Scott Thomas, also known as Simple Scott, was the Design Director who helped to get Barack Obama elected as American president in 2008. Scott is not your typical designer, that much is true, although the typical designer should certainly be more like Scott. He’s an incredibly articulate and clear thinker heavily influenced by architecture, modernism and the human experience. All of which make his work completely utilitarian in the best way possible; people seem to interact with the websites he creates and the communications he’s published in an astonishingly involved way. But aside from all that intellectual hoo-hah, Scott is a totally gracious bro from Chicago who knows his shit more than most. How to live life better, how to find meaning in your work, what to do when things aren’t working, how to have friends and still have a fulfilling career… At least all the stuff we were dying to know, cause, you know, if it’s good enough for Barry Obammy, it’s good enough for you.

Junior: Scott, something’s been bugging me about this ‘successful career’ thing for a little while now… How do you have friends and still find time to indulge in the deep-thinking and hard-work a ‘successful career’ requires? Especially when you’re young.

Scott Thomas: I think it’s important to understand time. Everyone is in a rush. Many people don’t spend time enjoying things and living in the present moment. With work, when there are those times that you can’t take it any longer, you have to step away from it. Go do something fun, go hang out with your friends.

However, I also feel in those same instances where it’s important to walk away from your work, it’s important to walk away from everything else for a while and just work. That’s where true concentration comes from. Concentration is hard nowadays; it’s becoming more and more difficult. iPhones are constantly buzzing, emails always coming through, YouTube clips to check out, Facebook messages popping up all over the place–you don’t really want all that distraction. In order to be truly successful and do something well you have to shut off the outside world for a while.

Jr: But how do you do that if your friends are persuasive people?

S: They’re persuasive, but you don’t let them persuade you.

Jr: So can I tell them to fuck off?

S: No, you shut them off. You close everything. You turn off your phone. You go out on the weekend and tell them, “Guys, I’m not going to see you for a week because I have to get stuff done. I’m not going to be accessible by phone and email and I won’t really respond much so… c’est la vie.”

Ideally, go someplace that doesn’t have internet. Then you can spend more time concentrating and working. It’s an ebb and flow. I’ve never really lived in NYC but I can imagine living here would be hard–I’m only here for a week or so once every couple of months and I don’t stop when I’m here, I’m constantly moving. I can see how NYC could be a distraction. But your network can grow vastly very quickly, especially if you can do something well.

Jr: New York is a great place to come when you are young and be social. But it’s not such a great place when you want to sit down and focus and do some work, especially work that is going to get you somewhere other than work that is just going to pay the bills.

S: Right. I think that’s the balancing act. For me I’ve always seen creatives struggle with it–”I’m going to go to New York to become famous!” No, you’re not, you’re going to go there and struggle paying for an apartment and struggle with your career. If you’re doing things well and you come here, and you already have some things established, then I think it’s the place to be. It’s just like everything else.

Personally I have a season where I don’t do anything. I hibernate in the winter. I keep in very mild contact with my friends, but it’s good for me. I need to be secluded when I work.

Jr: Have you always been like that?

S: Yeah, I studied architecture in college. Luckily the architecture studio is a quiet place. Typically I wouldn’t work there during the day, but I’d go there at night from about 7pm-3am. I’d spend hours working at night, and that was so helpful because I had no distraction, and no outside influence. If I have people around me I want to hear what they have to say.

Jr: Ah yes! I suppose that’s the difference between an office job and working freelance for yourself. At an office you have to deal with all the people around you and the politics that go with it. But when you’re freelancing, you get up in the morning, sit at your desk, and it’s just you. You have the decision whether you do work or not. There are no excuses.

S: I think that’s one thing that it definitely does–it allows you to form your own mind. I think the disease of a corporate environment is that you get stuck doing whatever they demand you to do. You’re a task man. You’re a yes man. You’re stuck in a world of checking things off the list your superiors are telling you to do, rather than following your passion, your desire, and asking the questions you wanted to ask.

Jr: Then again, you need mentors, and motivation, and a firm kick in the ass if you don’t have a sense of urgency in what you do.

S: I think the trick is to have close friends that you work with that will give you that kick in the ass, that will push you, inspire you, and drive you. Doing something completely alone–there is no real way to get a good product in the end. In order to grow you need constant influence at a young age. Constantly adding fuel to the fire.

Jr: So how did it happen for you? On the way here you were saying you studied architecture then dropped out?

S: I didn’t drop out so much, I kind of switched. I transferred and went to Iowa State and found that graphic design interested me. I didn’t know why, but I felt that architecture was too engineering based, too structural and not artistic enough. I wondered if I needed the freedom that graphic design was going to offer me. It was a difficult challenge for me early on, and I found that I actually needed a math problem and some structure. That’s why the web made so much sense to me. I started building websites pretty early on, in 1998.

Jr: Is that what you do now? Mostly web stuff?

S: I’m very web focused. I did the Vote for Change website. I created the architecture concept and worked with the developers to do it.

Jr: So you never did print?

S: Of course I did. The thing that got me jobs was that I could open up Photoshop and I knew branding–I’m a very multi-faceted designer.

Jr: Although it’s probably one of the most hirable skills at the moment–having web knowledge.

S: It is, but even more so if you’re also a real designer. Not only can I make your website work, but I can make it look good.

Jr: Where did you go after you finished college?

S: I was really unsatisfied just doing graphic design and I didn’t really enjoy it. I wanted to explore, so I went to London for almost a year. I didn’t really have plans when I went, I ended up working in music distribution.

Jr: Putting shit in envelopes and sending it to people?

S: No, I designed CD covers, cases and packaging. Brand stuff. It was a good chance to allow me to explore. But I wouldn’t claim any of that work to be good stuff in my eyes. I was an intern so I was getting paid, you know, crap. I also worked at a pub. It was an experience that kind of altered my perspective on things. It was the first time I was in a different culture, and I realised that there was a big world out there. After that, I went back to Iowa where my family is from.

Jr: Did you have anything to show for it?

S: Not really, I mean, I had a new haircut and wore fancy clothes. I was on a completely different planet when I got back. The people in Iowa knew that. My mind was completely on another planet. I was only there for six months or so. It was hard. It was a culture shock. I had serious anxiety from not wanting to be there, you know, I went back to fucking Iowa. The coolest thing there is cornfields and hay-bales. I tried to work on small bullshit projects freelancing to save up some money so I could get out as soon as possible. The best thing about it was after that, I was never the same person. I become instantly clear as did my understanding of everything.

Jr: What changes?

S: I think it’s the reality that you can go anywhere and do whatever you want to do. You can say, “I can do it, this is my future, I’m going to do it,” and not blink.

Jr: Yes. That stage where you realise you’re in complete control of the rest of your life.

S: This brings up an interesting subject of lucid dreaming and many people’s fascination with being able to control their dreams. Why would you want to control your dreams when you have complete control of your life?

Jr: Many people think they aren’t in control of their lives; that life is continually swirling in a vortex of other peoples shit. But they completely are in control–it’s just a matter of perspective.

S: Totally. You get stuck by the system. You’ve got all these forces telling you that you have to do this and you have to get a job and you have to work in a cubicle and this is life. “This is life son, welcome.”

Jr: Were your parents like that?

S: No, I was lucky. They supported me. I think that they realised early on that I had my mind made up. I told them I was going to move to Oregon and go to school, and they looked at me like I was crazy.

Jr: Why was it crazy?

S: Because it was so far away from them.

Jr: They didn’t have to financially support you at all?

S: I think that was the problem, I was paying for a bit of it and was realising how much it was costing me.

Jr: Most parents these days seem to be happier with whatever you do as long as they don’t have to pay for it. Which can be harder in some ways because you need that.

S: That support?

Jr: Yeah.

S: Especially when you are beginning to realise the necessity of money. Try as hard as you want to fight it, at the end of the day, you need it.

Jr: A lot of money when you’re a kid turns out to be nothing when you’re older.

S: I try not to think about money as much as possible.

Jr: London is more expensive than anywhere though. How did you cope there?

S: Again, you don’t think about money.

Jr: What about when you get into debt?

S: Think about how you are going to pay it off.

Jr: So what did you do when you moved from Iowa?

S: I moved to Chicago. I met some friends who invited me to come live with them, so I did. It was right downtown and I loved it instantly. My roommates were great, they were creative, and it was nice to be around people who were constantly doing stuff. I worked for quite a few years in user-determined design at IA Collaborative, analyzing all sorts of things. Everything was very focused on user experience, mostly products. Not online.

Jr: Solving human problems, rather than wondering where to stick the logo?

S: Yes, absolutely. It wasn’t focused on stylizing. For me it was very focused on the sort of stuff that you look at and think, “Wow, that’s so simple, why didn’t I think of that?” Analyzing those things and how they work. Trying to innovate new solutions. It made me dive deep, it was very immersive, an all encompassing job.

Jr: That’s the sort of education people need for solving problems.

S: Oh absolutely, it taught me so much–I learned a lot about how to approach user experience design. Now that I consider myself a user experience designer, a lot of people say, “What the hell does that mean? What do you design?” I want to design the entire experience and not limit myself to one chunk, one part of it. I don’t want to just design the logo, I want to design the bottle, the product, the packaging, the experience of when you open that door at the convenience store–I want to control all those senses. I think that’s my architectural mind coming out as well as branding, communication, design–everything.

Jr: Maybe that’s more design thinking than architecture?

S: Not necessarily. I think great architects want to have the ability to design everything in their space. Everything makes a huge impact. I personally believe that architects want to control the entire experience.

Jr: Is architecture the next step for you then?

S: Yes, absolutely. For me it’s a personal thing, it’s where my mind is most of the time. When I go away I draw more buildings in spaces than anything else. I take notes on places; how the height of a stair affected me. I think that way. It’s natural. That’s why the internet and what is happening technologically is another area I’m successful in and I think that my brain works well in.

In the same way that an architect connects spaces with one another, a web/interaction designer is connecting how our interactions connect with one another. As a web designer you’re not designing a poster. In fact, I’m not sure I could even design a poster anymore, I just don’t have that mind. A web designer is constantly creating a connections within a page, then from one page to the next. It’s far more of an experience and a way-finding device than anything else, so you have to be good at directing people to where they want to go.

Jr: What do you think is the biggest failing of most online user experiences that you see? What are some good ideas for kids when they get an digital brief and they want to make it better?

S: I think the biggest problem is being stuck in the creative conceptual realm. The web is not a place to explore conceptual artwork. It’s just not. Personality is not necessarily something you want to inject into a website. They’re utilitarian. They are there to supply you with the ability to find information, gather information, and then leave. There are obviously some sites where you can be more conceptual but the truly powerful sites in our web world today are utilitarian, like twitter and Facebook and YouTube.

The reason they are popular is that people can use them. They can use them very effectively as a means to an end. I’m gathering all my friends here and I can upload a video and share it with all my friends, or I can find any book in the world. That’s what the web is today.

I also think it’s important to stay away from projects that are just bad ideas. Sometimes I struggle with that when someone wants to pay you, but when you start knocking it out you see the site is never going to go anywhere because it’s a bad idea. That’s always hard. I bet the same occurs in architecture.

Jr: Probably. Maybe the same occurs in everything.

S: I’m not sure why I think architecture is the next general step for me, I think it’s also due to the fact that after the Obama campaign it’s really hard to take on a project that has that level of significance and importance. I’m really not sure if I want to take on that level of importance again or do something that big again.

Jr: What was the importance? That it changed the direction of the United States?

S: That and the design of the campaign. I don’t think that design has ever been done like that in politics. We focused more on trying to do things right, and quickly, and make things look good, and look right. Rather than just making things.

Jr: What was the difference on the Obama campaign? Why was that so different?

S: Because of the way the organisation was structured. We didn’t have a top-down organisation, we had a bottom-down organisation. Lets take choices of typography for example. If we started to use Gotham, it wasn’t like we had to go and speak to our bosses who had to then ask Barack. Obviously Barack Obama has no thoughts on typography. I go home and have wet dreams on typography so clearly they are going to trust me on that decision; they’re too busy to think about it anyway. So if I was to write a report on why I wanted to switch from Gill Sans to Gotham, it probably would never have gotten read and it also would have been a waste of time.

Jr: Is that what usually happens?

S: I feel like in most corporations you have to justify all of your reasons and ask the person above you so you don’t get fired. There’s all those systems in place. I hate the word ‘systems’, because it also means boxes, and coffins.

Jr: So basically they just trusted you to do the right thing, and it was pure luck that you were incredibly good, otherwise it might not have been such a success.

S: Ha, yes, I guess you’re right. Although I’m sure they wouldn’t call it luck. You know, I think it’s important to understand what the power of design is. The power of design is not saying a single thing but communicating a whole lot. If you’re a writer the best sentence you could write is probably the one with the fewest words possible. If it communicates everything you want to say in the smallest number of words possible that’s what you’re reaching for.

Jr: Simple is better.

S: I call myself Simple Scott, so of course I agree with that.

Jr: How simple can we get? How do you choose between using a typeface? Something as simple as that?

