Invisible Soldiers

“I am an invisible man. No I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allen Poe: Nor am I one of your Hollywood movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids, and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, simply because people refuse to see me.” – Ralph Ellison

There are no ongoing conversations in advertising about the unique experience of Black people in the industry. No ongoing convos about their triumphs, struggles, concerns, origin stories. There’s no place where they can give flowers to the Black people in the industry that inspired them. Instead we see one-off panels/round tables/town hall events, that come and quickly go. Invisible Soldiers podcast is an attempt to cultivate a space where this conversation can build, gain momentum and thrive.

The Invisible Soldiers podcast was created by myself, Corey D. Seaton, and my co-host, Rebecca L. Sanders. Join us on a journey as we delve into the history, stories and perspectives of Blacks in advertising. We’ll also explore the idea of being invisible, the pros, the cons, as well as what it means to become more visible.

Subscribe to the Invisible Soldiers podcast today, on Spotify, Apple, or wherever you listen to podcasts. Thanks for all your support. One luv.

O.G. Ad Stories: Nose Diving

Ascension is the word that best describes what I imagined a career in advertising looked like. I thought the hard part was simply about getting off the ground. Once you did, you turned into a 747, rocketing unapologetically towards your goals. But after entering the industry, I realized there were very few 747s. Plateauing at 10,000 feet was far more common. And to my surprise, some people actually exploded mid-air. Public failures, emotional breakdowns, substance abuse or bad behavior was often the cause. One minute they were flying high, the next they were debris, completely out of the industry. To ascend in advertising, you have to be able to withstand a lot of bouts with turbulence. I was fueled with optimism and grandiose dreams when I encountered them, so I thought I’d be fine. But the strangest thing happened. I began to nose dive.

In my late 20s, after 9/11, the world changed. Life felt heavier, more serious, and so did I. We had endured a terrorist attack, one I experienced watching TV beside my coworkers.. The country was at war and anti-war protests were in the streets. I remember visiting a website daily that had two scrolling tickers. One tracked the billions of dollars being spent on the war, the other tracked the thousands of soldiers dying in it. The magnitude of it all weighed on me. I started to feel like I should be doing something, something more meaningful. I wasn’t alone. I’ll never forget the day one of my ad school classmates came to work and announced he was quitting, not just his job, but the industry altogether. Why? He explained he was joining the Army and heading to war. While I wasn’t looking to make a choice that drastic, I understood what led him there. Like him, I began to put my job and industry under a microscope, and I didn’t like what I saw.

I began to hate my job and all things advertising. I hated how unseen and unheard I felt at work. I hated there was no mentorship anywhere in sight. I hated how disconnected I felt from the work, the department, the industry. Most of all, I hated how frivolous it all felt. Going to another agency couldn’t fix this feeling. I needed a new career. I sent out resumes to Hallmark, I used my connections at music publications and started taking on freelance writing assignments. I even considered going back to school, NYU’s screenwriter program. Nobody could see it, but I was nose diving and the ground was approaching quickly.

I was going through a personal transformation. Something was missing in my life and I was unhappy I couldn’t find what I was looking for at work, despite spending so many nights and weekends there. So I started searching for it in other places. I attended live performances. I read a lot, watched tons of films and dissected song lyrics. I wrote profusely, entering one of the most prolific writing stages of my life. I blogged five times a week, writing articles and essays on everything from politics to the state of homelessness in America. I wrote poems and spent a lot of time on the open mic poetry scene. Performing my words, on stage, 3-4 times a week into the wee hours of the night was the therapy I so badly needed. I met new friends, new comrades and began to feel a part of a community of dynamic artists and activists. Together, we did volunteer work, in neighborhoods and at schools, working with at risk youths, participating in programs to end violence, feed kids and raise money. I found a world beyond the walls of the ad agency, where I could use my creative mind to solve new problems, ones that mattered. Consequently, I began to feel better.

Infiltrate - enter or gain access to (an organization, place, etc.) surreptitiously and gradually, especially in order to acquire secret information.

The standout moment during that period was the night I went to an Ice T speaking engagement. Most people know Ice T as the actor or hip hop legend. Few know Ice T the author and public speaker. On this night, he gave a talk about how he successfully moved from street life to the legal hustle of acting. His speech highlighted his internal conflict. He could act, but he wasn’t an actor. He was making money in Hollywood, but he wasn’t interested in being Hollywood. His entire life had been built on being authentic and he didn’t see a need to suddenly start pretending. Resolving that inner conflict forced him to create a new narrative, His solution? “'I’m not Hollywood, I infiltrated Hollywood.” This was a light bulb moment for me. I didn’t have a work problem as much as an inner conflict. I liked the creative platform and ability to make a living that advertising provided, but I wasn’t some ad guy. Just making ads for a living would never be enough for me. I needed to find a higher purpose, a WHY. And that weekend, I did.

When I went back to work, I went back to the same industry, same office problems. But for the first time in a long time, I had a new mindset. I went back with a WHY. I don’t really feel a need to share it here, but it continues to motivate me and keep me focused during the most trying circumstances. I also went back with creative outlets beyond the job. Those outlets allowed me to not feel as beat up when I spent late nights and weekends working on something that didn’t come to fruition. Work was work. I was earning a salary not saving the world. I could still create things that made me happy, things that felt like they mattered, outside of work. I know, small tweaks. But when all the warning lights are blinking and you’re quickly losing altitude, the right tweaks, even small ones, can restore your mental health and save your career.

The lesson? Young creatives are passionate, emotional beings. The world around them and their work environment plays a huge part in their outlook on life. They need a support system and sometimes, the mentorship and advice they need won’t be found at work. If you feel like you’re starting to nose dive, the first step is to tell people. If you feel your bosses aren’t a supportive set of ears, start chirping to family, friends, trusted advisors. Feeling the power of a support system can be rejuvenating. Also find your WHY. Your WHY will fuel you and help you maintain a focused, positive perspective. Finally, although work gets the lion share of your creative output, make sure it doesn’t get everything. Continue to make things in your personal time that bring you joy, make you money or simply make the world a better place. Happiness is not our circumstances, it’s our mind state. So make sure you’re doing things that make you smile. One luv.

O.G. Ad Stories: Go Pop Or Stay R&B?

