FIVE THINGS (I NOW REALISE) I LEARNED FROM DAVID ABBOTT.

David hired Mary Wear and myself back in 1995.

We had the honour of being the last creative team he ever hired.

In the time we spent with him we did some of our best work.

And learned many things.

Stuff that, only on reflection since his death two days ago, I realise has had a huge effect on me.

These are a few that spring to my, rather sad, mind:

1. Only work with great people.

Every single member of David’s creative department was so good and so experienced they could have run departments in their own rights. 

That allowed David to relax and in effect just say yes or no (usually yes) to the greatness that his teams produced, thereby giving him the space to run the business and write the occasional ad.

He also wasn’t afraid to work with big characters.

Clearly a glutton for punishment, he’d worked with one of the biggest, my father Ron, twice in the past. First at DDB, and then to be his art director at his first agency French Gold Abbott. 

To be one of the few people to have successfully wrangled my old man deserves a place in history all of its own.

2. Creative people can run successful companies.

In an industry that’s infamous for seeing founding creative partners ousted from their own agencies David’s power and influence was unheard of. 

When Mary and I got to AMV he was Creative Director, Chairman of the agency and Chairman of the PLC board.

Years earlier, when DDB was at its ‘Mad Men’ prime, he was both the agency’s Creative Director and Managing Director.

You don’t keep roles like those for long if you don’t know what you’re doing.

3. Start a business with brilliant friends.

I could never get over the love David and Peter Mead had for each other.  

Love borne out of respect for each other that meant they could relax and get on with their jobs knowing they had each others’ backs and wouldn’t fall victim of boardroom politics.

4. Have the courage to leave your comfort zone.

To be honest, when Mary and I were asked to go to AMV we had to think twice.

The agency had always done lovely work, but for us the place had an aura of middle class gentleness about it. (Unsurprising bearing in mind who ran the place.)

But what made up our minds to go was the existence in his creative department of Tom Carty and Walter Campbell.

David had backed them when they wanted to work with the, at the time, black-balled Tony Kaye, and had approved what is, to this day, the most bonkers (and seminal) piece of advertising ever: Dunlop’s ‘Unexpected’.

And that belief in and support of Tom and Walter led to them producing work that changed AMV's reputation of being the best print agency in London to being the best TV agency in London.

5. Keep your word.

You could never accuse David of being flaky.

He made a point of following through on his promises.

Even when that included leaving the very agency he helped found.

For years he told everyone he planned to retire by his 60^th birthday. 

True to form he waved an elegant goodbye to us all two days before the event.

I never told David how much I learned from him.

So, in his leaving us I have learned another lesson: 

Don’t wait til it’s too late to thank someone for having a profound effect on your life.

THE CONFESSIONS OF A TRAINER ADDICT.

I admit it.

I have a problem.

It all started back in 1995 when I clapped eyes, and feet, on Nike’s newest iteration of their famous Air Max running shoe.

You’ll know them. 

The ones with the black/neon yellow/white colourway with graduated suede panels and nylon mesh and 3M reflective strips, coloured visible air-units with PSI pressure reading and speed-lacing system with high density mesh eyelets.

To this day considered by many to be the best trainer ever made, they were a technological marvel, a design masterpiece and comfy as hell.

Moreover they succeeded in hooking me, and numerous other poor sods like me, into a world from which there’s no return.

These were by no means the first trainers I’d owned. 

I’d had many pairs of Vans in the past. 

But those Nikes marked the first time I’d not worn a pair of shoes til they plain wore out.

They become the the first pair of what would end up as ‘a collection’.

More specifically, a Nike collection.

(I do actually own a pair of Reebok Pumps, the result of an early bit of experimentation, but they rarely see the light of day.)

My desire ignited by these neon masterpieces, I soon found myself making regular trips to the newly opened Nike Town on Oxford Circus.

When I’d exhausted their selection I ended up skulking round back alleys of soho looking for limited edition releases in the exclusive and highly priced trainer boutiques.

New colourways and fabric versions were purchased as a matter of course.

Business trips to the States took on a new exciting angle. Would the Nike Town on East 57th Street have a slightly different selection to its European counterpart?

Then, in 1997 my first child was born. 

I was forced to temper my purchases. Funds became rather annoyingly re-directed towards less important things like nappies and babygrows. 

More practically, a new baby meant I no longer had the time needed to cruise the shops to snap up any new releases.

But just when I thought I’d got out, those pushers in Portland pulled me back in.

Nike created the most amazing web utility the world has ever seen: Nike ID.

The opportunity to create a totally bespoke, utterly unique pair of Nikes was irresistible. 

I indulged myself whole-heartedly.

Throughout all this, I felt I’d avoided ‘going overboard’ by not keeping my shoes in their boxes like many sneakerheads, who end up annexing spare rooms or renting lock-ups for their stockpiles. 