S: We can’t go into something that specific straight away. We need to talk about what simplicity is. The important thing to understand about simplicity is you need to dive deep into the complexity of the situation.

It takes one person to think about all the complexities in order for true simplicity to be derived. That seems crazy right? You have to dive to the edge of oblivion before you know what’s going on. I think that’s true. I think that you have to do the largest amount of analysis before you can make the most simple and elegant solution.

Jr: So you’re saying before you worked on the Obama campaign you knew everything about him and his policies and everything he was trying to achieve.

S: During. It was a constant process of learning. You’re not going to be able to know everything about everything. But you need to know a little bit about what the problem is. Like the voting process. The notion is that voting registration in the USA is a complex process. You need to think about what the problems you’re trying to solve are. Then once you know and understand that, you try to make the most elegant solution, then walk people through the process.

Simplicity is a difficult thing to wrap ones mind around. The only things that are simple are the things that are truly empty, that are truly void. The second you start adding a second variable it becomes complex. The design of a spoon is really complex when you boil it down. Something as simple as a spoon requires a lot of knowledge and understanding about human needs and the way we do things.

I think the beauty of simplicity, the reason I call myself Simple Scott, the reason I chose to make that my life’s work, is because I think it’s something that I can be constantly challenged by for the rest of my life. I can spend the rest of my life making things simpler and never get bored. I think everyone should find something like that. You think about some of the greatest minds in existence, like Albert Einstein, who was trying to take two theories and bring them into one basic idea, one unified theory. He never really reached it, but I don’t think he was ever really bored.

Jr: That’s right. Being constantly challenged. Which is a problem for many people who get a job somewhere and end up working 9-5 for ten years and not being that happy.

S: It happens all the time. People getting bored as hell or living out somebody else’s dream.

Jr: For many young people, especially those reading this interview, thirty seems like the roof in career terms. From your experience, can you offer any advice on how you put yourself in the perfect position so you can continue to grow and challenge yourself?

S: I have two plants in my house. One is a spider plant, and the other is something I can’t remember the name of. The interesting thing about the second plant is I bought it the week that I started at the campaign. It was a real little guy with four leaves. I bought it because I wanted to watch it grow. I knew that by working on the campaign, I was going to grow too–the plant was a representation of my personal growth. A plant doesn’t grow in a set path. It grows based on where the sun is, how much rain it gets, how much water it receives, how much attention it is having. All these elements play into the plant’s growth. It applies the same to us. If you take this as an analogy for the question, you don’t know which way your leaves are going to grow until they grow that way. It’s important to respect that, appreciate that, and to not look too far ahead into things.

Often times we want to have the answer to where we’re bound to go, but the truth is, we’re just here. If you spend your entire life living in the future you’re never going to enjoy the present and you’re never going to enjoy now. Then when all of a sudden you don’t have anything in the future to look towards, you don’t know how to appreciate the present. You become a sad old man. So I would suggest that everyone lives like a plant.

Jr: Sometimes things just happen, much like when you switched from architecture to design–you just know it’s the right thing to do at the time. And now with architecture, you’re about to begin on that journey, but who knows what strange and interesting places it will take you.

S: I might go back and teach for the rest of my life.

Jr: That could be the calling. I guess you need to leave it open for that.

S: Everyone needs that understanding and appreciation. I have a hard time with the notion of committing to anything at the present moment, and I think it’s because I’m really enjoying now. In the past I spent so much time living in the future that I started to forget why I was excited about life.

Jr: Well it sounds like you’re in a pretty great spot existentially now anyway. But how do you get there? How did you get there?

S: Time. Flow. I just got back from Japan. I was in Japan for two months. One of the things that I learned and really appreciated, and I learned a lot there, was this notion of master. Sensei. The notion of apprentice vs master. The difference between doing things as young people and old people. Sometimes we lose sight of that. We don’t want to listen to our elders or someone who has been in it for a while. Obviously it’s a double-edged sword, but our masters here are jaded by the fact that no one will listen to them. In Japan though, they are respected, welcomed and embraced. They’re able to flourish with it as well. I like that dichotomy there, the notion that the master is getting something from the youth that he teaches and the people that he teaches are getting the lessons of a lifetime. It’s a very structural society. They deal in hierarchy all the time. At a meeting everyone puts their business cards on a table and they’re ordered by who is more superior. It’s very structured.

Jr: So would you say structure is a good thing?

S: I don’t think Japanese people would consider it a good thing. I just think it’s interesting. I don’t think it happens here in the States. I think there’s a constant wanting to trump and to be better than.

Jr: It’s a good reason to get out, see different cultures and do different things, because for others something else works.

S: Yeah totally. I’ve never been in a society that was that much of a utopia. You could set your laptop on the table and walk away, and it would still be there. There’s no crime. There’s such a regard for the other person that that just doesn’t happen. Even in a place that is so dense. We’re talking about half of the people in the USA condensed into the size of California. But because Japan is so mountainous they only use 20% of their country. The rest is basically uninhabitable. Isn’t that crazy?

Jr: It certainly is. And you went there on sabbatical, which is another interesting topic. Your mentors told to go or your head might explode.

S: Yeah, people were telling me my head might pop off. Obviously after you do something really large like the Obama campaign, you know, take on a really big project and you accomplish it, after you cross that thing off the list, which for me a was an item that said, ‘win this fucking thing’, once that was checked I had no idea what to do next. I knew I didn’t want to go to Washington DC. I was offered a job at the Whitehouse, but I knew I wasn’t the right guy, though I would love to help the democracy further. I don’t think that it was the right time for me to help my country in that way.

Jr: Who came up with the idea for Japan?

S: I did, it was always a place I had wanted to explore. I wanted to go someplace where I wouldn’t be able to read anything, I wouldn’t see any typography that I understood, I wouldn’t be able to read any adverts. Everything ended up looking cute and kind of silly because I couldn’t read it, and that’s what I wanted. I wanted an escape from all of that, and I found it there. I found a great peace in Japan, even in a city as busy as Tokyo, which is very peaceful in areas, and there’s a great connection to nature even within the city. And there was stuff everywhere! All these interactions make up your experience, having more experiences increases the amount of knowledge that you have and possess, and the more you can potentially experience, the more that you can potentially know. I think it’s true for anybody.

If you have any passion to know yourself better than you knew it before, go someplace that is completely and utterly foreign to you. Go with no one else, go by yourself, go with no plans, and no conceptions about what it is going to be.

If you want a more in-depth look into how Scott engineered the Obama campaign, watch this speech he gave at the Illinois Institute of Technology, Chicago.

Alright, alright. We know what you’re thinking, “Another ad-guy? When you kids gonna get over this ad-schmer-tising thing, huh?” Well you’re right. Evan Fry is an ad-guy. But he ain’t just any ad-guy–he’s a true-blue award-winning ex-Creative Director of Crispin Porter & Bogusky style ad-guy, and he has some good shit to say, so chill out, bro. That sort of heritage makes him better than most ad-guys, who on the whole are a dime-a-dozen, and definitely don’t look this good with a head wrapped in ostrich feathers. He just left CP+B to start up the world’s first ad agency utilising the power of crowd-sourcing, named Victors & Spoils. That’s pretty cool-magool if you ask us. You know what else makes Evan cooler than most? He’s an old-school copywriter. Which tends to be rare these days. So if you’re one of the few who want to take up the lost art of copywriting, listen to what Evan has to say. You can actually use his advice–which is darn considerate of him, seeing as most of these so-called ‘ad-guys’ have a lot to say about nothing. In summation: Evan Fry ain’t just your average ad-guy, he’s a super-talented old-school copywriting mega-machine, and wants you to Be Fucking Awesome.

Junior: We heard somewhere that you’ve got a crazy story about getting a job at Crispin Porter + Bogusky. Apparently it’s a ‘doozy’. May as well tell us the whole thing!

Evan Fry: Sure. But it’s a long one. It basically began with me having been fired from the job I had and sending my book to Crispin. At that point, this was the spring of 2002, I had been a writer/ACD for 8 years already, and I wanted to work for CP+B more than anywhere else–so I sent my book. About a month after I sent it in they returned it to me with a form letter, “signed” by Alex Bogusky himself. It was encouraging, but standard. Very professional of them to be that on top of their shit, I thought. And then I forgot about it. About two months later, after becoming a bit bored of not getting much play from the shops I truly wanted to work for, I had an idea: what if I acted as though that letter really was a sincere letter from Alex to me, and started sending him weird notes from the stance of ‘jilted-lover-gone-psycho-at-not-getting-any-more-letters-from-Alex’?

So I got some really precious stationery like a grandma might use, a super nice calligraphy pen, and went to it. My thought was keep them short, keep them anonymous, and keep them weird. And not think for a minute that Alex himself would ever even get them. I think the first one said, in really weird cursive, “It’s been two months since you last wrote me, Alex. Don’t you love me anymore, Alex?” Nothing else. A few days later I sent another one. And then another, after a few more days. For the fourth one, I reduced a photocopy of the original form letter he’d sent me, but used black permanent marker and inked out my name on it. I accompanied it with a psycho note on the psycho stationery that this time said, “Perhaps by now, Alex, you’re wondering who the hell I am? Well maybe I’m a lot like you, Alex.”

Four days later as I was thinking about how to take it up a notch, I got a FedEx delivery. It was from Miami. When I opened it, it was clear something was weird. There was another envelope inside. And then inside that envelope was a Ziploc bag. It had the vibe of an evidence bag like in lawyer movies. I opened the Ziploc and there was a Photostat-camera blowup of the part of the form letter I’d sent where I’d inked out my name. But by blowing it up 10 times, its size had revealed the name under the ink. ‘Evan’, just huge. Stapled to it was a copy of my letter, and in red ink someone had circled “… who the hell I am.” And that was it. It was all just one big fucking “touché, motherfucker. We got you.”

I was psyched beyond belief. Because all of a sudden I had concrete proof that not only had my letters been getting to him, but they’d been actually getting to him, you know? And he took some time and effort to play the game. So I immediately loved Alex. And the day after I got the envelope, Veronica Padilla, his assistant at the time, called for my book again. I thought I had a job in the bag, or at least a flight out. But it didn’t work like that. I didn’t hear anything for weeks.

By then I’d started a whole other self promotion idea where I was mailing a weekly photo of myself to the top 30 or 40 creative directors around the world who I wanted to work with. Each one was literally just a 4×6 photo – showing how much time I had on my hands. Like, in one I was having a tea party with stuffed animals. In another I was drinking tallboys with bums on the street. On the back of each, every week, I wrote in pen something that went with it, like, “God I need some work,” and I’d include my phone number.

So I had these going on, and was also sending them to Alex. But I still didn’t hear from him. However the photos were working, and I was getting a lot of great freelance so I didn’t care as much, although CP+B was still where I really wanted to be.

About six weeks later Alex himself finally called and said, “I’ve been meaning to call you, why don’t you fly out.” I did, and had a great interview. Thought I had it in the bag for sure, and… didn’t. He didn’t have a slot for me. So I kept the weekly photos going, kept freelancing, and then four months later I was freelancing at Mad Dogs & Englishmen in San Francisco and got a message on my answering machine. “Hey Evan, it’s Alex, call Veronica back and tell her the code word is pineapple.” I called her back and she said Alex wanted to offer me a job. It was literally one of the best days of my life. P-e-r-s-e-v-e-r-a-n-c-e.

Jr: Wow. Ok. That definitely is a doozy. It’s nice to see someone with experience and good work struggle like the best of us. In fact, your website mentions that at twenty-six you “weren’t exactly setting the advertising world on fire”. How did you push through that? Did you ever want to give it up and go mountain biking for good?

E: Oh man, you got that right. Actually, a few times. I got out of school from the University of Oregon and unlike my partner in school, Glenn Cole, I didn’t take a good job out of school. My book was shit and I spent a year working on it but the only job I could land was at the ‘third biggest place in Portland’ – which basically means nowhere you’ve ever heard of. And even though I only stayed there a year, it seemed my destiny was sort of set. I couldn’t get play in the Weidens or the Goodbys of the day, so I was just floating around at the mediocre places, like 95% of us.

I moved to San Francisco in 1996 and experienced more of the same. But I moved to be in a bigger market with more chances. I kept at it, kept trying, and just didn’t give up. I guess that’s why I ended that last question by saying perseverance. That’s really the only answer when you feel like you’ve got what it takes, when you know that in your heart. If you know you’re good and you know you’re smart but can’t seem to get a break, you’ve got to prove how smart you are and make your own break. I’m 100% convinced of that.

Jr: You’ve written your entire career. But a lot of young people aren’t taught hardcore writing anymore. From our experience, advertising education tends to be more ideas-focused. What advice would you give to young writers?

E: I think this is true. I went to a School of Journalism program, and was lucky enough to be a decent writer just inherently, I dare say. And then in school at University of Oregon, I was also lucky to have two great ad professors who were classically trained. So the mix was pure writing and grammar, mixed with classic concepting classes, and barebones, fucking copywriting courses. It didn’t hurt to have Dan Weiden himself teaching a couple of intensive seminars. But today, you’re right–ad programs stress concepts first, at best. Copywriters today, I swear to God, most of them shouldn’t call themselves “writers” at all. But it’s not really the game now, nor is it anyone’s fault really.