I entered corporate America with optimism. Unlike other industries, I viewed advertising as a breeding ground for dreamers. Great ads were like hit songs to me, in both recognition and reach. And agencies were record labels, brands were the recording artist and creatives were the invisible people behind the scenes responsible for coming up with the hits. It didn’t really matter how big, small, or even where the agency existed, anyone who was creative enough could come up with a hit song. That idea inspired me. I could pursue my dreams from anywhere, painting my ideas in colors that reflected me. I wanted my ads to be cooler, grittier, funnier, smarter and even blacker than the ones I had grown up watching. I wasn’t totally off. What I hadn’t considered in my music metaphor were color lines and perceptions. Both were real factors in the industry. And as a Black creative trying to carve out a career, I found myself being told to pick a genre, Pop or R&B?

I attended ad school at The Portfolio Center in Atlanta. Imagine 300 creatives under one roof, representing a cross section of disciplines: copywriting, art direction, design, photography, illustration. The pressure to succeed in the school was real. A demanding course load, late nights and unflinching deadlines created the ultimate agency-like experience. It was a place were teachers ripped ads off the wall and lit them on fire, a place where a poor portfolio review could lead to an immediate expulsion. It was tough, but I loved it. I loved everything about the experience except the industry advice I received.

At least 40% of my teachers specifically sought me out to have a side conversation. They had a special set of advice they wanted to share with me, a Black copywriter. The speech went something like this. “Hey, you’re a really talented writer and you’re going to have some options when you leave here. But don’t fall for that Black agency trap. You’re too talented for that. Find a good agency where you can learn and be truly appreciated.” Even in the 90s, that language was troubling and extremely loaded. “Trap” stood out to me. So did the idea of “good agency” in contrast to “Black agency.” Even under the camouflage of a back handed compliment, I knew racism when I heard it. This pep talk was every bit as racist as a high school counselor, who had never attended an HBCU (Historically Black Colleges and Universities), steering a Black student away from one, because that person perceived it as being inferior. This was my first time hearing someone voice the idea of separate but inferior in advertising. But it wouldn’t be the last.

I landed at my first agency after my work was spotted at a portfolio review. I wasn’t chasing a general market agency or a Black agency coming out of school, I was simply chasing an opportunity. I was hoping to find a place to develop and display my talents. Being the only Black guy in my department neither intimidated me or deterred me. My first creative director used to offer his unsolicited advice on the matter, “you don’t want to get stuck doing that work.” “That work” was work targeting Black people, work that featured mostly Black talent. I guess the prevailing industry thought was, it wasn’t the sexy work, it wasn’t the work that wins awards, and it wasn’t the work the best agencies were doing. The best agencies were doing work that featured white casts, with Black celebs sprinkled into the mix. That was the advertising landscape I entered. Black work was R&B music, it might produce Black hits, but it’s not going to get you on Bandstand. And it’s not going to get you eight or nine Grammies. For that, you had to go Pop. That meant working at a big general market agency. A good career had to happen at agencies that “mattered.”

“Hip-hop is a collage. It samples from all different styles of music.” - Kamasi Washington

Luckily, I’ve always considered myself hip hop. Hip hop transcends genres. Hip hop can sample Pop, R&B, Jazz or Rock, flip them on their heads and create something completely groundbreaking. Hip hop can be unapologetically Black, while still delivering Pop hits. Hip hop has proven, it doesn’t matter whether the record comes from a major or indie label. It doesn’t even matter if the song was recorded at a plush studio or a damp closet in a project building. And hip hop couldn’t care less about award shows. Grassroots people decide what’s a hit, not awards. All I ever wanted from advertising was a chance to be me, to make a living, to tell new stories and to be authentic to myself along the journey. Luckily, I’ve had the chance to do that from general market, multi-cultural, and Black agencies. In each place, I’ve met talented people and learned priceless things that have helped me along the way.

The lesson? The industry is still poisoned by archaic and sometimes racist thinking. Don’t let that deter you. Look for the brands that do the kind of work you like and go to the agencies that create that work. You’ll be surprised how vast the spectrum of places are that good work comes from. Good ideas are not exclusive to one kind of agency. By the way, lots of white people work at multi-cultural and even Black agencies. They gain perspectives at these agencies that make them better professionals and human beings. Approach your career without thinking about silos. Instead, chase good opportunities wherever they lead you. Every time we usher out the old ways, we bring in a new mindsets that change the industry for the better. Keep fighting. One luv.

O.G. Ad Stories: The Work Marriage And The Bitter Divorce

Few work marriages in corporate America are as intimate and complicated as the one shared between an art director and copywriter. This partnership is based on the pairing of talent to create a dynamic blend of elevated thinking unachievable by an individual. A successful marriage requires chemistry, and creating that chemistry takes time. The more time you spend together, the more ideas you share, the more you begin to think as one, resulting in better, more impactful work. That at least, is the theory. But investing so much time and energy into someone can unleash deep seated emotions when the break up finally occurs.

Nobody wants to be part of a failed marriage. In a creative department, where people go on hot streaks and cold streaks, a team that breaks up because they aren’t selling work, can get a lot of side eyes. Bad mojo can scare off a lot of people. More plainly, nobody wants to be partnered with a loser. Public perception means everything when your livelihood depends on being attractive enough as a creative to keep a talented partner. So it’s not uncommon for people to point fingers, and soil the reputation of former partners after things don’t work out. This kind of drama plays out in games of passive aggressive chess, and master level micro-aggressions. I’ve seen people who were once connected at the hip for years, stop speaking altogether. I know about it all too well, because that’s exactly what happened with me and a former partner.

We were partners for about a year and a half or so. He was a good dude. He had the ethos of a small town Marshall in a western movie, simple, loyal and easy going. He got along well with people and I appreciated his dedication to his parents, his girl and his dog. He showed the kind of high character traits that make you trust someone. But creatively, we just weren’t gelling. Base hits are not home runs. And the more the pressure mounted to produce a home run, the more he began to fall apart.

“The search for a scapegoat is the easiest of all hunting expeditions.” - Dwight D. Eisenhower

Self-aware creatives keep an imaginary timer in their heads. The timer keeps track of how long you can go without a significant win before the bosses begin to consider you a bad investment. It’s pressure, but being in tune with your timer can keep you focused. Feeling my timer was running low, I begin to collect wins outside of our partnership. I wrote radio spots. Wins. I helped out other teams with headlines and copy. Wins. I offered up scripts for projects I wasn’t working on. Wins. I started working later hours and tossing out ideas to my boss about any and everything going on in the agency. Before long, my talents were not only being recognized, they were being valued. Our cold streak was no longer attributed to a lack of talent on my part, but rather, bad chemistry with the wrong partner. In this scenario, I wasn’t the odd man out, he was. It also didn’t help that he had dropped the ball on a few of his art director responsibilities. Everything came to a head one weekend when he disappeared while we were on deadline. Fed up, my boss took him off a project we were both working on.