No, I just kept mine stashed around the house. 

And basement.

Eventually I was forced to face my problem when my wife and son staged an intervention.

I came home to find they’d gathered every pair of shoes I owned and lined them up. The line stretched all the way from the front of the house to the back.

But far from halting my habit, this action, combined with the fact that we had actually run out of storage space at home, just prompted me to 'go underground'. I vowed from then on to keep all new purchases at the office.

There is, however, a line I just won’t cross. 

I absolutely refuse to queue for days like the many other trainerholics you can often see filling the pavements for days outside the likes of Nike’s 1948 in Shoreditch or Soho’s Foot Patrol. 

I must confess however I have found myself counting down the seconds at my computer waiting for the ‘one minute past midnight’ online release of certain pairs.

The sneaker bloggers haven’t helped matters. 

They’re busy whipping up a frenzy of excitement for addicts with their sneak previews, sometimes months ahead of their actual release date, documenting in minute detail every mouth-watering new innovation. 

And there’s always a steady stream of those. 

In recent months alone Nike has given us woven shoes, knitted shoes and a pair made out of cork.

They have a name for these: Quick Strikes or QSs. Released in tiny numbers. They go for 300% of their initial cost on eBay almost immediately.

Relatively recently, a new and shockingly powerful tool has emerged to help those pushers tantalise their prey.

Instagram has led to photos of new shoes being pumped straight to addicts’ eyeballs the precise second each new pair is exposed to the world.

The numbers are astonishing. 

The feed of trainer blog The Drop Date for example is being followed by 3,000 people. 

Soho boutique Foot Patrol has 7,000 followers. 

As does Nike’s 1948 space in Shoreditch. 

Crooked Tongues has 9,000. Sneakerfreaker 10,000. 

Daily sole 11, 000. 

And Nike’s hidden-away New York store 21 Mercer has 42,000 people hanging on their every shot. 

And then it starts getting scary. 

Kicks On Fire has 238,000 followers. 

Nice Kicks has 530,000. 

And the almighty Sneaker News, 746, 000. 

There is one thing about these bonkers statistics I find comforting however.

They prove quite conclusively that I’m not alone.

They also prove that this kind of habit isn’t simply a fashion thing.

It’s more profound than that.

Is it about a love of design?

Of technology? 

Of innovation?

Or perhaps it stems from something more deep-seated than that? 

Satiating some fundamental deep human need?

Perhaps.

But I’m fucked if I know.

Look at what they make you give.

This week a creative team in India was fired for creating and publicising some ads they’d done for their client, Ford.

They weren’t fired because their ads were bad. And they were. Terribly.

They were fired because they’d released them to the press without them having run, or, allegedly, without their client even being aware of them. And these facts meant that when the world complained about how offensive it found them, the client was able to point the finger back at the agency who in turn poked its finger straight into the creatives' eyes.

Before the shit hit the fan they must have felt very pleased.

They’d managed to get the ads ‘out’ just before the Cannes entry deadline.

And anyone whose ever worked in the creative department of a network agency knows just how important that is.

Since the launch of the Gunn Report in 1999 being seen at the top of its agency list has become  an obsession for agency networks communications 

The holding companies see the Gunn Report as an empirical means to quantify their creativity.

They task their agency networks with winning awards.

Who bonus their global creative directors to win awards.

Who pressurise their regional creative directors to win awards.

Who end up pressuring their creative departments to win awards.

The emerging markets are especially susceptible to all this pressure. Awards propel their people and agencies onto a global stage and gain the much needed attention of their network paymasters.

The Cannes awards are famous for being populated with scam ads. 

(The Cannes juries are famous for being populated with cheats. This year they’ve announced they are reviewing they judging procedure to stop cheating.)

Creatives have had to master the art of coming up with ads, finding photographers or directors to make them and finding clients to run them.

In their desperation to win they can sometimes lose their way and take short-cuts. 

Like these poor guys in India.

There’s a line in The Bourne Identity where a hit-man who’s tried and failed to kill Jason Bourne lies dying and says to Bourne: “Look. Look what they make you give.”

You’ve got to feel for those guys in JWT India.

They’re told to win awards at all costs.

And these poor sods paid the ultimate price.

The future is here. For a while.

Here’s a scary thought.

Anyone under 15 can’t remember dial-up internet. (Those long hours spent trying to download anything accompanied only by the brrr-brrr-ting-ting-ting-ting of the modem plugged into the phone socket.)

Anyone under 10 can’t remember life without 3G. (That dream that one day we’d be able to access internet and email on our phones, to be set free from our offices and work anywhere at any time.)

Anyone born after next year won’t remember life without 4G. (“Daddy, in the old days, did you really have to wait to download films on your phone?” “Mummy, what’s ‘buffering’?”)