The advice I would give is to read a lot. And to pick up the book Grammar for Journalists and study it like there’s going to be a quiz on it every day. I’d also say to use self-discipline. And read The Book of Gossage. Teach yourself. If you’re a copywriter who can actually write, you’re set for life. Love the headline, love long copy, do it all the time, get better at it, write hundreds of options for each headline idea. Treat it like a craft. That’s what it is. I still love to write ads.

Jr: Do you get the urge/time to do any writing or other creative stuff outside of advertising?

E: Nope. I really don’t, not writing. I get the urge to do other things besides advertising though. And I do those things. It’s why I started sharklove.com and also befuckingawesome.com. Be Fucking Awesome, especially, is just a labour of love. I kept having this idea where I would write a book that would be a sort of “guide for living.” I had this idea for a title and it was “How to Be Fucking Awesome.” This was while I was really cranking at CP+B, on the road producing all the time. So I didn’t really have the energy to do it, but I bought the URL befuckingawesome.com and felt good enough about doing that. Then I just sat on it for a couple years.

Finally I had John Parker, my partner at the time and now a CD at W+K New York, do up a branding identity for BFA. He rocked it. And it sat there again. Then I had the idea to tweak it into a social network of sorts where you could post your Fucking Awesome deeds, let the world vote on each one, and those votes would contribute to your Awesome Quotient. So then I fucking had to do it. And that’s what I did. I found another amazing designer to help with the design, a fantastically talented developer, and sunk a lot of my own money into paying him to develop it. It’s been live now since the end of September. It isn’t really taking off the way I’d hoped, but I am learning a whole lot from it and know what to try to make it take off more. It’s really satisfying, in some ways. But mostly, it’s just a massive learning experience.

Jr: So, now that you’ve left CP+B to start your own agency, what can the world expect from Victors and Spoils?

E: Good question. I think the world can expect to see a viable new way of coming up with ideas for the advertising industry. A way where the clients feel like they get the service and attention that traditional agencies give, but ideas and work that is devised from a much broader base of amateurs and/or the users of their products and services–then directed and shaped to be on brand and on brief. So it’ll feel like an ad agency to the client, but engage the world to help solve their business problems. What we’re trying to do is show that there is a new way of doing things. A way that works and can let more people into the process. We’re all savvy critics of ads and marketing communications nowadays – because we’re exposed to it from birth. There are a lot of people out there who could be really good at it, and we want to give them a way of working on things just like those of us who went to school to become experts. There’s a shitload more to it than that, obviously. But the world can expect some really interesting briefs to work on for some really interesting clients. At least.

Jr: The business model you guys described on launch, was anything but ‘more of the same’, but there’s going to be the inevitable detraction from folks not into the whole model. Are crowd-sourcing naysayers the new ‘30-seconds-of-TV-is-the-only-media-we-need’ dinosaurs?

E: I don’t know; that’s a good question. There are naysayers out there. Basically what the internet gives people is a voice, and they love to use it to say how dumb everything is that isn’t their own idea. I learned pretty fast after we launched that I just had to turn it off, it was exhausting trying to answer or consider everyone’s points. Which we still care a lot about, but so many people were just being so aggressively mean and negative, so full of hate, that we realized very fast that no answer would satisfy the vocal minority. It’s one of the most loaded issues out there right now and because we consciously launched with as much hoopla as we could create, we became the brightest bull’s-eye. It’s cool though; we intend to just continue doing our thing and trying to get some good clients and craft briefs that let people play with brands if they want to. If they don’t want to, that’s cool too.

Jr: How does a junior (or anyone for that matter) get a shot at working for a hot shop like CP+B or Victors & Spoils? Can you give us five awesome tips?

E: What if I give you one tip and explain the shit out of it?

Jr: Evan, you do what you feel…

E: Good.

1. Get really good at the craft of being a creative.

- Write down everything. Take notes as you learn. Take notes as you concept.

- Doodle as you think. Keep the pen moving.

- Do lots of options for everything. Only through looking at it can you know if something is better or worse than what you already have. Look at it.

- Take it seriously; don’t expect it to come easy. Focus on the brief. Do “concepting intervals” where you focus and write every idea down. Then have a break. Then get back to it.

- Sketch everything. Go analog. Don’t fucking concept on your fucking laptop. Pad of paper. Pen or pencil. You alone, or you and your partner. Find somewhere to get in sync and focus and riff. When writing headlines, that’s when I think writing on your computer is good. But try using all caps, or two spaces between each headline. Treat it like art, and have some pride for how the words look. Do a bunch. Edit them a little. Do a bunch more. Edit a little. Repeat. If you’re building your book, keep the presentation simple. But don’t ignore the presentation.

Jr: Is there life after advertising? Should advertising be a means to an end?

E: For me, I think there has to be. For anyone, for sure there can be. Depends on how much a boner it gives you, I guess.

Interview by: Pete Majarich

Mike Sacks is a comedy writer who has done a good thing. After spending years writing words (both funny and serious) for Vanity Fair, Esquire, The New Yorker, McSweeney’s, and Vice, among others, he interviewed twenty-six comedy writing greats and packaged the result into a book–a terrific book of incredible genius, may we add. And Here’s the Kicker is full of only the best advice interviews can give. Those interviewed include Al Jaffee from Mad Magazine, Todd Hanson from The Onion, George Meyer from The Simpsons, and many others, who, if you would like, are available for you to peruse here. We at Junior thought it might be interesting to see if any of this advice had rubbed off on Mike, which it clearly had, and the resulting interview quickly became a favourite in our office. We don’t even need to mention that the advice is pertinent for any creative industry. Except architecture. There’s nothing here for you*.

Jr: And Here’s the Kicker was such a great read! Every interview we read became a new favourite. Many of the guys you interviewed must have been your idols growing up. What was the interview process like? Fun? A party? Time consuming?

Mike: Yeah, it was fun, but it was also a lot of work. The finished product might have sounded like a casual conversation between two friends, but a tremendous amount of preparation went into each interview – up to 25 hours per conversation. There was also some pressure from my standpoint to make the interviews really work, because I knew that I often wouldn’t have a second chance with a lot of these writers.

With that said, the whole experience was great, but I’d never want to do it again. It took two years. It’s time to concentrate on something else: my next book will be a humor book. It’s a parody of a sex manual called Our Bodies, Our Junk.

Jr: Ha! Sounds hilarious already. One of our favourite quotes from your current book was from John Hodgman (Editors note: The PC!), who said that comedy writers shouldn’t worry about being funny. They should just concentrate on being the best writer they can be. And that the comedy will come from the truth. Do you have any similar bits of advice that have helped you in your career?

M: I think that’s a great piece of advice, too. When you look at the writers in the book, all of them can write in any genre, not just humor. David Sedaris is a brilliant writer of anything, not just humor. You have to learn the chops of how to write before you even attempt to be funny.

As far as my own advice, I would say the following:

Network and surround yourself with as many talented people as possible. Don’t look at it as being a competition. It’s hard enough to make it alone, and it’ll only help to go through the process with others. More opportunities will open for you.

Write every day. Or try to.

I would be wary of classes. They’re usually taught by academics or by writers who haven’t been too successful themselves. I think you’re going to have to teach yourself in the end, anyway.

Read as much as possible, both the good and the bad. Sometimes it’s more important to know what not to write.

Don’t limit yourself to reading humour. Read non-fiction, on all sorts of topics.

Experience as much as possible.

If you do receive advice from someone, don’t be upset. Then again, it could be bad advice. Show your work to someone whose comedic sensibility you trust.

Jr: Gosh Mike! Such good succinct advice. You’ve almost answered all our questions in one hit! But we’ll keep going, because, well, we can. So what’s the best training in your view for a writer? Is it on the job? Trying to get your scripts up at an ad agency? Pitching to a magazine? Starting your own publication/site?

M: I think it depends on what type of writing you want to do. But no matter the medium, it’s very important to just do it. Write as much as possible, write what you want to write (and not what you think will interest those in Hollywood), and just keep on improving. You have to assume that no one’s going to really help you succeed. It’s up to you: not only to write, but to promote yourself and your work.

Jr: Creative types often seem to have a lot of talents. In our experience they sit on the generalist side of things more often than say, the guy who always knew he wanted to be an accountant. Do you ever get the urge to try your hand at anything else other than funny words on paper? Your IKEA gag in Esquire for instance, isn’t so much a gag about the written word. A comic maybe? A hint at a directing career perhaps?

M: I wish I could draw and I wish I could direct, but I’m happy just trying to improve myself as a writer. But I do like to think of different type of ideas, such as the IKEA piece. In such a case, I try to work with really talented people who can pull off the visual look of a piece. I think that’s really important: work with the best people you can find. They’ll make you look really good in return.

Jr: What are your thoughts on the web as a creative medium? Web comics for instance seem to be full of some burgeoning, surrealist talent, like The Perry Bible Fellowship. Do you think the web will produce new ways of making people laugh beyond putting clips on laptops?

M: Oh, definitely. And I think it’s fantastic that anyone now can produce something creative without leaving their bedroom. In years past, one had to have access to an expensive camera or computer program or recording equipment, etc. Now, if you’re talented, you can easily find the way to create (and also distribute) your work. Which should give you less of an excuse to not work really hard. Anyone can do it now! Not just the sons and daughters of the Hollywood rich.

Jr: A common theme amongst creative types seems to be how hard-working they are. But then we also hear things like, ‘if you don’t have fun writing it, no one will have fun reading it’. How do you resolve the two in your mind?

M: Good question. I can only say that sometimes the process is rewarding, whereas not every moment is really that fun. I don’t think that a writer has to be screaming with laughter in order to produce a work that will be thought of as funny. In fact, it’s just the opposite. It’s similar to producing a piece of jewelery or creating a wood table in your woodworking shop. You know what you have to do and then you do it.

I think what most writers are talking about are the instances of it being tortuous. The reader will usually notice because the piece might be clunky or a little stiff. Some of the best writing usually happens very easily, but that’s not to say that it’s going to be easy every time. Everyone has a difficult time at one point or another, even those who have been in it for sixty years, such as Larry Gelbart or Irv Brecher.

Jr: Larry and Irv are kings! Everyone should take advice from them. But the modern day game has changed! Things seem to be in a flux. We’re in a world where content creation is becoming more and more of a hazardous way to make money. Much of the print media like The New York Times and so many other newspapers and magazines are struggling. For folks whose livelihood depends on a vehicle, say a magazine column to flourish, what is the way forward? Do you think good writing will find new ways to thrive in the cracks or do you envision a world where cheaper and easier content like reality TV is all we have left?

M: I think there’s always going to be a need for quality work. The problem might exist more for the reader. There are just so many options now (millions of internet blogs and sites, hundred of cable channels, etc.) Where will one go? A reader might hit 30 places each day, as opposed to just one or two. I do think that the major newspapers and magazines are in trouble… Unless they drastically change their ways. I never understood why newspapers and magazines gave away content for free. It doesn’t make sense to me. If they want to retain quality writers, they’re going to have to charge for their services. And I don’t think readers will have much of a problem paying a nominal fee for a yearly on-line subscription to The NY Times or The New Yorker or any other great publication.

Jr: How much does geography matter when trying to make it as a writer?

M: I think networking is very important. If you want to write TV for Hollywood, it’s vital to know a lot of Hollywood people. If you want to write late-night TV in New York, you should be in New York. Once you’re established, I think it matters less, especially if you write books and articles and so forth. But if you’re just starting out, I would definitely recommend surrounding yourself with like-minded people. It can only help your career in the future. And it’s more healthy to go through the process and struggle together. Not to mention more fun.

Jr: So many comedy writers are from Ivy League schools. Especially out of Harvard Lampoon fame. Why? Is it all about the connections?

M: I think a lot of Ivy Leaguers are obviously very intelligent, but I do think a lot of it has to do with connections. There almost seems to be a gateway from Harvard to Hollywood. I think it’s more difficult if you happen to come from a non-Ivy school, such as myself. I knew no one who was a writer, and actually, I didn’t know anyone who knew anyone who was a writer. The more connections you have, the easier it’s going to be. But it can be done if you work really hard and have some semblance of talent.

Jr: If you had a son or daughter who wanted to get into writing, what would you say to them?

M: Well, I have a daughter, and I’d love for her to get into writing, but not necessarily as a career. With that said, all careers are difficult in their own ways. And writing is a hell of a lot more fun than most jobs I’ve had, or could have had. I think it’s important to just know what you’re in for, though. Which is why I’m going to force my daughter to read my book, after she pays full purchase price, of course.

Jr: What’s the funniest thing in the world?

M: Anyone or anything who isn’t aware of their funniness, such as a dog, a monkey or a drunk person. The more aware you are of your cleverness or potential to amuse, the less clever and amusing you’re going to be.

Jr: What are you waiting for young comedy writers? Buy the book!

Interview by: Pete Majarich

*Ha! Joke’s on you architects! It IS relevent. Read and weep.

