AdLand Suit is Dan Shute, a Board Account Director at Delaney Lund Knox Warren, a top ten London Advertising Agency. This is where I write about the life of a Suit - which can include pretty much anything. Delaney's didn't know I was doing this, but they do now. They still don't agree with everything I say though. They'd also probably rather I swore less.
Friday, 30 October 2009
Monday, 26 October 2009
Latterly, I've begun to realise that whilst everything advertising-related may be the fault of Suits, there's a whole other world out there - a world in which everything is not necessarily our fault. At first, I found this vaguely reassuring, as you might imagine. But then it started to worry me - if things aren't my fault, then how am I supposed to control them? How can I make sure that things don't go wrong? Short answer, I can't. And that is NOT ACCEPTABLE.
Thursday, 22 October 2009
You may not be familiar with TUPE (or Transfer of Undertakings (Protection of Employment) to give it its full, somewhat grand title). Unfortunately, what with this whole credit crunch malarkey, it's safe to say that a whole lot more people are now than would have been a year ago.
Saturday, 10 October 2009
This is a television ad for Richmond sausages. Our hero is, for want of a better word, a Bastard. One of those Bastards that want to build luxury flats on hills - you know the sort. Bastards. He's having a spot of lunch with his slightly more portly Bastard friend, who probably drowns kittens and reads the Daily Express in his spare time. We shouldn't feel too bad though, because they're eating in a restaurant so ball-achingly bad that the chef proudly announces that he uses Richmond sausages. Sausages that are, food fact fans, 51% pork. Or, to put it another way, sausages that are only slightly more than half meat. This is food for Bastards, by Bastards, with Bastards. These aren't sausages, they are near-sausages. Almost-sausages. Slightly-sausagey-bags-of-gristle-and-shite.
This culinary chaos is dwarfed, though, by the dramatic scenes outside the prandial shit-fest. As the food is served, a gang of quite literally five or six protesters are shouting and waving 'No Luxury Flats Here' placards at a nice man on a shiny digger who's really just trying to do his job. The tension is palpable. Fortunately, one mouthful of almost-sausage triggers a Proustian deluge of memories of days when it was quite literally 'all fields round here'. Inspired, the former Bastard jumps to his feet and starts waving ineffectually at the window, a gesture dwarfed in its futility only by Richmond asking us to believe that their products are actually sausages.
So, there you have it. Richmond make almost-sausages for Bastards that used not to be Bastards and would like to be ineffectual Not-Bastards again.
And so it is with great pleasure that I invite everybody involved in making both this ad and Richmond kinda-sausages is to be the inaugural members of my Bastards Of Advertising Hall Of Bastardry. You are all Bastards.
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Unashamedly, and completely. I heart them, crazy upper-case/lower-case wackiness and all - so much so that I'll even go to the trouble of typing their name how they'd want it to be typed.
Thursday, 1 October 2009
It's been a while, but it's time for another one of those fairly-noticed and much-liked-a-bit posts on tips for Junior Suits. Except that this one isn't really for Junior Suits - it's for all of us.
This morning, I was out of the office having a working breakfast (which I know sounds incredibly pretentious, but it's better than 'breakfast meeting', and is slightly different from 'breakfast with colleagues') when I got a call from my CEO. He had a call at 9am, and needed somebody to print out some media schedules for him. Obviously, the traditional process in such a circumstance would have been for me to delegate to some monkey or other, and then order another Bloody Mary - and in circumstances like this, I'm a big fan of tradition.
However, for reasons I won't go into here, there was nobody else in the office on this occasion. And so I hopped up, nipped back to the Agency (fortunately I was only breakfasting over the road), ran out a copy of the media schedules and the accompanying note from Client, popped them on my CEO's desk, and returned to my Eggs Benedict.
And the point is this. Every September a bunch of Junior Suits start, full of excitement and optimism about what their career will hold. Sure, they won't enjoy the 10 week summer holidays anymore, and getting out of bed on a Monday morning is less optional than it has been for the past three or four years, but the glamour and thrill of Life As An Adman will more than make up for it. By now, though, they will already be starting to realise that Life As A Junior Adman involves an awful lot of photo-copying, binding, presentation-tweaking, scanning and general dogsbody-ing. (Although the anecdotes they tell their banking friends will mostly focus on the Soho House lunch they enjoyed with the CEO in their third week.)
But they'll console themselves with the fact that it won't last forever, and that one day they can forget how the photo-copier works, delegate the binding in aeternum and pretend they never knew how to open a job-number. That's what AEs and PAs are for, right?
Yeah. Sorry. No.
One of the facts of Life As A Suit that you just have to accept is that no matter how senior you are, and no matter how long you have been in the business, you will always be an Account Exec to somebody. And whilst you may well have your own Account Execs to delegate to, they won't always be around. And if they're not and you don't know how to un-jam the photo-copier, then even if you're a Head of Client Service it will still, now, then and always, be your fault. Because everything is.