Yes, for all their amazingness, our phones, with the 3G that we adored so much only a few short years back, will soon seem like the equivalent of a black and white TV with a crappy aerial you have to tweak to get a decent picture.

Today EE introduced 4G to the UK. (That’s a lot of acronyms in that there sentence.)

We were treated to demonstrations of its speed in comparison to 3G. 

And it is indeed much faster.

Sodding fast in fact.

The other networks of course were swift to point out that what EE have isn't really ‘the best kind of 4G’ and that theirs will be even more sodding fast when they launch next year.

Whatever.

Today was a momentous day.

One which means that soon enough, like always happens when new technology is introduced that truly supersedes the old, we’ll forget just how amazing what we have now is, just how lucky we are to have it, and life will become 'un-livable' without something we couldn’t even imagine we’d need or might even exist only a few weeks earlier.

And we'll love it. And cherish it. And value it.

Right up until 5G comes along...

"I MEAN, WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO START YOUR OWN BUSINESS ANYWAY?"

Words said to Richard and I soon after we resigned from our last jobs.

Interestingly the person who said them was someone who’d started their own, not unsuccessful business.

But he did have a point.

I mean, as jobs go, they didn’t come much better. 

We were earning a decent living. We’d had a great run at RKCR: Top of the new business league. Top awarded agency in the UK.

And it was also true that the economy was not in the best of health. 

So what the hell would induce us to want to jump out of a safe, secure, corporate job into that maelstrom of the unknown that is entrepreneurship.

Everyone has their own reasons, but in taking the above question seriously a few answers came to mind. Answers which still held true nine months later when we were finally contractually allowed to open our doors.

First, I felt ready.

Ready to put into practice what I’d learned over the last 26 years. I’ve worked for some amazing people in some amazing companies, and throughout that time I’ve attempted to assimilate the good bits whilst learning from the bad.

Sure, you don’t need 26 years experience to start your own business. But if I were a client I’d like to know that the people I’m working with are not just able to do funky, cool, creative things, but also understand the commercial imperatives, having come across, and solved, a load of business problems comparable to mine. And also that they’ve done enough good work and won enough awards to have got glory hunting out of their system, whilst still staying passionate about the value top quality creativity can add to their business.

Second, and probably most importantly, I’d found a kindred spirit.

In Mr Exon was a like-minded soul also chomping at the bit to do his own thing. And that, I can tell you, is a rare and beautiful thing to find.

Another thing I realised during my contemplation: everyone I truly respect has started their own business.

Dave Trott, Paul Arden, Maurice and Charles Saatchi, David Abbott, Frank Lowe, Robert Saville, Mark Roalfe. And those are only the people I’ve worked for. In the little old world of advertising. The list outside those small confines goes on and on.

There’s something brave and special about what these people did. They didn’t start up for the money. They did it because they felt they ‘just had to’. Most had become too big a character to live in captivity. Their vision and ambition outgrowing that of the organisations they were working for. Their personal happiness, not merely their wealth, depended on their starting their own business.

I know myself well enough to realise that if I didn’t at least give doing my own thing a go I’d end up respecting myself just a little bit less.

A few more reasons:

The world of communications is more exciting now than ever before. Technology has unleashed upon the world wave upon wave of inspiring startups in all manner of spheres.

Over the years I’ve become obsessed with tech and the increasing part it’s playing in everyone’s lives. For me the opportunity to meaningfully partner and collaborate with some of the most amazing experts in their field was becoming overpowering.

I began to feel the need to create something. Something special. Something I can look at in years to come and be proud that I helped create it. Something that doesn’t just have value, but that is valuable. 

Finally, someone once gave me some advice about starting your own business: if you don’t really, really want to do it, for God’s sake don’t. 

And I guess that was the clincher. I really, really do.

WHY RIGHT NOW IS SO GODDAMM AWESOME

My father was in advertising.

And when my son Felix was born 14 years ago people asked me whether I wanted him to go into the same business too.

My answer at that time was ‘probably not’.

I didn’t want to appear churlish; I enjoyed what I was doing. It was very interesting.

It’s just that it didn’t look like it was going to get any more interesting than it already was.

We’d worked with the same tools for years: press, posters, TV cinema and radio. It felt like the future was going to be more of the same. That every ad had been done. And that we were simply rearranging Lego blocks to make slightly different objects.

Scarily too, the real innovation through that period was to be found in the research companies.

They’d spent their time building up a deep understanding of the consumer and a set of metrics that meant people felt they could use a formula to create ads to sell to them.

It seemed like this conventional wisdom would only ever lead to conventional work.

Then along came an oddly named company called Google.

And soon after that something called YouTube.

Then Facebook.

And Twitter.

These things were all awesome. But not really mainstream. 

At this time there was a sub culture of cool, ‘in the know’ technorati who inhabited this murky, other-world called ‘digital’ and who all understood what the majority didn’t. The early adopters.