Man or machine? Leo’s glowing global reputation as a ‘wunderkind’ will have you believe the latter. It was our supposition that surely he must be human — mortal and unfunny in real life — just like you or I. We ventured to New York City in order to find out, and the story goes thus: Three short years ago, Leo and his creative partner, Jan Jacobs, were anointed Saatchi & Saatchi New York’s joint Executive Creative Directors. At the time Leo was just 28. They left after one highly awarded year, joined forces again to set-up their own NYC-based agency, Johannes Leonardo, and have been working harder than you in the two years since. Leo and Jan have created some of the naughties’ most awarded, hilarious, insightful, haunting, and incredibly succinct advertising you’ve likely seen or heard in London and the U.S — ads like this, this, this and this — winning many lions and other assorted animal like statues. The jury is still out on Leo’s genetic make-up, for at the interview, Leo spewed mythical reams of advice from his lion-like mouth, then galloped off into the sunset laughing like a hyena. The Junior team turned to one-another, wide-eyed and mystified, mouths gaping like hungry, hungry hippos, gasping for air. Are we making this up? Yes. Without further ado — Leo, Leo, bo-bio. Banana-fanna-fo-fio. Mee-my-mio. Leeeee-o.

Junior: Hey Leo! Sorry about that ridiculous intro — our intern wrote it. He’s nuts. So first we wanna know, how did you get into the ad game? What was your journey from raw junior to respected senior?

Leo: It’s a little odd… I was coming out of an operation; my appendix had burst hours before I was due to board a plane to Germany for professional football trials. I woke up from the anesthetic with an advertising idea and my decision was made. I stuck to advertising. Which was a good thing because I wouldn’t have stood a chance at the whole football thing.

A couple of years before that I had been selected as one of the AFA trainees out of university. It probably helped to have an understanding of how the entire process worked from media, to strategy to account management. But it was most useful in making me absolutely desperate and determined to work in the creative department because I quickly realized I didn’t want to do any of those other things for a living.

Jr: We’re dying to know if have any stories from your time as a junior when life sucked? Any horror book crits or moments of creative block that made you reassess life and what you were doing?

L: Sure I did, I think everyone does. Don’t be intimidated by thinking creating great work comes completely naturally to some people. Truth is, anyone who is any good has spent hours and hours perfecting their craft and if they tell you otherwise they’re full of it.

And the same goes for ‘creative block’. I don’t want to sit here and say I never have it, of course I do. I think the trick is to try and not see it as ‘creative block’. See it as something that happens to everyone, something you just need to work through or come at from a different angle.

Jr: Wow. Yes. You have no idea how relieving that is to hear from you. You know what else is intimidating? Awards. Obviously you’ve won a lot. Everyone has their own take on what they mean and what they should mean. 99% would agree they mean nothing when compared to ‘creativity’ or ‘effectiveness’ or ‘selling lots of shit and making your client happy’. How important have they been to you and how should we as juniors approach the current award industry?

L: I remember being about 25, at Cannes for the fist time and winning 4 or so Cannes Lions. I realized pretty much right then and there that awards weren’t going to keep me excited about getting out of bed each morning.

At the end of the day the most important thing for any junior to do is understand what sort of creative person they want to be. Then to strike that balance of getting enough respect and trust to actually one day be able to create that path for yourself.

Personally, I believe award shows matter less now than they once did. Partly because there’s so many of them, and partly because everyone has a gazillion of them, including students, but more importantly because why would we care so much to see what a panel of 20 or so people think when we have the opportunity to see what millions of people think about our ideas?

The true reward for our creations now is seeing how they effect and touch the public.

Jr: Ah yes! But! If that be true, are award books worth looking at these days for inspiration or an education in ideas?

L: I think it’s important to know what’s been done before, and what hasn’t, to know the rules so you know how to break them, to know the history of work and of a category. As a junior you should soak up all the inspiration you can get.

I’d just say don’t try and replicate the stuff you see in books. We live in unique and as they say exponential times. Things are changing quicker than ever before, so what was good a year back has never become so old so quickly.

True inspiration though — that’s not in award books. It’s around us in the world we live. But if the books can help make the work better year upon year, and ultimately the stuff we force into the public’s face a little less crap, then I guess we should take them any which way we can.

Jr: Someone once told us, “Leo is a genius. He was also supported by brilliant ECDs at every agency he went to.” How important have your mentors been to how you approach your work and what should juniors look for in a brilliant mentor?

L: Absolutely crucial. Whenever I see a junior unsure of which agency to join I tell them to focus on the individuals there. Ultimately it’s the individuals there who will help guide you and who define those places during the time they spend there. I was lucky enough to work under some great ones, but even more than that I got to work alongside some as a junior writer. With Toby Talbot at Colenso BBDO and of course a few years later working with Jan at Saatchi & Saatchi London.

So I’ll always be appreciative of how much time senior creatives gave me when I was knocking on their doors with a bad portfolio. Granted I could be an absolute pain in the ass so it was probably easier to see me than not back then. There are great people out there, generous with their time and passionate about their jobs, it’s really just a matter of tracking them down and feeding off them.

Jr: Could you possibly speculate how important working internationally has been to your career? Can you imagine if you had stayed in Australia and where you might be now?

L: Probably a much better surfer than I am these days…

Advertising is a great vehicle to check out the rest of the world. But the strange thing is wherever I’ve ended up I’ve always been glad that I started out in Australia. When there isn’t a whole lot to rely in terms of budgets, production time and global media buys you’re only left with the strength of your idea so that’s what you focus on. Once you’ve learnt how to make your idea bullet proof, all those other layers, they only make your original idea better.

Jr: What’s your best advice for dealing with politics within an agency, both dealing with others and fighting for ideas, especially when you’re at the bottom rung of the hierarchy?

Work for someone you believe can spot good ideas. It’s that simple. Chances are part of the reason you got into this industry is because you realized the work rules. So take advantage of that as a junior. My advice would be don’t worry about the other stuff. More and more the true power will lie in the hands of creative people, and we all know the best ones aren’t political.

Jr: Obviously there are a lot of kids coming straight out of ad schools today with the same work for the same old clients with the same witty headlines and such… What are you looking for in a junior and what can those graduating from the ad schools do differently to stand out and impress someone like you?

L: The best way I can think to explain that is with something John Lennon said. He was once asked why he wrote music and he responded by comparing it to writing a letter. Writing the letter, he said, got him excited but what he really got off on was the response he would get to that letter. That’s it at its essence. We’re looking for people who have that thing inside them, that urge to touch people with their ideas, those who live for simplifying things down to a common language that effects people, deeply and broadly.

Of course, now you’re also trying to stand out during the biggest recession of our lifetimes. But I believe that soon this will be an advantage to the kids coming through. History has shown that when the slate is clean, when things are being re-appraised, and it’s happening on two levels in our industry right now – on a technological and an economic level, it’s the turn of the new guard to step up…

So don’t underestimate yourself, don’t set the bar at junior thinking. You’re competing with every kid out there with a digital camera and internet access. We live in a democratic era of communication, a time of accessibility and participation, where big production budgets can in some cases be more of a burden than a gift.

Jr: Generating ideas – what’s your process? Have you got any crucial tips to tackling a problem creatively?

L: I ain’t got any secrets. It happens differently every time, that’s part of the fun. I don’t really keep shortlists of my ideas. I know if it’s good enough it’ll stick around in my head – Jan calls it ‘the volt’. I would say though, don’t ignore the things that on the surface don’t seem crucial to creating great advertising. Like, spending time to identify what the real problem is – not just the advertising problem but the business problem, and embracing the limits imposed on you. It’s often there the real gem lies.

I also think it’s important to keep in mind, especially as a junior when you don’t have a ton of production experience that as big and important as coming up with the great idea, is understanding what about it will keep it great. Another reason why it’s so important which creative director you work under.

Jr: OK, enough of that cliche ad-guy question guff — how the hell do you live a balanced life? You obviously work really hard. Is that something that comes naturally or do you have to sacrifice things to make your life liveable outside of hard work?

L: Hard work has never felt like hard work because it’s something I’ve always loved. Reducing something down to is most basic form, I’m not sure how many other professions there are where you have the same tools as anyone else in the business irrelevant of your experience – a blank pad and a pen.

So for me loving what you do is the most important ingredient really. If people advise you against being a creative don’t listen to them, listen to your heart. If you’re passionate enough about what you do, you’ll work hard enough at it and the skill will eventually come. Just make sure you’ve instilled a healthy effort reward ratio. By that I mean make sure you’re always working on something you’re excited about – which usually means something you haven’t done before.

Jr: How far into the future do you look? You’re not that far past thirty and you’ve already achieved more accolades than many people achieve in their entire careers. We know you probably don’t buy into that sort of statement, but where to next? How often do you need to reassess your career and where it fits within your entire life? Do you even think about that shit?

L: I was made ECD of the Saatchi & Saatchi New York office when I was 28, and I remember when I would walk there across west 4th street, there was a faded chalk scribble that would always catch me out. It simply said ‘where are you going?’. Every time I read it, it made me think: where was I going? To another meeting? To a corner office? Over time, without me realizing it, I think these four words embedded themselves into my subconscious.

So when I look back on it now Jan and I left Saatchi and Saatchi because we kinda had this feeling inside we weren’t being pushed as much as we could be. We began directing a couple of things and really enjoyed that as a distraction. But we knew there was a bigger issue on the table. We felt the world around us was changing quicker than the big agency model could, and us if we stayed in one. So even if you don’t intend to look far ahead, I guess there’s something inside of us that does.

Best of luck juniors, I hope this helps.

Most interviews we read in magazines are shit. It’s what inspires us to do what we do. That and other magazines that do brilliant interviews. Magazines like SneakerFreaker – Melbourne’s very own incredibly good and culturally important international publishing success. Founded, edited and owned by the original sneaker freaker himself, Woody has built SF into a global behemoth. He’s also seen his fair share of young upstarts float through his office, lived and worked overseas, moved from career to career, started a family, and even has SF translated into Spanish. Which means he has some fascinating shit to say and some incredibly crucial advice to give. As usual, over many a beer, we sat and talked for hours. Ergo, this fucker is long. But that’s cool, cause the ones who need to read it most have a lot of time on their hands. So grab a tea, put on your headphones and use this as a guide to figuring out what the hell you’re gonna do for the next twenty years.

Junior: Hey Woody. What’s your coming of age story? When were you at uni?

Woody: I spent five good years doing the Media course at RMIT in Melbourne. I was involved in a bunch of stuff and ended up becoming the co-editor of the student newspaper, Catalyst, which was literally a catalyst for me in terms of how my life panned out. I was introduced to a whole bunch of people who’d been the editors before and I ended up living with them for years, and for some reason they took me under their wing, which was weird because I was a wildman from the suburbs. Fitzroy was a very creative place then. We started a magazine from our house called Radar and had these awesome parties in the bank vault where we lived on Smith St. They were good times. I hate getting nostalgic when we’re only one question in…

Jr: Ha, man, you can do whatever you want one question in – it’s your interview. So tell me more about Catalyst; the student newspaper.

W: Oh yeah. So because we won an election to edit the newspaper, all of a sudden we had to learn how to make it; you know, write, design and create the whole thing. We were the first editors to get a Macintosh computer too. It was totally primitive before that point. We started the year with a bromide camera which we used to put screens on images for manual paste-up, as well as creating multiple tones for hand-made colour work which we did with scalpels. My memories involve a lot of sliced fingers and layouts lost in the wax machine. When we saw a scanner for the first time, we were really, really impressed. Actually my entire design career started when my friend Bert showed me how to move things around on the Mac screen. It’s hard to imagine how boring life was before the machines existed. No one I knew was a graphic designer. It was a trade, like being a plumber. People spent years learning how to do things in a really mechanical sort of way. When the computer came along, all of a sudden, you could have fun with a machine and make stuff. Straight away I really got into design which was totally unexpected. I never thought about a career in design at high school, where art classes were seen merely as a bludge. Random things can spin your life off in a whole new direction, it’s the kind of thing your mum tells you but you never believe her.

Jr: Damn straight. As long as you open yourself up to happy accidents you’ll be fine for sure. So we know you moved to London for a while after uni. What brought on the London thing?

W: I’d encourage everyone to head for the hills immediately after school finishes, because you’ll never get a better time to do it. But the real reason I left was because I almost got involved in some trouble with the fuzz after doing the O-book where we wrote the usual student articles about shoplifting and taking drugs and shoplifting while on drugs and not paying for tram tickets. All the cliches.

Jr: Ha! Wow. Really? That was you?

W: Oh yeah, it was par for the course in those days. It was a tradition to stir the pot so we just rewrote the same articles over and over every year. I think a year or two after my indiscretions they nailed the editors of Rabelais (another student newspaper) for the exact same type of content and it seriously fucked them for years – so going to London was a great move.

Jr: Sounds like it was. So what was the plan?

