Monday, 12 December 2011
Things I don't want from an agency
My fellow marketing professionals, I am about to say something profoundly surprising.
Sometimes, being offered more than you asked for is not a good thing.
Obviously, this isn't the case with the following: hookers, strippers, booze, cars, houses, wanks, chocolates, cheese balls, plane tickets to Bangkok, burgers, baltis, Pot Noodles, staplers, PowerPoint slides written by me, nine-egg breakfast omelettes, telescopes, butter, lube, weaponry or porn.
That's just plain common sense. A child would know that.
But when an advertising agency is offering anything other than advertising, you have to fight your instinct to get free shit and resist. Because what they offer is largely as useful as bacon at a bar mitzvah.
Here's the 'added value' they try to flog you. Don't buy it.
When an agency offers you research, what they're actually offering you is justification for their shitbrain, cowspunk, sexwater ideas - and they want you to pay for it.
Here's what happens. The agency gathers a bunch of people with no minds and puts them in a room with a low ceiling and a mirror. You sit behind the mirror and spy on them while they answer questions about the agency's ideas. They respond with answers that defy belief, logic, understanding and purpose.
Two weeks later, you get a report with lots of bar charts, graphs and a summary page that says, 'THEY LOVE THE IDEAS!' in 72-point type. In red. You also get a bill the size of my ballbag. (I have a fucking monster of a ballbag.)
2. A Christmas film
Oooh! An email from the agency! I wonder what they wa....oh. Oh, fuck. Fuck off. Oh, Jesus fucking wept - they've made the receptionist put on a sexy Santa outfit and they're all singing 'All I Want For Christmas Is A Smooth Delivery Of Integrated Brand Communications' and the MD has begrudgingly agreed to mime a line from behind his desk, clearly with the insistence that they do it in one take and then fuck off, and the creatives all look weird and reticent except THAT cunt who keeps popping up every thirty seconds and clearly fancies himself as a comedian even though it's obviously a front for his deep sexual ambiguity, and the female account directors who all take themselves seriously are in a row, smiling through gritted teeth and spinning on office chairs and trying to sexily cross their legs in a little bit of choreography that was obviously devised by someone who hasn't had two kids, and there's the creative director looking suddenly exposed by having to join in with the rest of the oiks, his veneer of cool cynicism all shot away by having to do a little dance that he would normally refuse to do but he was told to be less aloof in his last performance review, and....oh, make it all fucking STOP.
The worst thing, of course, is not the forced festive fun. It's the fact that, somehow, I'll end up paying for this feculent drool of coprophilic fucking sludge.
I keep getting invites from agencies to things like 'Revampifying Your Business's 360 Contact Strategy' or 'Brand Ideation In The Age Of The Cloud' or 'Are You A Brand That Can Or A Brand That Won't?'
The first problem with them is that they take themselves seriously. These things used to be an excuse for a tear-up, but now they seem to think this shit is important or something, and everybody rocks up with notepads and bottles of fucking water, and some tool called Barnaby stands up and talks the usual nebulous cock-sploot about...oh, you can imagine.
I tried a few, but I never quite got over the shock of there being no booze. I still can't get over it, to be honest. There's actually a fucking tear in my eye as I write this.
There are more things I don't want from an agency. But they'll have to wait for another post. Right now, I've got a very important thing to do involving a bar, some beerz, another bar, an Indian restaurant, a gentleman's entertainment provider, a hotel room and some gaffer tape.
And it'll all be on expenses!
Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!