Courting Rejection: a creative's cruel mistress

Many years ago, as a young and dumb copywriter living in Memphis, I was hired by an ad agency whose lead writer was moving to the distant metropolis of Kansas City. We sat together in her office, surrounded by her nicknacks and tchotchkes, reviewing all the clients she would soon leave behind.

"Have you found a new agency in KC?" I asked, making polite smalltalk.

She shook her head. "Nah."

"Easing into it?"

"Nope. I'm actually enrolling in veterinarian school."

She was no hack. She had done great work in Memphis. Her career in advertising seemed golden. I was stunned to learn she was abandoning it for a lifetime of treating lyme disease.

You get older, you understand. Your stomach becomes too soft to take any more blows. The acceptance you once so desperately craved – the jealousy of peers, the praise from clients, the acknowledgment from the agency's elite – transitions to something simpler: the primal need to please yourself.

Rejection is a creative's coy and cruel mistress. She leads you one with faint platitudes before leaving you alone at the table with a sheet of white paper stained with red ink and vague redirection. A relationship with Rejection is exhausting and punishing. Early on, you endure it because you like the challenge. And because you're stupid. You think you have the energy and charm to woo her. Win her over.

But Rejection never evolves. She refuses to adopt your perspective or even try to work it out. Rejection only wants you to conform to her. There is no give and take. No 50/50. She'll toss you a scrap before taking her pound of flesh.

The sizzling relationship eventually becomes an emotionless business arrangement. Rejection keeps your work honest and maybe even profitable, but the romance is gone. You've received too many eye rolls and snide remarks to consider Rejection anything more than a not-silent-enough partner.

And that's how you endure in advertising. Rejection knocks, and you coldly open the door and invite her inside. She'll talk and talk and talk. You'll nod and agree at the right places. The things she says hurts because much of it is true.

But you can still surprise her. Every now and then, you respond with something sharp and clever and reminiscent of those days when you thought everything you wrote was sharp and clever, and a genuinely sweet smile appears on Rejection's ruby lips

You still got it, handsome. Now give me two alternatives.

Five truths I learned working a grueling summer at Burger King

About twenty years ago, I wound up working my summer break at Burger King, where Whoppers™ are Made Your Way. It wasn't exactly my dream summer job; my previous gig was being a lifeguard at a quiet neighborhood pool. And yet, it was probably the most educational 3-months I ever endured. 

Your Way can be a pain in the ass

From Burger King, I learned what it's like to grind out thankless hours. I came away with a new understanding of (and appreciation for) just what kind of people work behind the drive-thru window. I also got pretty good at constructing assembly-line hamburgers. And now I pass this incredible wisdom down to you. 

1. You get what you pay for. Most people I know share their incredulous I Got A Wrong Order At The Drive-Thru stories with so much grim emotion, you forget they just spent the lowest possible amount of money for a meal. Listen, Your Highness, nobody wanted to give you the wrong order. If you want a salad, but with no cucumbers, and God still punishes you with cucumbers, just park the car, walk inside, and calmly alert the cashier that an honest error has been made. This is a winning strategy. 
2. We want to give you extra ketchup. Actually, we really don't care. You want more ketchup? Here you go. Except you know who doesn't want you to have extra ketchup? Some nutty accountant at fast food headquarters who realized that handing out three ketchup packets instead of two was costing the company, like, a million bucks a year. That nit-picky observation gets passed down to the haggard store manager who's pressured to cut costs, who passes it down to the poor schmuck at the window who is forced to police how many packets of ketchup end up in your bag. If you have a complaint about ketchup or honey mustard or ranch dressing, yell at Corporate.
3. Workers aren't just teenagers saving cash for sick skateboards. I mean, I was. But the people I worked with were mostly lower-class adults busting-ass on two jobs just to make a payment on their home or vehicle. Most are between the ages of 25-54, and the majority are white women. My coworkers weren't liberal leeches on society. These were hard-working men and women with limited options. 
4. People treat fast food workers like dirt. If you're a convicted felon on parole after having committed society's most egregious atrocities, you still have full license to walk into a a fast food joint and be a complete dick to the person behind the counter. It doesn't help that people walk in hungry. Hungry people are jerks. People seem to take pride in berating fast food workers, as if your value meal purchase is a terrible fee that supports the nation's lazy.
5. There are no golden parachutes in fast food. My manager was her most panicked the moment my weekly hours crept closer to 40. Why? If I worked 40 hours, I was a full-time employee, which entitled me to benefits that Burger King didn't want to play. I didn't have insurance. A 401K. Profit share. Performance bonus. Nothing! Just like everyone else making burgers alongside me, all I had was the paycheck, which today earns a worker in Arkansas between $18K and 19K per year. Hell, I had to buy my own uniform. Think I got free food? Think again! We received a once-per-day 50% discount on a sandwich. One sandwich a day for half the price! So yeah, them's the perks. 

Today, I see videos posted online of people pranking drive-thru workers, and these videos are met with laughter rather than submitted as evidence in a court of law. Fast food workers are the unheralded backbone of our society, helping you combat midnight munchies or hold you over during an 8-hour road trip. Appreciate these people. Even if they're reluctant to give you extra ketchup. 