And there were some incredibly enlightened people in advertising companies trying to explain to marketers how the world had changed and this new stuff was going to revolutionise everything.


But they were fighting a primarily uphill battle. In the margins. With only a sliver of a budget. 

Then the gods of technology gave us 3G!

And the iPhone.

And the app store.

And boom!

The ‘late adopters’ began to play with digital things.

And love the experience.

The marketers began to pull at their agencies rather than be pushed by them.

They began to insist on innovative, creative answers to their problems using new technologies and the behaviours associated with them.

Things that had never been done before.

Until now, every day sees new technologies and platforms that offer marketers and their communications partners new ways to flex their creative muscle and delight their users.

Indeed, they have to do that. Because their consumer is now a communications expert.

Everyone is. Everyone who has a smart phone. Or a computer.

Communications today is all pervasive.

It's so much more than advertising. 


It affects everything everyone does. 

It’s the one thing that connects the whole world. 

And it’s constantly changing.

And, ergo, changing the world.

So now, when people ask me if I would be happy if my kids to go into the same industry I’m in, guess what I say?

CANNES. TWINNED WITH AUSTIN, TEXAS?

Since returning from the South By South West Interactive Festival last month a few people have told me they didn’t bother going all the way to Austin because they’re planning on going to Cannes, “and they’re basically the same kind of thing really aren’t they?”.

To me the two entities seemed so wildly different these comments appeared misguided to say the least. 

These people turned out not to have actually been to both, but perhaps the subject matter alone might have given a bit of a clue: Cannes, despite having changed its name to The Festival of Creativity is basically about advertising, whilst SXSWi is basically about stuff you can do and make in the digital realm.

However, when you set aside the cost of a delegates pass (£2400 for The Cannes Festival of Creativity / £370 for SXSW), the accommodation (The Ritz Carlton on Le Croissette / The Holiday Inn, Downtown) and the locals (Ferrari driving playboys in Cannes / Harley riding bikers in Austin) you know what? There are plenty of similarities.

They both have seminars and panels.

Cannes has around 60 events. Clients, agencies and production companies discuss case studies and talk about valuable lessons learned.

SXSW has around 2000 events. Philosophers, journalists, designers, neuro scientists, TV stars, writers, buddhist monks talk about how the world is evolving due of technology and how human beings are evolving in turn.

They both have awards ceremonies. 

At Cannes, for those who have managed to blag a delegates pass or are sober enough to pick theirs up, these are the highlights of the week: the fruits of the hardworking jurors labours. They offer the opportunity to view winning work, and boo the winning creatives on their way to the podium.

The prize giving in Austin is a little different. It’s on the last night, tucked away in one of the many event venues. No one really knows it exists. Indeed there’s no guarantee the winners will bother turning up. The recognition that comes from winning things isn't why they’re there.

They both have exhibitions.

In the basement of the Palais de Festivals are laid out all the entries the Cannes juries have deemed worthy of awards and commendations.

In two massive hangar like spaces at SXSW are demonstrated all the apps and games that will be changing the world over the coming months. (Things like the next Twitter or Foursquare, both of which were originally launched there.)

They both offer excellent networking opportunities.

Cannes allows creatives from agencies all over the world to meet with old friends, make new ones, and, with a bit of luck, get offered their next job.

SXSW allows entrepreneurs who have an idea, but no financial backing or partners, the exposure to potential investors and tech businesses that could make their baby fly.

Yes. There are many similarities. 

But there is one big difference.

The look in peoples’ eyes.

Most of the Cannes-ites are in relaxation mode. When they’re not lying by the pool at their agency’s villa or playing golf, they’re having lunch. Or dinner. Or cocktails. For the Cannes ad fraternity business and pleasure do mix.

The only people with a slightly predatory stare are the ones who believe they’ve done a piece of work that year that might just sneak a Lion.

The Cannes festival is all about celebrating the past year’s greatness. Looking back on the best work the world has produced and giving credit to the craftsmen behind it.

The SXSW-ers on the other hand are far from relaxed. 

They couldn’t give a flying fuck about the past. Last year? Pah! This morning was decades ago. These are serious business people, most of them have their livelihoods on the line, having brought to life some idea or other with nothing but sweat and code. They have a look of controlled panic in their eyes as they rush from panel to panel (there are a lot of them remember) desperate to learn where’s next in tech and human behaviour, how they can add value to their existing products, how they can make new ones and, and hopefully, how they can make a bit of money. 

They may take a few hours off to relax as the night draws on. Once they’ve filed their blogs, fixed a few bugs and gathered as many business cards as their wallets can carry.

These guys'll will celebrate when they fulfil their dream. When their business takes off. When they make their first billion.

If you haven’t been to both Cannes and SXSW you should. 

If only to experience the contrast.

For all their similarities they really are two wonderfully different worlds.