My partner had an aversion to dealing with management, so he didn’t. Rather than get marching orders from our boss directly, he preferred to get them from me. His fear turned me into the middle man. So when I had to break it to him that he was no longer on the project, he questioned me angrily. “What’s going on? Why was I taken off the project?” I walked up to him and spoke as deliberately as I could. “If you really want to know, go talk to your boss.” He stared at me for the first time ever with a stern look of mistrust. He mumbled, packed up his bag, and walked away. But he never went to talk to his boss.

Two days later, we were no longer partners. Our boss made an executive decision to break us up. The marriage was over. It felt like a promotion for me. Meanwhile, he felt he was being punished. He was. He abruptly stopped speaking to me. When he did, it was in short work related phrases. I tried to talk things through, but he wasn’t having it. And I was completely blindsided when a mutual friend told me he thought I “sabotaged” him. The anger that rumbled in my belly upon hearing that could only be extinguished with silence. So, I never spoke to him again. I walked past him and looked through him for months, until his timer, ultimately ticked out.

The lesson? Advertising is a competitive field, and sometimes work marriages don’t end well. Regardless of the partnership, you are the only person responsible for managing your career. When things aren’t working, it’s up to you to communicate with your partner, your managers, and find a solution. It’s up to you to find new ways to establish your talents and show off your value. And it’s always up to you to be in tune with the ticking clock. If you can’t hit a home run, figure out a way to get a bunt and steal three bases. A work marriage is a union designed to help you to succeed. But never let it, or a partner you aren’t gelling with, be the cause of your demise. One luv.

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O.G. Ad Stories: The Day My Boss Aimed A Weapon At Me

In advertising, I learned early on that certain people bring weapons to work. The weapons are never used for self defense, but rather to commit heinous acts of terror. The weapon of choice for the weak and fragile of heart? Yelling. I’ve seen yelling used all types of ways. I’ve seen it whipped out in a flash and aimed at someone, point blank range. Pow! You do that enough times, in front of enough people, and suddenly, just brandishing your weapon is enough to leave people shaken. I’ve seen yelling discharged into the air at no one in particular, just so the sound echoes across the department and everyone knows who brought their weapon to work that day. Boom! I’ve even seen yelling used more like a jockey’s whip, slicing into the sides of an entire department, wounding them over and over, demanding them towards an intended result or finish line. It is by far the industry’s number one fear tactic.

Yelling sucks, but honestly, it’s never really bothered me. My attitude has always been, go off. Pull back your cloak and let me see what kind of character flaws and weaknesses you’re working with. I’ve yet to see one yeller not reveal a few of them. Yelling reveals who is starting to fold under pressure. It sheds a huge light on those who are insecure in their roles and have imposter syndrome. You also quickly find out who is afraid to take accountability and is looking for someone to blame. When a person starts yelling, and eventually, someone always does, I’ve always tried to focus more on what was being said than the venom it was said with.

About four or five years into my career, I found myself working for a boss who was on his way out. He was still running the department, but his time was up, and everyone knew it. His relationship with his boss had deteriorated. He was being uninvited to meetings. And his power was slowly, methodically, being taken away for all to see. He was not accepting this well and appeared to be in shambles.

One afternoon, I stood outside his office with my partner. We had a 3:30 appointment to share some new ideas on a huge campaign the entire department was working on. As we waited outside of his closed door, we could hear everything that was happening behind it. His boss was laying into him. And from what we could hear, his frustration with our boss’s performance had reached the breaking point. When the door flung open and his boss stomped away, what we saw was a red-faced child who had just been severely scolded by his parent. He pointed us next door to his partner’s office, where we waited for him.

He arrived in an emotional daze. His right leg shook violently as we presented. He kept asking, “is that it?” And idea after idea, we kept saying, “just a few more.” The second we confirmed we had presented our final idea, he jumped up out of his chair wildly and started yelling. We could have presented a campaign laced in Cannes gold, it wouldn’t have mattered. He had found an emotional dumping ground. And he chose to take every ounce of venom his poisonous body could muster and inject it viscously into our bloodstreams. “You guys suck! You’ve done less work than anybody in this department, I don’t know how you even have a f*cking job. Start earning your f*cking salaries!” He huffed, puffed, and stomped off. We sat there, ears still ringing from the discharge.

That is the first and only time that has ever happened to me. It was a direct attack on my character and work ethic. Any thoughts of putting that man back in his place, and there were a few, was only going to hurt me, and potentially the future Black creatives following in my path. So, I walked away. In the minute or so it took to get back to my desk, my angry boss fired off a follow up email. It read, “After looking up how much you guys actually make, I take that back, you ARE earning your salaries.” Pure terrorism. It wasn’t right, and that tiny man should have felt consequences from his cowardly act. But back then, I didn’t trust HR or anyone else to have my back, so like most victims, I took it on the chin and kept it moving.

The lesson? Yelling is a weapon, but it is not the only weapon. Today, social media, HR, legal action and a corporate climate far less tolerable of unkind acts by bullies, are incredible weapons. Learn the extent of their power and use them wisely to protect yourself. Our working environments owe us a chance to not only earn a living, but to thrive and be happy doing so. Anyone looking to turn you into target practice by weaponizing that space with their emotional immaturity, is no longer deserving of their place in our industry. Stay safe our there. One luv.

O.G. Ad Stories: The Jodeci Party

The most conflicting aspect of advertising for young people in the industry is access. Each major production provides access to cool cities and top notch hotels around the world. Not to mention access to interesting people, big name directors, celebrities, actors, etc. Plus, there’s access to exclusive experiences – floor seats at the Lakers game, easy entrance into “guest list only” clubs, or invites to private events, award shows and after parties. Oh yeah, there’s free alcohol every step along the way. Access is easily the best perk of the job, but in the hands of an immature, unfocused mind, it’s also the most dangerous.

I’ve never been a hotel snob, so when I checked in to the Le Montrose Hotel in West Hollywood as a young copywriter, I was content. The place was as low key as I was, and walking distance to Sunset Blvd. In a pre-Uber world, where renting a car was a must, it was nice to be in walking distance to food and entertainment. After checking into the hotel, I took the elevator heading to my room. And upon exiting, I realized the mega boy’s band, Boyz II Men, was staying on my floor. Apparently, they were pretending to be as low key as I was.