W: I thought I could parlay my limited experience into something design related, but all I really knew was that I didn’t want to work in a pub like every other aussie dingbat. I’m pleased to say I did one day as a street cleaner and that was enough motivation for me. I got so, so close to a design job at NME, which would have been awesome. I also made the final two for Penthouse as well. That would have been interesting for sure.

Jr: So were you into ‘The Face’ and all those types of magazines coming out of the UK at the time?

W: I was obsessed. I never felt iD so much but I loved Raygun and The Face. From a design point of view, Neville Brody’s work was great but it was the mix of content that hooked me. The Face made London seem underground and wicked cool and it had fashion and art and politics and serious stuff as well as loads of club news and even it has to be said, quite a few sneakers. It was probably the most effective marketing tool any city has ever had but you go there and you find that it’s a grey depressive shithole. But that’s only one visual side of London, the other is that it has the most vigorous youth culture – certainly it’s the top city for music in my opinion. I really regret not keeping my collection of The Face, I had years and years of them but they were too heavy to lug from house to house.

Jr: Ha, awesome. What year did you go?

W: 1993 or something.

Jr: OK, here’s a good question: For a lot of fresh faced uni kids that go overseas, the ‘big break’ rarely comes. They haven’t got any contacts, they haven’t done any work yet, so they’re not even that good.

W: Well the thing is they’re pretty much unemployable. Sorry to break it to you kids but it’s the truth, no matter how cocky you are. I think bullshitting is perfectly acceptable in order to get a break, just be sure you can do what you say you can do. I was fortunate enough to get picked up by a freelance agency. I also went to the UK at a time when no one really had the skills that I thought I had, so it was a bit easier in hindsight. My big break was to learn on the job at someone’s expense even if I taught myself.

Jr: What were the skills?

W: Well, I mean, desktop design as it used to be called. At that time it was Quark Express, a very early version of Photoshop and Illustrator – so the programs are still the same, but at that time no one knew how to use them. You couldn’t learn it anywhere. It wasn’t in the tertiary system. So I turned up to London expecting them to be high tech and super advanced but then realised I was one of maybe a few hundred people in the city at the time who knew anything at all about Macs.The advertising agency I worked for had no computers except for the receptionist’s PC. Everything in the creative department was done by hand and illustrators did all the mock ups with Yoken markers. It was seriously like the Dark Ages.

Jr: So who picked you up?

W: I started working for a few freelance agencies. I bought a suit to wear to big banks to create flow charts which I did for about three or four months.

Jr: Did you make much money?

W: I think I earned ten pounds an hour or something like that, which was pretty sharp in those days, certainly better than pulling pints. Luckily my agency really liked me and they gave me a crack at a job that was going at a small advertising agency in SoHo.

Jr: How long were you in London all up?

W: Quite a while. I developed a really bodgy English accent that got me through. I guess you could say I was slightly overstaying my welcome, officially speaking.

Jr: Ha, yeah we know the one. Did you make friends when you were there?

W: Yeah. I made all my friends, still ten or more years later, based on this time.

Jr: Really?

W: Yeah. All my closest English friends except one have emigrated here to Melbourne.

Jr: Wow! Really? Why?

W: It’s a great place to live. To come here from London and have sunshine and space and freedom and this ‘Neighbours’ lifestyle dare I say it, it gets more and more attractive as you get into your 30s. One of my oldest friends even had his mum emigrate. I think going back to London now would be pretty devastating from a lifestyle point of view. Melbourne has its weaknesses, but the lifestyle isn’t one, although with the price of houses now, we’re in danger of it becoming unaffordable for anyone creative or less than committed to the corporate grind.

Jr: A lot of people think the same way I suppose. Although London has all the culture and so on.

W: When you’re in your twenties and you’re mad for it, for sure. If you’re going out all night, every night, it’s a great place to live. It was absolutely brilliant, there was always something entertaining to do.

Jr: Did you do that? Did you go out all night, every night, while you were working?

W: I gave it a good nudge!

Jr: What happened when you came home?

W: After the usual case of mild post-travelling blues, I worked in advertising for a year at Patterson Bates (GPY&R). It wasn’t a great time for the company; I think they lost a lot of pitches. It was ok. I wasn’t excited about what I was doing. It wasn’t that creative. Maybe I should have been pushier and tried to get into writing TV ads or something. But my priorities were elsewhere, I was DJ’ing and organizing events at night and doing other stuff that was a lot more fun.

Jr: Did you like the advertising industry?

W: Yes and no. I was a little disenchanted creating junkmail which to be honest, which is what I did. In the 80s, it must have been a wild scene with so much money floating about. In London I arrived at the tail end of that and they were all misty eyed about these crazy times when, you know, ‘Steve rode his Harley down the hallway and crashed, knocking himself out on the photocopier’ or one classic I remember was when a new guy called Nobby joined the firm. The story was on his first day he managed to spill a Flaming Lamborghini on the boss and set his shirt on fire at dinner. In Australia it was much more conservative. I had green hair. It wasn’t going to end well and I wasn’t thinking about a career. I never have really.

Jr: The employment prospects haven’t always been great for school leavers have they?

W: Nope. When I left Uni, there was nothing going on. I think a lot of kids leaving university are facing a similar sort of situation. The pressure is to get a break somehow, but beyond that, if you are useful and you can justify your own existence at a company they will always find room for you. The hard thing is when you have no experience and you can’t prove that you can or can’t do something. You have to make yourself valuable.

Jr: Is that something that you had to work on? Making yourself valuable? Or were you just like that?

W: I wouldn’t say I ‘worked on it’. I just worked. The harder you work, the luckier you get. I was annoying, quite frankly. I got into radio by annoying people, and ended up working at various radio stations while at Uni. I bugged people til they let me have a go. I think that just being super keen is all you can really expect from somebody at a young age.Think about it, you can do whatever you want with your life but only if you have a crack. However, I think there are some things you can teach people and some things you can’t. An understanding of the world and how things interrelate – you can’t teach anyone that. It’s an instinctive thing. If you are going to work in fashion, you need to ‘get it’. There’s no point just trying to be in that industry because you think it’s glamorous or you’ll get to root models. You’ll be chewed up by someone who’d climb over your dead body for a job.

Jr: Have you gone through your fair share of young people who aren’t diligent at Sneaker Freaker?

W: We’ve had a pretty good track record. A few times I’ve tried to advertise and get someone out of college but never really found the right person. We’re a really small outfit and I don’t have time to teach someone from scratch. It’s frustrating for me but I learned that you can’t expect too much initially, you have to be patient and let them work it out. I’ve had some pretty funny experiences. One kid trying out for a job told me that I couldn’t teach him anything about Photoshop, and he’d probably been using it for two years. He was actually quite skilled, but I think his attitude alone rang bells for a potential employer. You want a little bit of cockiness but you don’t want someone who doesn’t listen and doesn’t think that they can’t learn. You mainly want accuracy and speed, that’s super important. That is one thing that the school environment doesn’t seem to promote in my experience. Young kids get tired and need a little nap to get back on track. It’s a grind. You’ve got to be productive 8 or 9 hours a day.

Jr: There’s a lot of talent going around, but not a lot of work ethic. I suppose there’s always going to be someone more talented than you, but it’s about how passionate you are and how hard you work.

W: True. I gotta say, the work ethic of Gen Y kids is a hot topic amongst my peers right now. I think that’s because they are now managing staff for the first time, but there’s definitely a sense that the GFC could be a good thing as it might take a few uppity kids down a peg or two. I’m not so sure this generation’s work ethic is that much different from my own Gen X clique… just a little more distracted by the overdose of technology.

Jr: What’s the most valuable skill to have aside from being keen?

W: A knack for networking. It’s a shit name for it but it is what it is. You can’t teach someone how to do it, though you might learn the secret someday through observation. It’s a vague business. Some people just have a knack at making friends with other people who can help them. That’s why starting a mag or writing a blog can become so universally useful. You meet people. Forget about the rest of it, meeting people and connecting the dots is crucial. You can base an entire career on knowing people.

Jr: Oh god, don’t get me started on social media and ‘networking’. I think we’ve got to be careful, you know. Everyone seems to get so caught up in the conversation and being part of the technology that they actually forget to do stuff. Everyone is talking about it, making comments, but not actually creating anything.

W: No shit! I picked up a biz card recently where this kid had over 12 ways of contacting them and I wondered how the hell he gets anything done? People get obsessed with Twitter, but six months ago something different was happening. I’ve seen it with trends, and in footwear, certain things have come and gone so fast I’m still scratching my head. I must admit the pace of change recently has really kicked up a gear. We’re now facing a world where TV, newspapers, magazines and even radio are no longer the foundation of our media diet. The porn industry is on its knees! Books are on the way out as well, at least in a printed sense. I’m really intrigued as to whether this new Kindle could really do for books what the iPod has done for music.

Jr: That’s an interesting point. Sneaker Freaker is kinda like a book. It’s a bit nicer than the usual magazine really. You must sell a few more older issues than any other magazine. Do you think the content goes out of date?

W: It does and it doesn’t. You can’t buy those shoes anymore, but every magazine becomes a document of its time so you can go back and still enjoy them as a snapshot of the years they were made. We sell a lot of our old issues, more than most magazines perhaps. Magazines are a good barometer of style and opinion and when you go back you do get a good insight into the times. We’ve been going about seven years or so and really the first one was pretty raw when you look at it. I have to say it was actually designed that way on purpose, but still, it was pretty loose. I wish I could have seen into the future.

Jr: Ha, I totally have that copy. How many people were working on it then?

W: The magazine didn’t have any staff for probably the first four years. Hans DC came to work with me part time helping in various ways. I wish I’d ramped it up earlier but I just didn’t have the foresight to go for it. I was also still working on my label called Wankuss (with my friend Alasdair McKinnon), as well as doing design work for films like Ned Kelly and Queen of the Damned and other stuff. I liked to keep my options open.

Jr: Really? It was just you? Wow. Back then a lot of clever people put out free magazines. I used to read Stu Magazine and Large whenever I could get my hands on them.

W: Stu was good. Vice came along. And Lucky. There were about seven free magazines floating around. Our first edition was free then I decided to charge for it. People still think it’s free.

Jr: Yeah it seemed to be the heyday of free magazines.

W: Yep. Not sure we’ll see too many new ones open up for business. But I have a killer idea for a new magazine that would be awesome which only proves how out of touch I really am.

Jr: Haha. Maybe. Maybe not. You’d probably be surprised. I’m sure that’s what people said when you came up with an idea So why sneakers?

W: I thought that I was one of the few people who were into sneakers, but then I could see it was bigger than I thought – there were a lot of guys like me who had 50 or 60 shoes in their closet but we didn’t know each other. Sneakers are one of those things that men can talk animatedly, dudes are really into their feet. It used to be about Air Max and chunky runners but it’s flipped on its head now. Pointer and Clae and Gourmet are doing very well, brands with simple things, not super jacked-up runners. Trends are definitely changing. You can’t stop progress, but it’s easy to feel like a dinosaur.

Jr: Was it difficult starting up a magazine?

W: Not really, because I only needed a few thousand dollars to get it printed. Then by issue two people wanted to buy it. Our first international customer was a very well known store in Paris.

Jr: Wow! How did they find you?

W: Through our website. We were one of the first online sneaker sites. The reason they are so renowned is because they find out about something before anyone else. They’re the top of their game. I was in there last week and it was mental how many people go in there. It’s like a tourist attraction! Once we went international I also had to learn about things like international shipping, which became crucial to the business growing. Boring things like this are so important and can be the difference between survival and death.

Jr: That’s the thing with publishing in Australia. You can print it here but then you’ve gotta ship all those heavy issues overseas. Some magazines print overseas and distribute it that way. Do you ever do that?

W: Once about five years ago we sold out of an issue in about a week and we got another order of 2000 copies. The reprint quote locally was nuts, so I found a printer in China and got them shipped straight out of there. I haven’t done it since. We’re still printed in Melbourne, five blocks from my house. It’s just too stressful to not know where your job and therefore your whole life is at. I remember all too well a launch party in Sydney where the magazines were still on a truck locked in the warehouse as a result of a snap industrial action.

Jr: Can you raise a family on a niche publication?

W: I can now. In the first few years I never had staff to pay so the overheads were low. I learned over time how to make money from a variety of sources. You can sell magazines, advertising, online banners, syndicate your content and do marketing for brands and product development. I have to say in every respect, I learned the hard way. Piece by piece. I learned a lot from watching other people and making mistakes. I also had to learn to trust people in other countries. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. I’ve been pretty lucky in that department.

Jr: And I guess you have that giant monolith Nike to buoy you up.

W: Nike has always been good to me, right from the start. But we are also supported by nearly every other brand in the footwear biz. If you wanna start a niche magazine, make sure what you do is invaluable to the marketing managers of multinational companies or you’ll forever be pushing shit uphill.

Jr: How would someone who really wants to work in big brand sneakers approach getting a job at a company like that? How do they go about it?

