand just what it was that led to such a mass outpouring of nostalgia for Blur. I mean, they've only not been recording for 6 years. Add to that Damon Albarn's faux emotion at Glastonbury; I thought it smacked of a cash in.

I could fully understand the Neil Young fans cheering wildly when he played stuff from Harvest. I mean, imagine finally seeing your hero at Glasto (he'd never played there in his 40+ year career) playing songs from his most successful album. Absolutely brilliant.

But then, I thought about it some more. Do I think that because I wasn't around then? Do my incredibly rose-tinted notions about the 60's and 70's entirely colour my beliefs about Neil Young?

I reckon they do. I lived through Britpop, and to me, Blur were a good band. But then, so were the Bluetones and Supergrass, and they weren't still headlining (though not having split up probably has a large part to do with it) Glastonbury. They also weren't seen to have begun the movement, as Blur were.

But my memories remain - Britpop, for me, doesn't really feature Blur. It's all about Oasis, about Definitely Maybe, about playing and watching football, about What's The Story and knowing all the words to do, about discovering the Stone Roses after, about knowing the day it died (somewhere between Urban Hymns and the Spice Girls, in truth). I dislike what's been seem to be a reframing of a musical movement that I was a part of. Hell, I base getting old on whether people I talk to can remember What's The Story. If they were born late 80s or early 90s, they probably don't, and fuck me, does that make me feel like i'm getting old.

Interestingly though (especially given the ranty nature of the previous post), when you look at the etymology of the word nostalgia, it comes from the combination of two Greek words (nostos a return home and algios pain). It's not necessarily a particularly positive thing.

Listening to Blur DID bring on feelings of nostalgia for me - for what i've just outlined. And (God, I KNEW a smattering of Godin-like tendencies would creep in...sorry) it also made me think about the heavy reliance a lot of brands have on nostalgia.

Why would you willingly induce nostalgia if it can provoke such sadness? I know sadness can sell, but God, it's not a long term position. Memories get fuzzy, worn and replaced (I'm sure in ten or twenty years time, I'll believe Blur were one of the better Britpop bands). So then can the point of certain brands, unless they keep providing me with new experiences to show how they fit into my life now.

Blur stopped being relevant to me after 1997. And so did a lot of brands.