During my stay, I met another young Black guy my age in the lobby of the hotel. He had a familiar swag and laid back demeanor. Hearing the drawn out cadence of his voice and seeing the St. Louis Cardinals hat on his head let me know we had something in common. I approached him looking up at his had, “yo, you from the Lou?” He smiled. We spent the next 45 minutes talking about home and sharing what brought us to L.A. Turns out he was a music agent hoping to get one of his singers signed to a major label. I was impressed. To my surprise, he was impressed with what I did for a living, which struck me as odd. “If he only knew I worked in a cubicle”, I shook my head and mumbled to myself. By the end of the conversation, he tells me about this Jodeci party he and his artist were invited to the next night. “Everybody’s gonna be there man”, he said with a grin, “ you rolling with us or what?” And just like that, I was going to the Jodeci party.

That’s the thing about trips to L.A., they never go as planned. You step off the plane focused, excited to bring your project to life. You’re contemplating all that can go right, a happy boss, a thrilled client and a cool project that could add rocket fuel to your career. You’re also contemplating everything that could go wrong. And on every single production, one fatal mistake or a series of them, can literally cost you your job. With stakes that high, you’d think a young creative would be focused solely on the shoot and a good night of rest. But good ole L.A. has a way of offering unexpected distractions that seem just too tempting to pass up.

The day of the party, I went to the Beverly Center and bought an outfit. I came back to the hotel and looked at my pre-pro book. I had an 8 a.m. call time, meaning, I probably needed to leave the hotel by 6:30. As I did the math in my head, I figured, as long as I left the party by 2, 2:30, I’d get enough rest to be functional for my big day on set. Feeling content, I took my shower, laid my clothes out on the bed and preceded to get ready for the party. I sprayed cologne, took one last look in the mirror and that’s when I heard it. It was my inner voice, with two ominous words, “don’t go.” Spidey senses? On the night of the Jodeci party? WTF! I took a long deep breath, shrugged my shoulders, and began to get undressed.

The next day on set went really well. I was rested and focused with no hangover. Deep down, I knew I made the right decision, but all day, I kept thinking about that party. Who was there? What happened? Could I have met someone with an opportunity that could change my career? Every time there was a break in the action on set, my head swirled searching for answers. Later that evening in the hotel, I bumped into homie with the Cardinals hat. “Hey man, had some last minute work stuff, sorry I didn’t make it last night, how was it” I said, in my most convincing voice. “Bruh, be glad you didn’t come.” He goes on to describe a wild party scene that turned into a police raid. Apparently drugs were confiscated and people were arrested. He, his artist and myself, could have easily been one of them. To top it off, he never saw Jodeci at the party, and was beginning to question if it was their party at all. Damn.

The lesson? Parties, clubs, epic bar nights, there’s a place and time for everything. And that time, is not the night before a shoot. There’s nothing more embarrassing than creatives who go missing or show up late to set. It makes the agency look bad to the production company and the clients. It’s also a pretty terrible personal hit on your reputation, and in many cases, it costs you your job. Also, always trust your intuition. It’s one thing to be invited to a party personally. It’s another to crash one with someone you just met. In the high stakes game of navigating your career, I’ll leave you with the immortal words of legendary coach, Pat Riley, who famously said, “keep the main thing, the main thing.” One luv.

O.G. Ad Stories: The Celebrity Who Couldn't Read

I sat in the recording studio next to my producer, a young junior copywriter, eagerly positioning my pen and empty pad, as our engineer patched in our celebrity talent. Through the speakers came a warm, pleasant voice, full of the kind of charisma and charm you’d expect from a red hot comedian with a quickly ascending career. I had worked hard for the past month to pitch this guy to my boss, and client, both who were unfamiliar with him. But after sharing his standup clips, they fell in love with his stomach grabbing brand of clean humor, and the spot sold. I was geeked. This was my second time recording a famous comedian. Since the first spot went over well, I was hyped to bring back another winner. But after listening to the first line of the first take of the script I had written, I was horrified to learn, that would not be happening.

I stared at my producer, mouth agape, as we listened to our celebrity talent take almost three minutes to read a 60 second script. He struggled, stammered and slowly sounded out words in sing-songy phrases, only to repeat them with the same clunkiness as before. As a fan, I was heartbroken. We were thousands of miles away in a different studio. But even on the phone patch, I could feel the sweat forming on his forehead and the anxiety building within him at Texas highway speeds as he awkwardly attempted to pronounce the next word. Miraculously, after finishing the read, this guy snaps right back into his light-hearted comedic self. Zero shame. “Don’t confuse my technique for jitters now. That was just the warm up. Let’s me run it back.” This guy was beautiful, I mean the entire session. He had obviously been hiding this problem for years, and seemed, used to it. He tried hard, kept a positive attitude and kept begging us to let him do more takes. And out of respect for his talent, and just how amazing of a person he was, we did. But all the time we knew, this spot was never going to happen.

In advertising, too often celebrities end up in extremely vulnerable positions, ultimately sabotaged by their most trusted employees, their agents. Sitting with their client, reviewing the creative, and making an informed decision about whether or not the opportunity is a good fit, doesn’t always happen. Instead, the positives of monetary gain, partnership with a major brand and plenty of exposure camouflages the hidden ramifications for the celebrity that may lie in the weeds. That’s how a comedian who can’t read ends up in a recording session. That’s how celebrities end up on set for a commercial with no idea what they are shooting. And unfortunately, that’s how this reality star, a legendary singer and a Hall Of Fame football player, ended up in controversial concepts that ultimately compromised how the public views them.

Securing a lucrative deal is only part of an agent’s responsibility, protecting their client’s brand and reputation is the other.

Our comedian’s agent put him and his reputation in a very vulnerable place. We could have easily made a big stink about the situation and within weeks, it would have been industry wide news that this guy couldn’t read, possibly casting a negative effect on the future of his career. We obviously didn’t do that. While it would have been nice if the agent had protected his client and us, by declining the opportunity, we still had to salvage the spot.

After shaking off the shock of it all, my producer and I quickly rallied. Knowing our session was unusable, we identified a comedic actor we had worked with before and made some calls to book him. He wasn’t famous, but he was funny, and most importantly, he could read. We explained what happened to the client, re-recorded the spot, and it actually all turned out fine. It was radio, so honestly, nobody really cared. Had this been a TV spot, the blowback would have been much different. As for the comedian, this guy has gone on to have a great career. He still tours, films comedy specials and makes TV and movie appearances. I assume, he is just riffing off the top of his head in everything I see him in, which honestly blows my mind.

I’ve thought about this a thousand times, but there was no real way for me to vet this guy any better than I did. The lesson? Sometimes in advertising, weird shit just happens. You don’t get emotional about it. You don’t point fingers. You just take a deep breath, and figure that shit out. In our industry, that’s exactly what we get paid to do. One luv.

The Right To Remain Alive

I have the right to remain alive.