W: Actually we did a feature about how to get into the business a while back. There’s a few simple things. Every brand needs accountants and pen pushers but if you’re talking about shoe design, a lot of the guys at Nike and other brands are originally architects or sculptors, in other words they had an idea of three-dimensional space that could be translated to footwear. Shoe design school didn’t really exist til recently. Doing research on any company that you want to work for is a must. Knowing everything about them, but also having an understanding of how they hire is essential. If you want to work for adidas, find out how to get in contact with their HR department. Start on the phones or in their factory outlet and build your way up. There are plenty of CEOs who started in the mailroom. It’s also thinking strategically. Working for Sneaker Freaker could be a good way to get in as it’s an insight into the industry. Foot Locker wouldn’t hurt either. You need to know what you’re talking about and have a foundation of knowledge.

Jr: Loving sneakers isn’t enough at the end of the day; you have to have some sort of skill or craft.

W: Correct. Loving something can actually be a handicap, if you wanna be a hardass about it. When you love something too much, your opinion and judgment can be clouded by sentiment. But if it was me, I’d go for the passion every time. I think one of the biggest things that kids could learn is to be persistent. Some kids expect to start as a junior and take over the company in two years. Or if you start your own thing, that you’ll be rich overnight. The reality is that businesses mature over a few years and it takes you time to work out what you are actually doing, unless you are super advanced or lucky. It’s human nature that is probably exacerbated by this frantic model we’ve built up. Everyone wants everything yesterday. If only it was that easy… whatever happened to paying your dues?

Jr: I think that’s a wonderful point to make. Persistence is something we’re big on. But sometimes persistence isn’t even enough. You know, it’s really hard to do something big in such a small market place like Australia. Take publishing for example: If you want to get distribution of your magazines, you’ve got to be in a bigger market.

W: That’s true, but I don’t think that’s a reason not to do anything. It’s like procrastinators who never do anything because they’re too cool to put themselves out there or they think it’ll never work so why bother. Melbourne is full of creative people, the only problem is that most of them are, like anywhere else, mildly talented at best. The most talented ones find it a struggle to attract the same benefactors they’d find in Europe or the US. Look how many talented Australians have to leave? We are a nation of 22 million, the same size as greater New York. So to answer your question, you def need to be in a bigger market, but it’s not going to happen sitting on your date in Fitzroy drinking Chai and smoking rollies. You have to work your ass off. In my own world, I realised that if I wanted to succeed beyond Australia, I learned from others that staying home in my office wasn’t gonna make it happen. I’m on the road a lot.

Jr: Isn’t Sneaker Freaker translated into Spanish?

W: Yeah, it has been for the past two years. It’s been going really well and we have a great partner running the office over in Barcelona. I’m pretty sure we are the first Aussie magazine to be translated into a foreign language.

Jr: Do you ever think about moving it all overseas?

W: I have at different times, but this is where I’m from and this is where I’m staying. The footwear industry in Australia is in Melbourne. But I think I do regret not moving a bit. Maybe I’m just not the personality type to really take it to the max… Either way, we have been successful on our own terms which is just part of the story.

Jr: Maybe because you married and had kids. Was that the plan? To settle down?

W: I think that cycle of life is inevitable. I wish I’d had a family earlier in hindsight, but we can all look back and say that. Luckily I have a very understanding wife who encouraged me to go for it, even if she recently confided that she thought the magazine was a crazy idea and would be lucky to last six months.

Jr: Any plans to expand your team?

W: I would like to find an Editor to take over next year so I can spend some time working on different ideas. We are always looking for writers. But it’s hard to find anyone who can write these days, as well as have a command of sneakers. If anyone is interested they can email info@sneakerfreaker.com.

Jr: So that means that you could focus on running the business.

W: Absolutely, I could move to the Bahamas and sit under a palm tree with my blackberry.

Jr: And a cocktail! Any final advice for the kids who wanna start a magazine and make a living out of it?

W: My advice is go for it. What the hell. What’s the worst that can happen? You might go bankrupt and have to flee to Brazil…  just don’t let anyone tell you something can’t be done or you’ve got a stupid idea. I had that plenty of times. How many people get rich from stupid ideas?

Remember that emo-kid at school who ‘managed’ the punk band? Let’s call that kid ‘street smart kid’. ‘Street smart kid’ was the shit. He was creative, tenacious, focused, could get a hundred screaming kids along to some shitty gig in the sticks, and hacked up letterboxes with an axe after downing a bottle of Jimmy B at your fifteenth birthday. Where is ‘street smart kid’ now? Running that record label you want to work for, of course. This week we interview one such ‘street smart kid’ – Leeor Brown. His L.A based label, Friends of Friends, sells limited edition tee-shirts and other tangible goods that come with a download code instead of a CD. He’s already done one with Daedelus, and Mos Def stole the idea with his newest release, so it must be the shiz-nit. We know there’s some ‘street smart kids’ reading this site – so why don’t you go out and start a label, y’all? Go on! It’s better than a real job. Fuck!

Junior: Why the hell did you start a record label? Aren’t all of those things going broke?

Leeor: Well, I think that’s debatable. Labels that have been around and built a business model on what was happening back in the day, treating it like a product based business, aren’t keeping up with the times. I saw an opportunity to do the things that labels used to do without nearly the same amount of overhead. There’s still money out there – people are still buying digital. Not at the same rate or the same amount of income earned as it was with CDs, but at the same time you spend a lot less money getting that release out and distributed these days. For me it’s about trying to do things differently, not spending that much money up front so the artists and label can see some money at the end of the day.

Jr: We read somewhere that vinyl sales were actually through the roof too.

L: Yeah in the last few years they went up something like a thousand percent where CD sales dropped off. The way I always look at it is that the people who are clamouring the most are the ones that made money, or established their business in that model, and that shit just doesn’t exist anymore. Not even just the major labels either, even the bigger indie labels that have been around for ten or fifteen years are struggling too because they created a whole business that now has to shift modes.

Jr: Definitely. You’re releasing your second EP soon right?

L: Yeah, we have one release out, Friends of Friends Volume 1. But I also have these remixes that came exclusively with the shirt for the first three months but I put those out on iTunes last month.
Our second release, Volume 2, is out September 15th and is this group Larytta. That’ll be the second shirt release. Then our first full length will be this dude Ernest Gonzales in February.

Jr: Is the full length going to be just a shirt too or will it be something else?

L: No no no, it’s going to be a whole other thing. I’m pretty excited about it actually, I’ve got to say. I’ve gone big for Ernest’s record: we got 16 musicians to do covers, so there is a cover for every song on the full length, and then we got artists from around the world to do their interpretation of a song so there are 13 pieces of artwork that will be made into a book that comes with the download codes for the record, digital artwork, and covers.
The way I look at it especially with the word of mouth idea – we have sixteen remixers, fourteen artists, Ernest and his label, me and my label, and the label doing the vinyl. All of a sudden we have something like 40 people built into one release and talking about it or having a reason to get people excited for it. It’s instant promotion.

Jr: So have you made some mistakes so far? Anything you’d like to share with other first timers wanting to make their own label?

L: I mean, it’s all a learning process. I’m sure there have been a bunch but I have no idea yet. (laughs), I actually think about that all the time because I only launched in March – so I’m not even that far into it. At this point I’m still flying by the seat of my pants. Eventually I’ll be able to look back and be like, ‘God you fucked that up’, but for now there’s not too much. Again I’m not putting that much into it, financially that is, since it’s mostly just my time, it doesn’t feel like I’m making too many mistakes because I’m not really going to get screwed financially or anything.

Jr: Is it hard to convince artists or people that you’re working with to love the idea or do they love it just like we do?

L: For the most part people tend to jump right in. I tend to not work with a bunch of really established artists though, Daedelus is probably the most well established artist I’ve worked with to date, and he is legitimately a close friend and if it wasn’t for him I probably wouldn’t have done the label. He kicked me in the ass more than a few times to make sure this went down. Besides that I try to work with artists that aren’t that well known and they are just hungry, they want to get their music out there. On top of that I have the ability to promote rather extensively so most artists are like ‘Oh this is dope, let’s do it.’ I’m sure I’ll run into a fair share of people who aren’t that into it, but for the most part the artists and press are loving it.

Jr: You’re a publicist at Terrorbird Media right now too. How do you break into that world? Because it seems like that would help you with ideas and the progression of making them a reality.

L: Yeah it’s all been a slow build so far. I started off in college radio as a hip hop director at KZSC in Santa Cruz, got a job in radio promotion that I got over in a while, moved into online marketing and finally progressed into publicity. Basically all of my experience with my job was teaching me lessons about the music industry. Trying to talk with labels and artists and evaluating everyone’s situations and seeing how I might be able to fit into it. Slowly but surely I realized I have access to all these great artists and could promote because that’s what I did for a day job and that you can release things digitally for nothing! At the end of the day I realized I have this possible business in hand for a very minimal investment and it just kind of went from there. I have to say, I don’t know if somebody else could just up and do it like I did because I was lucky to already have certain things in place if I wanted to do them.

Jr: So one of the biggest assets for you was probably your network of creative people around you?

L: There’s no doubt about that. That’s kind of what the whole Friends of Friends notion came from because I knew I had this really awesome network of people but ultimately they were homies with all these people I didn’t know about, and they didn’t know me, but of course I know their music or something. So that was how the idea progressed. I didn’t want to be restricted to only the people I knew but I had to start the label that way.  So the idea of Friends of Friends is that I can bring in the people I know but maybe they can bring in other and slowly and surely the word can spread between friends. “Oh hey I’m with this thing, it’s called Friends of Friends, you should check it out…”
I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t just about me, because that’s what a lot of labels tend to be and this was trying to expand on what network I already had in place.

Interview by: Pat Collins

It’s a big interview. Very big interview. Can’t believe how big this interview is. Get it? We are mimicking that Cannes Lion winning ad for Carlton Draught, The Big Ad. Everyone knows it. But does everyone know who made it? We do! It’s Ant! Hello Ant! He’s made many more ads since then, possibly some better ones, but we’re the kind of dudes who like to hook in our readers with a popular reference to something well-known to get you all excited. Are you excited? You better be. We’ve used up our word-count trying to hype this interview. Wanna know some trivia? Ant was in Kenny! That crazy movie about the dude who cleans toilets. He also thought his folio was terrible when he started out. There’s more trivia than that, but we can’t fit…

Junior: The information super highway told us that you were a talented illustrator as a child. Apparently everyone expected you to study fine art or become an illustrator. WTF? How did you end up in advertising?

Ant: Yeah. I went to University (RMIT) wanting to be an illustrator. But even back then RMIT was pretty advertising-centric. The illustration side of things was a little rigid at the time so I think I lost a bit of interest in that. So at the final year show I had some ads on the wall and a judge said your headlines are funny, you should try advertising. Then I visited (designer) Mimmo Cozzilino and I think he said a similar thing and sent me onto Bruce Baldwin at the Campaign Palace. But basically my folio was pretty terrible at that point, just an even mixture of ads, design and illustration because I’d barely even laid eyes on an award book and didn’t really know what was possible. Then I worked for a year designing a magazine while at the same time doing Copyschool. That’s where I really learnt a lot about ads and met some of the people I could go and bug to give me a job.

Jr: And look at you now! Mr. Creative Director at Clemenger BBDO in Melbourne. How did you break into the industry. What was the first agency you worked at?

A: At Copyschool I teamed up with another writer. We offered to do briefs on spec for Y&R and then they produced our stuff which went onto win an award or two. After the awards they ended up offering us a job but we’d already taken a job at a smaller agency. Arhh! We stuck with the small place.

Jr: You stuck at the small place?! Eek. How’d you go getting through those first years in the industry? We all have a little trouble. What was your experience?

A: Yeah the first year actually wasn’t as scary as you would expect because Copyschool (which, back then, ran for nine months) actually got us used to working under pressure. I guess the learning curve was about actually making the ads. And that tiny agency that employed us? A year later, they retrenched us and then went out of business. So hopefully that’s encouragement for anyone having a tough time. I was retrenched from my first job.

Jr: Getting retrenched happens to the best of us! What advice do you have to kids just landing jobs and starting their creative careers so they won’t get fired like you did? (Editors note: Joke! Smiley face.)

A: Heh. The best advice I heard was, “Get in somewhere and then make yourself invaluable.” You see it a lot in a business – there are certain people – it might be a traffic manager or a receptionist – you can tell the place would fall apart without. Those people usually get taken care of.

Jr: You’ve had the opportunity to work on some amazing brands in your career – Carlton Draft springs to mind – it seems like everyone in this industry would kill for that kind of opportunity. How did you get to be in that position?

A: Well yeah it took a long time before I got to work on that, like ten years or so. I used to work on some accounts and think this just so isn’t suited to me. It’s funny because people now say, “Oh you get to work on beer. Beer is easy and fun.” Well, you know, Grant (Rutherford) and I made that opportunity. Carlton Ads weren’t like that when we started working on the account. Until a few years ago, beer ads in Australia were very serious affairs. More like Winfield ads. Get on youtube and have a look. Most stuff I worked on wasn’t a great account beforehand. But I was lucky because I got to create a campaign from the ground up. By writing the “Made From Beer” idea we were able to create a space where we got to play in an area very close to our own sense of humour. That’s why I’ve stuck with it for so long. We also enjoyed doing Barry Dawson The Cougar.