When people ask me how to get a job in advertising, they rarely ask me again

About twice a year, I'm approached by an old friend or a distant acquaintance or a complete stranger wanting some great advice for breaking into advertising as a writer. When I give it, I rarely see any follow up.

Because here's the secret: you either got it, or you don't. Writing is an attitude and not a skill.  

Honestly, you have to believe you can tell a story better than anyone else. 

I'm in advertising. Ask me anything. 

I've been around a lot of great ad writers, and none of them graduated from an advertising school. A couple were bartenders. One sold leather luggage. Another was a bicycle salesman. I closed refinance loans. My brother, who's a great ad writer, was a manager at freaking JC Penney. 

How do you get a copywriting job? (Shrugs)

Hound all the creative directors in town (and out of town) and bug them for an internship. Write them letters. Drop by before lunch. Like their Instagram photos. Admit you know nothing but imply that the condition won't last long. When you get the internship, don't be a douche. 

Some will say you should find a fledgling art director and bang out a portfolio of sketch work. That doesn't hurt. I created my own layouts. With colored pencils. While drinking happy-hour beer at a crappy bar in Little Rock. 

See, I thought I could tell the story better than anyone. Writing is an attitude.

4 Signs You're Raising a Dangerously Unmarketable #Teen.

As you well know, our entire way of life relies on our keen ability to market to future consumers – AKA "the #teens." Therefore, it is the duty of all American parents to properly prepare their children for a happy life of mindless consumerism. But how do you know if your #teen has become dangerously unmarketable? Here are five warning signs.

1. Your #Teen Refuses to Be Moved by Pre-Approved Pop Rock Bands. This one is easy to diagnose. Casually hum "Drops of Jupiter" in the vicinity of your #teen. If he or she isn't immediately compelled to shop online, your #teen may be dangerously unmarketable. To confirm, place a Mary J. Blige or Coldplay CD beneath their pillow. If you later find it in the trash, your #teen may be beyond hope.
2. You Cannot Find a Facebook, Twitter or LinkedIn Account Under Your #Teen's Name. Uh-oh. That means marketers can't find your #teen either, leaving #hip corporations like Nabisco and Nike with no way to clandestinely #rap online with your progeny. Try to #hack your #teen's phone and at least sign him or her up to Instagram. Use "hashtag MyFavoriteOreoMoments" to get the ball rolling.
3. Your #Teen Thinks "Grey's Anatomy" is Some Kind of Grisly Textbook. Listen, we didn't create sappy dramas with disposable storylines just so you won't watch them. Primetime is for sitting on the sofa and absorbing penetrating moments of corporate content in 30 second bursts. And if we have to suffer through another one of Meredith's insipid and doomed personal relationships with a troubled but incredibly cute co-worker, they so should your #teen. That's the way it is.
4. Your #Teen is Puzzlingly Unimpressed by Jeff Goldblum. Everyone knows that Jeff Goldblum is #quirky #cool and appeals to marketable #teens even though he's a thousand years old and probably brags about not knowing how to email. If your #teen appears to be resisting the whimsical 80s charm of Jeff Goldblum, do not panic. We're going to keep pushing Jeff Goldblum on your #teen buys something.

If your #teen exhibits one or more of these troubling warning signs, you may be raising a dangerously unmarketable #teen. Our deepest condolences. So far, even the trendiest advertising agencies have yet to find a cure. But don't worry. Somebody has scheduled Conference Room A for a brainstorm, and MTV will be on in the background, so your #teen should be marketable any moment now.

4 things advertising creatives can learn from Donald Trump's surprising presidential victory

There are three popular topics for which I cannot even fake expertise: Grey's Anatomy, The Teapot Dome Scandal of 1921, and politics. Read assured that you won't receive penetrating political analysis from this guy.

If "The Donald" knows anything, it's branding. 

But Donald Trump's election, which came as a surprise to many in the know (including, reportedly, to Mr. Trump himself) bears unexpected lessons for advertising creatives. While you may (or may not) embrace the result of the election, you can at least benefit from the outcome's wisdom.

1. Never underestimate the competition. No matter how much marketshare your client possesses, it is a grave mistake to sleep on upstarts. Do not get comfortable.
2. Behold the power of a simple message. "Make America Great Again" isn't exactly Shakespeare, but it struck a chord with Mr. Trump's consumers. Despite the criticism often hurled at the slogan, the Trump Campaign stubbornly remained loyal to it until it became ingrained into Trump's brand.
3. Market research is not always to be trusted. Mr. Trump is the President elect despite nearly every poll indicating that such an outcome was an impossibility. The election proved that the polling process is fatally flawed. Market research is useful, but it's not infallible. Question everything.
4. You are never, ever the target audience. The Democrats failed in part because they spent too much time talking to themselves and not enough time gauging the pulse of the market. Just because you fail to see value in a product or service doesn't mean that the product or service isn't valued by a great many people. Stop being an elitist snob and listen.

That's it. That's pretty much all creatives can learn from this long, messy, dispiriting presidential race. Except maybe this: never talk politics at work. That's a miserable hour you'll never get to bill.