To be treated as a citizen, not a suspect. Innocent, not guilty. Equal, not inadequate.

To be arrested, arraigned and tried in a court of law. Not executed on the side of a road.

To feel protected, not profiled. Validated, not vilified. Acknowledged, not targeted.

I have the right to feel secure in my Black body.

To express my individuality. Any style of hair, any style of dress, any color. 

To express a full array of human emotions. At any time, and any place.

I have the right to be Black.

Without code switching. Without lowering my chin/confidence/self-esteem.

Without adjusting to your ignorance or discomfort.

I have the right to congregate. In large groups and small ones.

I have the right to be happy and have peace of mind.

To stop wasting my intelligence and energy navigating racism.

In parking lots. On elevators. In shared public spaces. On social media. Over the phone. At the supermarket. In restaurants. Within my industry. In airports and on airplanes.

I have the right to be free.

Free to voice Black opinions. Black frustrations. Black grievances. Black concerns. Black support. Black brotherhood/sisterhood. And all aspects of Black culture. PUBLICLY.

To do so without fear.

Fear of being fired. Fear of being black balled. Fear of being mislabeled difficult or problematic. Fear of being considered racist. Fear of being dismissed as angry, divisive or militant.

I have the right to be critical.

Of my society. Of my justice system. Of corporate America’s newfound fascination with Juneteenth. Of well-crafted PR statements. Of checks written out of backlash, fear and guilt.

I have the right to remind you, this movement was not born out of a need for jobs.

This movement was born out of a final gasp for breath.

This movement is the number one crisis in America.

BLACK DEATH AT THE HANDS OF INCOMPETENT POLICE.

Racist POLICE. Over eager POLICE. Ill trained POLICE. Scared out of their freaking minds, POLICE.

I have the right to protest their incompetence.

“Hands up, don’t shoot” was me asking nicely.

“Black Lives Matter” was me asking politely.

I’m no longer asking.

“STOP KILLING BLACK PEOPLE!”

We have the right to remain alive.  

And we always did.

Dear Advertising

Dear advertising,

We are the industry that regularly hacks pop culture to sell products, change behaviors and influence lifestyles.

We are the industry that single handedly eliminated littering, made America buckle up, ended public cigarette smoking, registered millions of voters and drastically reduced the rate of drunk driving.

No other industry in America is better suited to develop a cure for the racism that currently has our country in crisis ... except for one small problem. Racism still plagues our industry.

In too many of our boardrooms, everyone looks the same. In too many of our TV commercials, everyone looks the same. Too often, open jobs are not made public, and are instead filled by friends of people, that look the same as those people. Too often, the best meaning people, are making closed minded decisions without the slightest hint they are doing something wrong. There is a spectrum of racism. Blatant hate is only one extreme side of that spectrum. But many times, racism is a glaring blind spot in perspective. And standing in that blind spot are millions of talented people of color.

George Floyd is the latest example of our long racist history as a country. He was killed after a policeman kneeled on his neck, with his full body weight, for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. That officer ignored his pleas of “I can’t breathe”, ignored his cries for help, ignored his gasps for air and eventually, ignored his limp, lifeless body beneath him. The spirit of racism that killed George Floyd, whether it was white supremacy, black hate, or a failure to acknowledge his humanity, is a cultural sickness that must be cured.

In the name of #GeorgeFloyd, I’m asking each advertising professional to take the challenge to help end racism in America, by helping to end it in our industry. This includes outing the bad apples, recruiting from new talent pools, diversifying staff and training that staff to be the culturally sensitive global citizens you already claim to be. If we end racism in our industry, we can definitely end it in America. #TakeTheChallenge

The Talented Others podcast: Episode One

Introducing the first episode of my podcast "Talented Others", a podcast aimed at shedding light on minorities in the advertising industry. This episode features John V. Seaton, an Executive Producer who entered advertising in the late 70's. Learn how he journeyed from picking cotton in the rural Jim Crow South, to thriving in an industry where few Black men had thrived before. From memorable Superbowl commercials to countless awards, we'll revisit the moments that make John, an advertising trailblazer.

Developing Hustle Muscles

"Some people want it to happen, some wish it would happen, others make it happen." — Michael Jordan

There's a frailty to every job, especially those in advertising. Downsizing, lost accounts, mergers, changes in client leadership — the forces effecting job security are numerous and ever changing. The same job that provides you with income, security, exposure and access to the biggest names and events in the business, can end with one impromptu HR meeting or company email.

It's heartbreaking, mind blowing, angering and seemingly unfair. If you've ever been a part of a mass layoff or seen it happen, chances are that memory, and the lesson that comes with it is tattooed to your soul. Nobody's job is safe, ever ever. So, what's the best way to prepare for the unpredictable? Start developing hustle muscles. 

If fast twitch muscles are responsible for you being fast, hustle muscles are responsible for your ability to hustle. We all have a primal urge to spot opportunity, but few have the strength to push themselves out of their comfort zones, relentlessly attacking and overpowering any obstacle standing in the way of their ultimate goal. That requires hustle muscles. When the checks stop rolling in, your hustle muscles fire out of reflex, survival. The goal is to develop and maintain that level of drive, even during prosperous times. Here are a few tips to help you develop your hustle muscles, so you can hustle harder. 

Redefine yourself. 

You are not your job. You are a collection of unique skills and expertise that can be applied anyway you see fit. Once you remove yourself from the tiny box of a job title, it opens up a world of opportunities in need of you. Think beyond a particular industry or a specific set of tasks. Your new title is opportunist. Each waking moment should be about pinpointing opportunities that allow you to display your various skills. 

Drive. 

Life has two modes, drive and cruise control. Drive has a specific destination in mind, while cruise control is mindless meandering. Set a goal and start driving yourself in that direction. Do something daily to take a step towards your ultimate goal. If you aren't tired when your head hits the pillow at night, mentally, physically or both, chances are you're in cruise control. 

Create Urgency.  

If there is no urgency in your life, create it. You know that book that you've been putting off writing for the last ten years, give yourself a hard six month deadline to finish it. You'll be surprised what happens. In 2004, at the Democratic National Convention, Senator Barack Obama delivered a critically acclaimed keynote address that let everyone know, he was a future presidential candidate. Rather than waiting eight to twelve years like most were advising, the senator ran for president and won in just four short years. How? Instead of waiting, he pushed up the deadline, which created urgency. Urgency forces you to maximize your time and effort. All good ideas have expiration dates, and all good ideas are being chased by better ideas. Activate your ideas as fast as you can in order for them to have maximum impact. 

Overreach. 