Jr: How do you stay inspired?

A: Look at other people’s genius stuff. Not ads so much. Good ads are few and far between but occasionally I get really excited by something, like the Skittles ads for example. When you first see them they kind of give you a giddy thrill.

Jr: Ah yes, this is a good segway. So you’ve built your career in advertising as a copywriter – yet you’re also a talented and recognised artist. At what stage did you decide to switch to the other side and become a writer?

A: Oh after a few years I started working on my own doing both writing and art. At that time I became interested in screenwriting. Also there weren’t many writers around and I felt it was a good way to be more in control of the idea. So next time I teamed up, it was with a Creative Director who was an Art Director (Darren Spiller at Mojo) so I became, by default, the writer. And from then on I was a “writer”. I went to Y&R then George Patts now to Clems. Except now I’m on my own again, back to doing both.

Jr: You’ve had a successful career in advertising, won many awards, and worked with talents. How does this compare to the success you’ve had as an artist?

A: Well I haven’t really had a great success in the art world yet although I would love to. But I certainly enjoy it. It’s pure and I tend to keep it away from my advertising. The trap in some respects is I had early success in advertising. And that tends to encourage you in that direction.

Jr: Every creative has a side-project. What are yours? We know you’ve got ‘em. We stalked you on Google.

A: Well I have my painting as I said (antkeogh.com) but I also have some feature screenplays on the go. I was in that film Kenny. I’ve made some short films. For a long time I was in bands and had a little bit of stuff on the radio.

Jr: Yes! So many fingers and pies. That’s what Google told us. Do you find the creative processes similar?

A: Well, in a sense I probably get to use many of those other skills making ads. Any film medium is especially like that – words pictures, sound. For example I’ve used my musical skills to make Carlton Draught’s “Big Ad”. The more knowledge you have the easier it will be. Computer skills are handy. I taught myself Flash and Dreamweaver although I’m a hack. To answer the question though, in advertising the creative process is highly conceptual and very tight. All about the “idea”. And people have to “get It”. In that respect, it’s great for teaching you how to think. What people call an idea in other disciplines often just wouldn’t cut it in an ad agency. I’ve heard a designer call something “a concept” which was actually just a typeface. With my own stuff I don’t try to be so conceptual and can be far more obscure.

Jr: How important is it do you think to have something else outside advertising?

A: It certainly is for me. If advertising is wearing me down, which it easily can because that particular creative process is often about rejection and is getting more and more bogged down with “process” such as research. It can take a long time to get something up. When that happens I can get creative fulfillment from other projects.

Jr: Thanks Ant. We owe you beers.

A: Cheers and good luck juniors.

Yesterday we posted Part One of our drinking escapades with Glendyn. If you haven’t read it yet, do so here. Umm, so, yeah… You wanna know something funny? You do? Cool. Cause we’ve already written an intro to the first part and now we’ve said all we can say. We sat down with Glendyn for two hours, gathered one hour and forty five minutes worth of audio, and had it transcribed into a 10,000 word interview nightmare! How do you edit something like that? Crazy, huh? One day we’ll show you all the other bits we didn’t add in. Things like when the waiter brought our beers over or Ed had to go to the toilet. That’s where the magic is. In the meantime, read the interview then go see Glendyn’s new movie. It’s called Last Ride if you didn’t know already. Read on!

Junior: Winning at Cannes and at the AFI’s for Crackerbag must have been a turning point for you, a bit of recognition?

Glendyn: I never made Crackerbag to go, “I’ll make this film, send it to a festival, win an award, and then go on to make a feature”. I just wanted to make a short film. When I made it I thought if I can make this and show my Mum and my friends at Christmas that would be really cool. I just really wanted to make a film; even if it was shit I was still going to be happy with it. Everything else that happened when we finished the film was a huge bonus.

Jr: Is there any trick to entering something like Cannes?

G: I downloaded the entry form from the internet, filled it out, put it in a Post-Pack, kissed the package, gave it good energy and sent it off. The next thing we knew there was a phone call from a French guy saying we were in the competition. I had no idea what that really meant. I was so naive about the whole thing; I just kind of went along for the ride. Things happen for a reason.

Jr: Why did it win? Do you know why?

G: I think Crackerbag had a universal story. Working with anything to do with childhood – I didn’t know this beforehand, but I’ve travelled around the world with the film since and shown it in different countries with different audiences – and someone always comes up and says “that film is about me when I was a kid”. The first time someone said that to me I was in Russia, at the Vladivostok Film Festival. This little pepper pot Russian, hard-faced woman with a floral headscarf came up and said through a translator ‘that film is about me’. And I remember thinking ‘it’s not about you, it’s about me’. To the most ridiculous amount of detail, that film is about me. I thought only my Mum and my brother would get that. It’s the same car, the same posters in the room. I guess I realised that if you are a child, no matter who you are, where you are, where you grow up, you experience moments in your life where you see that things aren’t what you thought they were or that your world is a little bit bigger. That was it; it was a really good story about being a child.

Jr: It seems that creating a masterpiece takes so long. You’re creating something about you and it’s all about your creativity and not about clients – going on a journey like that, it becomes not about anybody else but about you. Did you find making ‘Last Ride’ to be a big personal journey?

G: Definitely. It is hard sustaining energy over five years. Particularly when you have got your own personal life, moneymaking work, and all that sort of stuff. We went on this road trip, six weeks travelling five or six thousand kilometres through the desert. I think the idea of removing yourself totally from your comfort zone is a really great thing. I’ve always seen making films of any kind as being like an explorer, like being out in outerspace. I like to always force myself into places where I don’t belong with open eyes and an open heart, and take in and translate what you are experiencing.

Jr: Were there any moments when you were filming ‘Last Ride’ where you thought, ‘I don’t love this anymore’?

G: No. It was more like, ‘How can I love it even more?’ To be in the middle of directing a feature film is one of the most overwhelmingly stressful situations you can put yourself in. If you find yourself doing it with something that you aren’t in love with or aren’t 150% committed to, it would turn that stressful situation into absolute terror. There’s so many times when I was making the film that I thought to myself that I wished I packed supermarket shelves because it would be a really easy job; I’d earn money, I could go home and relax, watch TV and all that sort of stuff.

Jr: Yes!

G: But it’s always the story and the characters and the need to tell that story or at least to try to, is the thing that drives you to keep doing it. Every single shot and everything that you do on a feature film is a battle. You look at every shot as sacred. Every moment is trying to create something. To me if you’re doing it and not believing in it that would be terrifying. I’m sure that there are people that can do it, but in that situation I would rather be packing a supermarket shelf.

Jr: Now you’ve had that taste of doing a feature, do you think you will get to a stage where that is all you want to do? Leave TV commercials behind?

G: If I could do features and nothing else now I would do it. For me it would be the most privileged existence. But I don’t think that’s going to happen for a while. Not that I can see at the moment. But you never know. Right now I’m quite happy at the to divide my time between commercials, developing features and other creative projects.

Jr: OK, so we’ve got some questions for the budding filmmakers out there. First up, how do you go about getting funding for your films? Is it public, is it private, and does that make a difference with the creative direction of the film?

G: ‘Last Ride’ was pretty much funded traditionally. Money from Screen Australia, Film Victoria, South Australian Film Board, The Adelaide Film Festival, Madman, and right at the last minute I got some private money. That’s kind of the way most feature films are made here. We didn’t have a big budget, it was $3.5 million. People aren’t putting a lot of private money into films, particularly not that much money. I don’t think we had to jump through any hoops, it was always “this is the film we are making”. No one stepped in at anytime and told me or anyone to do anything different, to edit it a certain way, etc. Having done Crackerbag definitely helped and opened a lot of doors.

Jr: Did having Hugo Weaving help?

G: Definitely. It’s a pretty full on script, and people relax when you have a darker script with a name attached to it. Everyone is looking at how you can market the film and if you have Hugo in the role, Hugo can help sell the film.

Jr: At what stage did he come on board?

G: About two years ago. Once we were happy with the script. Then it was still probably another year before we got final go ahead. Everything takes so long; it is a very slow train to jump aboard. Which is why finding something that you are really in love with is important because there is a lot of times when it won’t be giving you any love back, but you have to keep loving it.

Jr: So how do you go about pitching to get funding?

G: I think I’m really bad at pitching, but I’ve had to do a lot of it, so hopefully I’m getting better. Some people are great at it. When it comes down to it though you can pitch the film in a really great way to someone but is that the person you want to make the film with? It’s about relationships, always about relationships. If someone says ‘No’ to you, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. You just have to find another way, or a cheaper way, or half a way, or another person to work with. You want to fund a film with people who want to make the film WITH YOU and vice versa. When we were really in the thick of raising money for Last Ride, we took a meeting with this creepy American guy, he was saying all the right things, and sounded impressive. But I had this really strong feeling. I thought, even if he takes out his cheque book and gives us the full amount right now, I won’t be able to accept it because I really don’t want to make the film with this guy; we wouldn’t be making the same film. And that would be a huge mistake.

Jr: Finally, have you any tips for the young filmmakers out there, no matter if they’re in high school, uni, or post-uni?

G: Get a camera, shoot stuff and cut it. There is no better experience than the experience itself. I kind of see filmmaking as a process of making millions of mistakes, so you have to get out there and start learning from the mistakes. I’m still making mistakes and learning from them and I think I will be forever.

I found music clips a really good way to learn. I always wanted to do film clips, but I had no idea how to get into it. The whole thing was demystified for me when I realised that even the people that are really good at film clips only do them for a certain amount of time, especially in Australia because the budgets are so small. Even if you are really good you can only pull so many favours for so long. So feel free to go into a record company with a basic show reel and say ‘I really want to make a film clip’ and in a few weeks you might get a small budget and a song to make a film clip for. Film clips are better in some ways if you are trying to learn about ‘craft’ (than say commercials), because most times you have more creative control, they’re longer so you have to shoot more and cut more, and they’ll always get shown on Rage. Whereas your first ads, you kind of don’t have a lot of control so you don’t really have a chance to show what you can do.

For me also it was about finding heroes. People who when you read their books or watch their films that you see that they weren’t ever being locked down to a style or a time or a place, but that they just did what they wanted to do. And that’s how they’ve gotten through their life and built an amazing career and body of work, by doing their own thing. There’s no right or wrong way. There’s a great book, Herzog on Herzog, it’s sort of my bible. He said “Even if you have to steal a camera, do it.” Just get out there and make something. It sort of rings in my ears sometimes. If it’s a feature film, a short, a music video or a commercial, they kind of sit in the same place for me, it’s all about setting up a camera, shooting something, cutting it, going through the process, it’s just fun. There’s no better job.

‘Last Ride’ is currently screening across Australia.

Glendyn Ivin is a Cannes winning, AFI toting, bearded film-maker with an ability to make cool shit. He’s been directing TV commercials for years now – some of which have made him very popular in the industry – but that’s not even the cool bit! He’s just released his first feature film titled Last Ride, featuring none other than Elrond himself, Hugo Weaving. Can you believe it? What a scoop! We’re totally journalists now. Who would have thought? Ha, OK, so this is how good we are at journalism: Last month we arranged to meet Glendyn at a swanky bar in Fitzroy. Running about ten minutes late after drinking some pints with Stan Lee, we stumbled out of the taxi, drunk as she-devils, and straightened ourselves up proper. What happens next? Will this be the interview that spells our demise? Ha! Of course not! Drinking makes us smarter! Read on and see…

Junior: Glendyn! Woo! We’re here. Sorry we’re late, we were getting drunk with Stan.

Glendyn Ivin: That’s cool boys. Let’s do this!

Jr: Here goes nuthin’! OK, so we heard you started out as a designer. How did you end up as a director? There’s gotta be a story there somewhere…

G: I studied Design at Newcastle in the early 90’s. I always wanted to do film when I was there. It was very different back then because it wasn’t like you could edit on any computer, and cameras weren’t everywhere, and the ones you could use were big clunky U-Mat or VHS. I was always inspired by film. I grew up in a country town and had no access to gear or anyone to help point me in the right direction, the path wasn’t as clear cut as what it could be now – it has changed a lot. These days you can edit a film on an iMac out of the box.

When I finished design school I moved to Melbourne because I thought it would be an easier place to make films. At that time, films like Romper Stomper, Proof, Spotswood, all came out in a row and I just thought, ‘I’ve got to go to Melbourne because that is where those films are made.’ It’s so geeky but when I first moved here I spent my time just going around and finding the locations where all those films were shot. The house from Dogs in Space is in Richmond – I was amazed that someone just put a camera there and shot it. It wasn’t this hallowed location – it’s just a house sitting there. It made everything very real and it felt obtainable.

I did get stuck working as a designer though and I got to the point where I turned 25 and had this early mid-life crisis, I knew I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do in my life. That year I applied for film school; I had always wanted to have a photographic exhibition so I did that – I just did the stuff that I wanted to do and never looked back.

Jr: Imagine if you never did that.

G: I know, exactly. My Dad freaked a little at the time – I quit my job and he just said, “What have you done? You’ve quit your job?! Maybe if you go and ask for it back they’ll give it to you.”

