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.