Every now and then you hear about some guy making some kind of crazy leap from ACD to Chief Digital Officer. Even better, you hear of some celebrity jumping from Hollywood to corporate America, as a Chief Creative Officer or Chief Futurist, for some major brand. In both scenarios, the sighs and eye rolls from the business world happen almost immediately. 

"They didn't deserve that." or "Titles don't mean anything anymore."

There's a name for these people, hustle haters. Never be afraid to overreach. The ability to sell yourself and your ultimate value is far more important than any title. Even if you fail at the position, you walk away with a victory in salesmanship. If you're exceptional at convincing others of your worth, you will always be able to create opportunities for yourself. 

Work your network. 

You're surrounded by all these amazing people doing amazing things and you're not even working the room? Reach out to your network. Find out what they're up to, who they know, who they can introduce you to. Remind them of who you are and what you have to offer. You'll be surprised how many jobs or business opportunities will appear, just by making yourself visible. 

Monetize your information.  

We've all connected a friend to another friend who was looking for a job, that's admirable. But there's another group of friends looking to use your introductions to complete business deals. Don't just pass over your business connections for free. Put yourself in the middle of the transaction. Don't just facilitate the meeting, help close the deal. Your time and connections are worth 10% if that deal goes through. Connect enough of the right people and you'll have a lot of easy money coming in. Analyze your network, pinpoint potential business partners and start brokering deals today. 

Consult. 

Most businesses don't understand advertising and can't afford to pay an ad agency that does. But guess what, they can afford to pay you. Negotiate for your expertise. Consult, direct projects and create decks for these clients. It's an easy way to use your experience and a great way to build new relationships.

Also, the digital age has ushered in a new generation of entrepreneurs. Startups often need help presenting their businesses to get funding, or consultation on how to market their new businesses. Tap in to this network. Your experience and connections are invaluable to these new companies. 

Create something. 

Some of us have a great business idea we should be creating. For the rest of us, we at least have computers and cameras. We have blogs. We have Youtube, Instagram and Vine. Start creating something. You never know if your blog or video will blow up. But I do know, if it does, there's money to be made — millions of advertising dollars. So create something, grow it, make it special, make people want more of it. If you do it successfully, opportunities to monetize it will appear almost immediately. 

Hopefully your hustle muscles are twitching now. This isn't a worst case scenario blog about what to do in case you get laid off. This is about changing your outlook about yourself and your worth. This is about maximizing your talents and experience. This is about learning to monetize your countless assets. It's okay to hustle, with or without a job. By the way, I didn't just write this for you, I wrote this for myself, as a reminder. 

Don't just hustle, hustle harder. One luv. 

The Day I Almost Quit Advertising

In advertising, anytime you enter a client meeting you arm yourself with weapons — a sound strategy, research, good creative and a very informed perspective. In other words, you walk in like a detective at a drug bust, a big ass loaded gun in your hand, another in the small of your back and plenty of extra ammo ... just in case all hell breaks loose. 

Ten years ago, I was in a client meeting when all hell broke loose.  And no, this wasn't your garden variety bad client meeting. There were no tech glitches or typos. We weren't over budget nor had we drifted off strategy. This meeting went awry for more complex reasons — race and cultural bias.   

It was the day before the commercial shoot. The project was a simple lifestyle commercial, showing the range of activities in the lives of a young, active couple. This general market TV spot would feature African-Americans as the lead actors. In theory, general market means, all those showing interest in a product, who also have the means to purchase it. That's in theory.

In reality, general market is code word for cast it with white talent. However, when marketers actually use diverse talent in their general market work, the responsibility for who that talent is, and how that talent will be depicted, falls on the hands of the agency creating the commercial and the client approving it. So overwhelmingly, depictions of diverse people are made in boardrooms void of diversity.  

Now, this is where it gets tricky. What happens when you inject diversity into one of those boardrooms? What happens when your depiction of diverse talent collides with your client's? What happens when your wardrobe, location and music choices start to feel, culturally authentic, rather than generic? What happens when your general market commercial stops being vanilla? Well, as I found out on this project, you run the risk of your client feeling your commercial is "too Black." 

Cut to my pre-production meeting in L.A. In another city, on the conference call, is my client. After wrapping up the presentation of the pre-pro book, a fervid voice came screaming through the speaker. It was my client, letting me know we had moonwalked all over her threshold for Blackness, and in turn, transformed her perfectly good general market commercial, into an unacceptable Black one.

"Why is he soooo black?" (in reference to this actor) 

"I can only see his eyes and teeth"  (in reference to his skin complexion)

"Is this really the music? It's soooo black!" (in reference to the recommended song )

"Guys, this is a general market commercial, not some little BET spot! Start acting like my general market agency!" 

Of all the insensitive things said that day, and believe me, there were many, the last quote was the one that truly hurt. You could argue, the other comments could at least be dismissed as ignorant, uninformed, in poor taste and individual in nature. But that last quote?

"Guys, this is a general market commercial, not some little BET spot! Start acting like my general market agency!" 

That quote reeked of privilege, discrimination and institutional racism. That quote wasn't indicative of an individual, but of an organization, of a community, of an industry. In this candid moment, one of the most powerful marketers in the land was admitting "Black commercials" were inferior in her eyes, and it was important her commercial didn't become one. Clients often disagree with creative choices. But this was the first time those choices had specifically been called out for being too Black. After that meeting, I was hurt. I was angry. And most of all, I was convinced, I had worked my last day in advertising. 

Fortunately enough for me, I was raised by pre-Civil Rights parents, parents who overcame the Jim Crow South. They didn't prepare me for an ideal world, they prepared me for the world they grew up in. My daily lessons were about competing, working hard, exhibiting excellence, respecting people, never forgetting where I came from and not letting anyone or anything steal my sense of racial pride.

Looking back, my entire life I was being groomed to embrace the responsibility of being the only Black guy in the room. That's who my Dad was for most of his 40 plus years as an agency producer. I watched him navigate the industry, build great relationships and create timeless work. And there was no way I could expect to follow in his path without facing all of the same challenges he did.  

In the end, I didn't quit advertising. I finished the spot, it tested well and I moved on. Yeah, I'm still here, different agency, different clients, same age old problems. So what does it all mean? 

It means I'm worried.

Although that meeting was an anomaly, the opinions and biases expressed were not. I'm worried because I still have twenty plus years to navigate in an industry that continues to hold on to antiquated notions about who works on what — notions that attempt to stereotype the capabilities of Black creatives, directors, editors, musicians and stylists. I'm worried because I don't see any pipelines being developed to recruit, develop or promote the current generation of minority talent, let alone the next one.