Jr: Gotta love parents!

G: I was like: “Dad, it’s not going to happen.” It was really weird. My Dad left home when I was five and I’m so glad he wasn’t around, if it meant I was going to be so full of those kind of thoughts I would never have had the experiences and opportunities I have had since quitting that design job.

Jr: Exactly! I read once, never listen to your parents; you will never get their approval because they don’t get what you are doing. You’ve got to be completely faithful in exactly what your vision is and nobody else matters, especially your parents. Do the opposite.

G: It’s easy for me to say this now but if you are not doing what you want to do and you are young without a mortgage and without kids – quit your job and go for it. Now that I am married with a mortgage and two kids, I still try not to let the fear of money and those ‘more sensible decisions’ determine what I am going to do. If I want to make an experimental art film, I can do that. Maybe I’ve got to do an ad campaign along side it, but I’m still going to do it. Because if I don’t, then I’m really not going to like my work overall.

Jr: When did you start at Exit Films?

G: When I left film school I knew I didn’t want to do design anymore. I didn’t want to do anything commercial at all. I had it in my head that I was just going to do purist, long form, observational documentary filmmaking. Even now when I think about filmmaking, it’s doco I’d love more than anything to do. Just me, a camera and a subject that you follow for ten years. I quickly realised though that no one is going to support you to do that. There is no funding for that kind of film.  So I had it in the back of my head that I was going to have to earn a living doing something.

Around that time an agency named Pure Creative – they’re not around anymore – came to the film school I was at and wanted to make little documentary ads. Which I guess ten years ago was pretty out there, but now there is a lot of work like that. It made me think, “Oh man, that sounds really bad.” It was for cat food. But I went along, and basically was told to go find people who like cats, make little documentaries about them, and cut them into 30 seconds. For every one that went to air they would give us $10,000. Ka-ching!

Jr: Money!

G: The carrot was big enough – it was dangling. But more than the carrot, I thought, “OK, alright, I want to make something”. I’d wanted the opportunity to get a camera, shoot it and cut it – this was it. In the end I went for it. I ended up ringing 3AW and got on air, chatted about what I was doing and then foolishly announced my home phone number. I think I ended up talking to 75 people on the phone, all cat lovers, and every one of them thinking their cat was great. I went out and met five people who I thought sounded good, and we shot four, cut three, and they bought one. I got some money, my first ad, and from that someone else I knew who was working for the Salvation Army wanted me to make an ad…

So anyway someone on the Salvos’s spot said I should go and have a chat to Exit Films. I had no idea who Exit was and I thought if I talked to them I should go see someone else too, kind of to get a second opinion. I went and saw Renegade, showed my reel and they thought it had some promise but they had a full house but said to stay in contact. Which I thought was great – it wasn’t a ‘no’. So I rang Exit and made an appointment. Garth (Davis) looked at my reel, and then he showed me his reel. It was similar work in some ways and we had a really good conversation. I liked his reel because it wasn’t ‘addy’ – even back in those days. I walked off and thought it was good to meet him, but I won’t get any work there because we were doing similar work. A day later Henrik (Damnerfjord – Exit’s founder) rang me and said he’d looked at my reel and to come in for a meeting. I walked in and he said ‘What do you want to do?’. It was a really powerful moment in my life because someone who owned a production company, that had a lot of work coming in, was asking me what I wanted to do. It was a hard question and I had to work out on the spot what I wanted to do. I wasn’t sure but I knew I wanted to make films. The experience of creating those little ads was really fun and I realised it could be a way to learn more about film and get paid. It was a big decision at the time for me.

Jr: So what did you say back?

G: I think I said I didn’t know if I wanted to tie myself down to a production company because I felt like I was getting a job, and I didn’t want a ‘job’. In hindsight you think, “Why would you not take a job at Exit if it was offered to you?” And then you realise how many people want to work at Exit. I took the position. I didn’t have a producer or anything; I was given a desk and eventually teamed up with Jane (Liscombe). I was so naïve, I didn’t know about how a production company worked or any of that stuff. I was given a few no budget jobs. But film clips are where I cut my teeth.

Jr: Yes! We heard about the work you did with Magic Dirt from Jack (Hutchings). He told us that working with you was the seed of his career.

G: When Jack came in, I saw him like he was a comrade. We were both beginning. Even though his reel wasn’t that great, he seemed like a cool guy, and I could see the potential in what he wanted to do. We just clicked straight away on that first job. We’ve been best friends since and I’ve cut everything I can with him. Same with Greig (Fraser). He was working as a runner when I rocked up to Exit. It was all punk-ass with Greig shooting, just the two of us, setting up the camera ourselves. It really cemented that fact of starting relationships with people very early on in your career and going through the world together. What I’m doing, what Jack’s doing, and what Greig’s doing – we’ve kind of all climbed up and helped each other on that ladder. I read recently that you choose people for their hearts not their CVs. I guess that really rings true for me. The thing about doing commercials is that I get to work with a whole heap of people, and even though they all do the job, you realise that they all do the job differently. And discovering and negotiating that difference is the most important thing.

Jr: That’s one of the best pieces of advice I think we’ve ever had. Early on in Junior we were all about networking being a stupid fucking buzzword and it was all about making friends. And obviously to keep developing together.

G: It might sound wanky, but I see them as sacred alliances. That first Magic Dirt clip I cut with Jack, we both sweated over it frame by frame probably more than we ever have on any job since. But there was someone who was as dedicated as I was trying to make it as good as it could be. Same with Greig. When you are in that zone, you become a machine and you try to find other people who will become machines as well, to encourage and bounce ideas off each other. It doesn’t feel like networking, it feels like you are hanging out with your friends.

Jr: There are a lot of creatives who go straight into university then straight into production companies or newspapers or advertising agencies and they become very involved in the corporate or professional world, and they’ve lost sight of getting in touch with human nature. As a storyteller, storytelling is about real human experience and it’s hard to do that when you’ve been living in a professional world. Do you try and look back on your childhood – is that where you get your ideas from?

G: For me I just try to immerse myself in as many different things as possible, and get inspired from a whole lot of different areas. Talk-back radio, or public transport, or high fashion mags. I search for inspiration like I’m trying to quench a thirst. I’m always trying to find stuff that makes me think ‘Fuck, I wish I did that’, just to push you a little bit further. The more experience in life you can get the better. You know those books, ‘It’s not how good you are, it’s how good you want to be’ – they’re full of those things. Getting the sack can be a really good thing. Getting your heart broken can be a really good thing. Having an argument with someone could be a really good thing. Seeing someone shot…? I don’t know… I’m just trying to think, you know, all these things people try and shelter themselves from. They’re hard things, but that’s where you learn things. You don’t know you are alive until you have to struggle a little.

Jr: Have you ever been through a really dark time?

G: Oh yeah. Absolutely. I think it’s in my personality that I constantly ride that line between light and dark.

Jr: It’s all about hindsight! You can look back and say, “Oh it was horrible but jee, that was really good for me to go through’.

G: There are definitely a lot of things happening for me in my life at the moment where I can’t wait for the hindsight to kick in so I can say ‘Ahh, I know why that was happening, and now I can use that in my work.’

Jr: Haha! Yes. I think we all do.

G: The good and the bad, you’ve got to have it. But you know, sometimes you see work that feels so immersed in someone’s personal experience that you can’t actually access it. I think good art is where it feels like it is coming from your own heart, but someone else can access it as well.

Jr: As a young twenty-something did you travel and see the world? Or did you stay in Melbourne?

G: I started to travel later than I wanted to. My first trip overseas was to Japan by myself – I think I was 28. It was the most amazing experience. I don’t think I blinked for three weeks; I just soaked up every single experience. I thought Japan would have a western edge to it, but it doesn’t. They take it and they consume it and then they make it their own. Even things that were familiar were done very differently. It was an alien world. It was an alien version of what our world is. Everything you do whether it is buying a drink or walking down the street or seeing a concert or something, it’s all through very different eyes. It’s all being interpreted very differently.

Jr: How long did you stay?

G: I was only there for a few weeks. I had just finished film school. I think what it did in a very refined yet intense way was begin to hone my own way of seeing things. If we were in Japan right now, everything would be new. I try and take a step back and try and see everything new, keeping your eyes wide open and observing. I try to see everything with fresh eyes all the time. We’re all trying to find inspiration, and find the clues about who we are and why we are the way we are.

There’s still plenty more where that came from. Part Two coming tomorrow!

In celebration and preparation for Portfolio Night 7 Melbourne, we got in touch with two of its greatest supporters – Nancy Vonk and Janet Kestin of Ogilvy Toronto. Not only are they responsible for Dove’s ‘authentic virals’, Evolution and Onslaught, but they write a column for juniors called ‘Ask Jancy‘ on ihaveanidea.org, and have used the best bits to pen a book aptly titled Pick Me.

Junior: Hello Nancy and Janet! Thanks for climbing aboard the Portfolio Night 7 Melbourne special! OK, so first up, what seems to be the greatest and most common failing of juniors who swing by your office?

Janet & Nancy: A poorly edited portfolio would be at the top of the list. It’s really hard to be objective about your own work, so it pays to get people you trust and respect to help you weed out anything that isn’t measuring up to your best work. One so-so idea can drag down a bunch of great. Creative directors worry that the creative person they’d get is really the person who on an average day might deliver that kind of ‘only OK’ idea. Honestly this is true for people at every level — even quite senior people make this mistake. Good editing makes you look better and worth more. It really is the difference between getting the job or not.

Jr: We know you’re big supporters of women in advertising, is there a particular piece of advice you like to give young women on their journey to creative success?

J&N: Authenticity is highly valued in anyone. You don’t need to try to be someone you’re not. Be assertive. Ask for what you want and need to be happy; don’t expect it to just come to you — be cognisant, it’s not a meritocracy. You have to go after what you want in a creative partner, pay, accounts, etc. Be seen (many women let a more confident partner do most of the talking. Big mistake.). Network (women don’t make the time to do it and don’t particularly like to do it. Big mistake.) Find a mentor if they haven’t found you, male or female. Even “big names” are flattered to be asked and are often happy to share their learning. It’s an incredible help up the ladder. Choose the right life partner. Some men won’t be supportive of the creative woman’s long hours, or may actually resent her success. You can’t make it far without an equal partner. That’s really underscored if you have a child.

Jr: You’ve released a book to rave reviews titled Pick Me. We think it’s the most respectful book to juniors and their plight we’ve come across. What was your experience writing the book while juggling jobs and a personal life?

J&N: It took a year and it was hard to juggle all the balls. Fair to say it put a strain on children, employer and Janet’s husband who helped us with his IT skills. It took every spare moment and considering we took on extra duties like the design it was pretty all-consuming. The really fun bit was enlisting 14 superstars to contribute, and we loved that interaction with them. But rounding up Mr. Droga, et al was like herding cats. It was well worth it and we said well we’re glad that experience is under our belts. Wrote a book, check! Never do that again. In November HarperCollins approached us to write another book, this time not about advertising. We couldn’t say no to that experience so there you go: never say never. How we’re going to fit it in is just a leap of faith. The research itself is pretty fascinating; we’re talking to senior women from many fields about how they’ve made it. It’s an education. One doctor we spoke to said a pig-headed boss refused to approve a deeply needed clinic for women in her hospital. Ultimately one night she literally threw out the gift shop with two other female doctors. Their boss showed up the next day to find them in front of the door with arms linked and Army helmets on. “What are you going to do about it?” A clinic was born. Yes we will find a way to get this book done.

Jr: Your Ask Jancy column for ihaveanidea.org has obviously become quite a popular destination for juniors with burning questions. Is it possible to tell us what the most common question you get asked is and what the answer might be?

J&N: “How do I get a job?” kind of sums it up. The answer is right on the cover — be the little red bag among the hundreds of black ones. Stand out. From getting through the gauntlet to see the CD, to how you help him/her remember you and how you follow through will make all the difference. We just brought in a summer intern who charmed us into a job with a song she wrote for us. We would have hired her just from that potentially fatal gimmick. She really pulled it off and in doing that showed she’s a great writer, a born performer (a huge asset when half the job is selling your ideas), an extrovert, gutsy, a risk taker, smart (she really did her homework about us for her lyrics), fun, and incredibly likeable. Yes she had a really strong portfolio but without question the lengths she went to to impress us made the choice a no-brainer. Intelligent kissing-up: it works. Note that this was the opposite of a common mistake: a generic “I really, really want to work for ______.” So many people don’t do their home work before coming in for the interview; they’re showing up with the same pitch for everyone. You get many more points for trying to convince that CD that your agency is THE place you want to work, and why. Of course it helps on the sincerity scale if you actually mean it, but given you will need to see a lot of places to land that elusive opening, well, work hard on faking it convincingly.

Lastly, here are some pointers for all thinking of attending PN7:

- Be prepared to talk about your work.
- Remember it’s the ideas that matter most, you don’t need to run out and buy a fancy folio – heck a sweet PDF on your laptop might do the trick!
- Quality not quantity.
- Bring a pen.