I'm worried because at least once a month, some young Black kid finds me online. They find me because I look like them, because they view me as someone who made it in this industry, which means maybe they can make it too. I'm worried those kids will be entering an industry, that thinks it's ok to question what's too Black, while never stopping to question the larger more prominent issue ... what's too white? One luv. 

Innocence Lost

I'm thinking about children.

My parents were six years old In 1955. That's the same year a fourteen year old Black boy named Emmitt Till was pulled from his relative's home in Mississippi, by white men. Those men, fueled by anger and racism, kidnapped young Emmitt –  brutalized him, tortured him, mutilated him, maimed him, murdered him and sank him to the bottom of a pond to rot forever. Emmitt lost his life that summer and my young parents lost their innocence. By the time Emmitt's mom laid him to rest in an open casket, with his grotesque body on display for all to see, the world had changed for an entire generation of young Black children. Their hearts had been filled with fear, their self-image had been attacked and the sharp edge of society's rage had pierced their hearts and left a festering wound, deep in their memories. The murder of Michael Brown may leave a similar wound in the memories of your children.  

I'm thinking about parents. 

Parents strive for one common goal, for their children to have it better than they had it – a better education, a better home, a better community, a better life, in a better world. Michael Brown's parents held this goal sacred as well, until it was shattered by bullets fired by a police officer, aiming at their unarmed son. Now parents all over the nation are being forced to sit down with their own children, to explain this senseless loss of life and the chaotic aftermath, it has spawned. These conversations are awkward and heartbreaking. Parents of all races are discussing old realities with their children – racism, civil rights, American history, police brutality and believe it or not, survival. Yes, Black parents are being forced to teach an added lesson, "what to do if stopped by the police." As these parents struggle to find the words, they do so accepting the alarming notion that the world their children are growing up in, might not be any better than the one they grew up in. In fact, it may be worse. 

I'm thinking about social media.

You think you know people. Actually, a more accurate statement is we never give much thought to who we think we know. We simply know them – from work, from school, through friends, family or acquaintances. There's a false sense of security that comes with a familiar face or name. You innocently associate them with other familiar faces and names of people you actually know well. So you follow them on Twitter, you connect on LinkedIn, you friend them on Facebook. Then a tragedy happens, like Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Ezell Ford or Michael Brown. When these stories, loaded with social and racial context, begin to dominate the news, the conversation steeps over into social media. People begin to speak, emote and reveal themselves and their deep hearted views. Some do so boldy, while others take a more subtle approach, simply liking or retweeting views that line up with theirs. Regardless, a social footprint is left and a stance is taken for the world to see. These stances often lead to arguments, grudges, unfriending people you thought you knew, and becoming leery of learning the views of those you know you don't know. Regardless of your views, your social media experience has been changed forever.  

I'm thinking about my own innocence.

The loss of innocence is equal parts eye-opening and heartbreaking. You mourn the illusion of simplicity and perfection that was never really sustainable anyway. Meanwhile, you gain the experience of dealing with pain and healing yourself, while learning to prepare for more of it. I lost my innocence when I learned about slavery as a really young child, sitting with my parents watching the mini-series Roots. It was a jarring blow for my young delicate mind. But with that blow came my sense of racial pride and an urgency to learn not only about our struggle but our triumphs. That loss of innocence changed me forever, for the better. Other memorable moments of innocence lost include the Atlanta Child Murders. the first time someone screamed "nigger" from a passing car and the murder of Yusef Hawkins. These were the moments from childhood that forced me to deal with a new reality, develop a more acute awareness of my surroundings and prepare myself for the threats it held. Not only did my emotional stability depend on it, so did my life, so much so that I wonder if I'd even be here had those moments not happened. 

Innocence is overrated, and the mistake isn't in losing it, but in guarding it to begin with. Too many of us shape our perspectives based on ideals and fantasies about how we wish the world could be. But by guarding ourselves from the cruelty and pain that exists beyond our own version of reality, not only do we deny our own human struggle, we deny everyone else's. We also deny the real work that needs to be done to achieve our ideal world. Our world is in chaos, from Ferguson to the Gaza Strip, from Mexico to the Congo. And the residue of this chaos has a way of showing up on your front door, when you least expect it. You should be reading and gathering information with such urgency that your fears, ignorance and misconceptions are confronted daily. You should be sharing information. You should be having uncomfortable conversations with people, in person and even on social media. And most importantly, you should be talking to your children. 

Your children are the next generation of Darren Wilsons and Michael Browns. How they interact in the future, what roles they play in each other's lives and through what eyes they see each other will depend on what you're saying or not saying today. Open your mouth, they deserve a lot more from you, than i̶n̶n̶o̶c̶e̶n̶c̶e̶ ignorance. One luv. 

The Never-ending Debt Called Home

I've spent my entire life traveling back and forth to Mississippi. No, I'm not from there. But as my parents always told me, that's Home. They were born there, as were their parents before them, their parents before them and so on. At an early age the notion of Home was embedded in them, like a chip, and they embedded it in me. The small towns. The farm to table meals. The mosquitoes. The dirt broke economy. The highways, 61, 82,45. The community. The struggle for equality. That's Home. Our house and the city where my parents actually made a living was in St. Louis. Yet, we called another place Home. Three day weekend? We went Home. Summertime? We went Home. Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, family vacation? Whenever it was remotely possible to go there, we went there – Home. 

Home isn't always where you live and sometimes it's not even where you're from. I think Home is a place you feel you owe a debt. Anytime a community births you, builds you or boosts you to higher heights, you undoubtedly feel some sense of gratitude and debt. That's why you go back. Sure, our trips Home were about reconnecting, fellowshipping with family and embracing familiar faces. But those trips were also about more than that. They were also about helping out – moving chairs across town, helping to paint a school, gutting someone's burned down house, sending food in preparation of a funeral, etc. And in instances when someone was down on their luck, I distinctly recall standing in the distance, unable to hear the depths of the conversation, but watching intently as one of my parents slipped someone some cash on the humble. That wasn't about an individual relationship, as much as a small attempt to payback the wealth of influence a community has had on your life.

"I want kids in Northeast Ohio, like the hundreds of Akron third-graders I sponsor through my foundation, to realize that there’s no better place to grow up. Maybe some of them will come home after college and start a family or open a business. That would make me smile." - Lebron James

Undoubtedly, the more successful you are, the more it means to people when you return Home. There's a huge difference between going Home to get back up on your feet, and returning Home having done your community proud. At my grandparent's houses, when the family went Home, there was a large collection of new cars with Northern license plates lined up out front. To the natives walking by, it was like seeing their own return hoisting championship banners. People they had grown up with had left for the "big" city and conquered it. They had carved out a better life for themselves and their families. There was real interest in the many different routes they had taken to achieve that success. And make no mistake, that success gave those who remained hope. If the very people they had grown up with had made it, so could they, whether they ever left Home or not. The living example stood right before them, they too could be champions.

Recently, the world's best basketball player shunned an opportunity to continue living in the glitz and glamour of Miami, to return Home. Almost immediately I saw cynical reactions. "Cleveland?" "Who moves from Miami to Cleveland?" "Lebron is dumb, that makes no sense." I found those comments and many like them superficial, short sided and very reflective of people who don't understand the meaning of Home. Like my parent's before me, I too have made many sacrifices for Home. Not only am I connected to my family's ancestral home of Mississippi, I'm also connected to the place I grew up, St. Louis. I've never lived there as an adult. College, post grad and my career in corporate America have all taken me on a journey away from Home. But as I watched co-workers take exotic island or European trips over the years, I was constantly stacking my precious vacation days to simply return Home. For me, I was sacrificing the world for my world. You can't put a price on attending a wedding, funeral, family/class reunion, Thanksgiving dinner – play time with the next generation of cousins or driving a half hour past a thousand barber shops just to pull up to one owned by family. These things are priceless. 

I'm not saying don't travel. Travel opens the mind and changes the perceptions we have of the world, and often, that the world has of us. As ambassadors of Home, we owe it to ourselves to touch as many different people and places as we can. It's important the lasting views of those who come in contact with us spread and add substance to the narrative surrounding Home. After spending nine and a half years in Michigan, I consider Detroit my second Home. I entered that place with an outsider's perception, one based mostly on stereotypes and generalizations. But the countless Detroiters I interacted with intimately, made sure I saw it as something more than a city full of flaws. They made sure my eyes were open to the beauty of what it truly was – Home. 

Maybe it's time we start to challenge our perspectives. Superstars like Lebron James aren't just superstars. They're real people who come from real places. And communities like Cleveland and Akron aren't just non-glamorous cities. They're Home for a lot of smart, talented, good people. This story is far beyond basketball, this is about Home. And Home comes in a lot of different forms for a lot of different people. So instead of criticizing people who live in front of cameras, it's time to start focusing on those who don't. It's time you start asking, what are you doing for Home? What influence are you having on the people there? What connections are you keeping alive and strengthening? When is the last time you slid Home a helping hand on the humble? Lebron is returning Home a champion, fully dedicated to repaying his debt. The real question is, are you? One luv. 

To N Or Not To N: The N-Word Dilemma

"I use the n-word. I'm going to continue to use the n-word with my black friends, with my white friends. They are my friends." – Charles Barkley

Summer of 1976, I was three years old. We owned an orange VW Bug and it was nothing for me to crawl into the passenger seat of that car for a quick trip around town. Yes, I said passenger seat. In the era of love, peace and afro sheen, child seats were considered more of a hassle than an asset. So away I went, standing on the seat, holding the overhead handle as tight as I could, with one simple instruction – DON'T LET GO! And when I wasn't standing up on the seat, I was sitting in my mother's lap or stretched out across the backseat aimlessly napping, all without a seat belt. Ignorant? Careless? Barbaric? Maybe. But I'll offer another word, normal. This, my friends, is what parenting and car travel looked liked in 1976. Nobody was wearing seat belts and little kids, we were literally holding on for dear life. It took years of deaths, pain and an abundance of education for society to reevaluate the cultural norm and eventually embrace a better way. Once we knew better, we did better. I think the same is true with the use of the n-word.

There was a moment in the Black American narrative when the n-word felt like bricks hurled in the wind from every direction – a constant barrage of oppressive rage, striking our spirits and damaging our psyche. We shielded ourselves with all the strength and pride we could muster and still, it didn't feel like enough. Then the miraculous happened, we took ownership of the word. Suddenly, the common Black person, no matter how poor and uneducated they were, had an ingenious response for their oppressive society. Yeah Mr. Oppressor, we are niggers! Poor niggers, beautiful niggers, hip niggers, talented niggers, dancing and prancing niggers, prideful niggers, loving niggers, ball playing niggers, progressive niggers, revolutionary niggers. We're fried chicken eating niggers, niggers with doo-rags, niggers in Cadillacs, niggers with guns – niggers who are here to stay no matter what you do, no matter what you call us. That my friends was a powerful moment. Nigger/nigga became the rallying cry for disenfranchised people who wanted the world to know those words would not break them. Your words will not reduce my humanity. I am not what you think of me, I am more. 

The n-word is a powerful symbol, of racism and of the ingenious way people survived it. However, today the use of the word runs rampant throughout society, void of context. All races, religions and nationalities use it. It's often used as an exclamation, as a slur or as thoughtless slang.  The best case study for the word is to go on Twitter and type in either nigger or nigga. Sit back for a second. Scroll through the scribes. Notice the comfort with which it's spewed publicly. Notice the races of the faces. Notice their ages. Notice their total disregard for history and the naivety with which they embrace the word. There's a term for what you'll notice. It's not rebellious or powerful, it's just blatant ignorance.

At 21, I said the n-word all the time. I was young, naive and rebellious. I had a strong sense of history given to me by my elders. I even minored in African American studies in college and guess what, I still said the n-word. It was my word and no one could convince me otherwise. Oh, to be young. At 40, I'm of a different opinion. The years have taught me that black and white are seductive colors, but most issues exist with a shade of gray. The n-word is no different. I no longer use the word because I don't need to. I have other words that better articulate who I am. I have a greater appreciation for the struggle of Blacks from previous eras. I have a positive view of myself and other Black people, so I choose to refer to them in a more positive way. Also, I no longer live in Black isolation. I'm surrounded by all types of different people. To constantly use that word, might send them the confusing message that I feel it is okay for them to say it. Sorry homies, it is not.

I've made my peace with the n-word. I don't say it, but I'm not here to police who does or doesn't use it. I think the n-word is for people who are finding themselves. It's for the voiceless people who can't fully articulate their message, but need to be heard. It's for uneducated people who have to pass through a period of ignorance until they know their history and find their fully evolved selves. It's for provocative artists who can inject satire and irony into the word providing us with a startling reminder of its past. It's even for racists, to use so they can be identified as such and deal with those consequences. It just isn't for me, or any adult Black person with an education, a job or one iota of racial pride. That means you Charles Barkley, Mike Wilbon and all the rest of you publicly defending the n-word. At your stature in life, with your money, education and media platforms, defending the n-word is like defending allowing your three year old to ride around in the front seat of your car. You know better. And it's about time you start speaking like it. One luv.