Gods of Advertising

By necessity Euro RSCG is a tightly run ship. In 2005, we made less than five commercials. Our agency was but a smattering of survivors and new recruits. Look at us now: we made over twenty commercials in 2006 and are currently in numerous productions slated to begin before 2008. A bloody miracle, if you recall how bad a shape Euro-Tathum was in as recently as 2004. But for us, TV is only our newest facet. Necessity is the true mother of integration, which makes Euro RSCG Chicago one of the most integrated shop in town, if not the whole country! By design we are a rightly run ship. To survive we had no other choice. To thrive we need take no other route. Let me explain:

In our company, we refrain from cliques, from putting on airs. Direct marketing and advertising share one creative department, part of the same omelet if you will, and I’m like the Chef du village! A player coach, I don’t just sit in the corner reviewing work. I’m in the trenches, writing headlines, body copy and doing whatever it takes to get us, and our clients, to a better place. And I’m not the only one wearing multiple hats around here, leading and following, vigorously and with passion. In our company, everyone works on new business. A rookie designer can save the day. An EVP toils on body copy. We all do retail.

Valspar was the biggest company you never heard of. For them, we created a national paint brand from the ground up. We designed the can, the logo, the POS, the web work and yes, of course, the advertising. High performance beauty is the strategy. Beauty and durability only nature can rival our creative idea. See how seamless the whole thing is? I couldn’t me more proud of this campaign and the people who worked on it.

We are not a precious creative department. We are Creative Athletes. We’re not afraid to roll up our sleeves and work as a team. Everyone is critical. In our company, account and creative people really do work together, sharing challenges as well as kudos.

We have this thing called the wall. Think of it as a makeshift memorial to every great idea we got cooking. Instead of working covertly on new ideas, we collaborate from the get go. As soon as Sally has a great notion, she goes ahead and puts it on the Wall. If a suit or planner gets inspired, he adds his own bit. Quickly, the propaganda for the idea evolves and grows. Instead of having a series of painful meetings, where the work is “presented” and “pitched,” we merely convene at the Wall to discuss and debate. It’s fun and it’s fair and it works.

One good idea leads to another. Some work on the Wall for Volvo cars metamorphosed into our colorful and joyous poster campaign for Wasa Crispbread! Healthy Nirvana is the brand’s essence. Feeling good is it’s creative expression. From cars to crackers, at EuroRSCG Chicago creativity has no boundaries. The Wall unites people with ideas, not separates them.

Take note of our burgeoning fashion department! While not a specific entity, we’ve developed a niche roster of small business clients, which allow us to do brilliant creative work. O&I Shoes, Clara Williams Jewelry & the Lauren Harper collection are three current clients. Run by young, mostly female entrepreneurs, these small companies value some of our biggest ideas. They get resources they could never afford. We get to make work that’s unthinkably brilliant. It’s the proverbial win win. And we’re helping new business get off the ground. It just feels like the right thing to do.

In a truly integrated company, we must eat our vegetables before enjoying dessert. Some of our briefs are just plain hard. But they need to be done and done well. Which is why what we do for Sprint and Citibank is best in its class. Here most agencies frown. Our productivity in direct marketing is growing by leaps and bounds. We just hired a new GCD (John Rausch) and a new CD (Linda Yardly). We are all smiling broadly.

But then there’s dessert! What could be more intoxicating a client than our rogue comrades at Effen vodka. One of our newest clients, we beat numerous creative “boutiques” in acquiring this most sexy of beasts. And speaking of sex, consider the creative idea: Effen is a five-letter word. We all know what the four-letter word Effen sounds like, but now the brand can own words like CLEAN, SILKY, DUTCH and VODKA. Or even better: EBONY, FRUIT, NIGHT and LATEX. The provocative mixes with the practical, like vodka and tonic. With Five-letter word, Euro RSCG has created a mind game for 25-year olds, a Sudako for the jet set!

In our company, the CEO listens to the CCO and I to him. Creative people respect the bottom line. The suits adore the magic. In our company, an AE can become the COO and a secretary an account person. This belief system we share is more than just an ideal, it’s what we call “Responsible Passion” and it’s perhaps the most important key to our continued success.

At Euro RSCG Chicago anything is possible.

subversive t-shirts, motivated troops

I wrote the story below some time ago. You like it, I’ll post another. You really like it, get my novel: The Last Generation.

The Mother of Invention.

Alexander had been working for quite some time when he realized Mr. Watson was missing. He looked up from his telegraphic device on the desk, and noticing the empty space around him, glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. He could hear the leaves from the great poplar brushing against the window behind him. It was blowing some- thing fierce outside, and clearly a storm was approaching. So, where was Watson, he thought, wiping his brow. He wouldn’t have left without informing him, not Watson, he was good about things like that. Watson was very conscientious, always leaving notes and keeping tabs. So, where was he then?
Alexander directed his attention back to the contraption on his desk. He had been making progress, little or no smoke had erupted during the last test, it had held its charge admirably. He wanted to pull the switch again, administering even more power, but he was afraid, reluctant. The thing could blow. But moreover, he didn’t want to make a further and possibly final test without his companion Watson being present. Watson was entitled to any successes and, frankly, deserving of any failures. They were in this together, and had been for a good long time. Seven years. Not including the time they’d spent studying together, which had been considerable.
Alexander toyed with the wire connections on his delicate machine and then pushed it away. Without Watson fluttering around behind him, it just wasn’t the same. He made the scientific process fun, exciting. Alex had only marginal hopes for his telegraphic device. Without Watson’s persistent coaxing and endearing support, the complicated object seemed like only a child’s toy, nothing more. Watson told him it was potentially the single greatest invention the world would ever know.
But Alex wasn’t so sure. He believed the telegraph –if perfected– was more suitable for the art of illusion, and little else. He could just hear the voices –telegraphed, as if by magic– in countless carnivals and freak shows, haunting wide-eyed chumps of their nickels and dimes. Ancient siblings would return from their eternal resting places ( a task made that much easier by the hidden wires trailing to the basement ), and tell their loved ones all they longed to hear. The telegraph was no more than a trick mirror, it could reflect sound, project it. It was merely a novelty.
Alexander wondered if Watson had slipped away –perhaps to entertain the advances of their new protégé’ Miss York. She had only recently taken up with them. A handsome woman. But she was flighty and had a long way to go. It would be a shame if Watson actually felt for such a person. She was so naive, after all. Just a silly little girl, passing through the sciences, without any real ambition –save for the possibility of snaring a scientist. With a pang, Alexander regretted accepting her in the first place. There had been so many others. Why did he have to go and pick a female, and such an available one at that, when he could have chosen a scholarly, young man?
Much like Watson.
Watson had been such an endearing pupil: So inquisitive, so full of energy. A model student. Alexander had taken to him, right from the beginning. Indeed, he found himself longing for the evenings when they would be together; alone, away from the university. They spent countless hours discussing various experiments and talking of the future: What miracles it held! Such great discoveries! Watson was a precious jewel whose rare brilliance shone only to him.

True, Mr. Watson admired Alexander, freely and genuinely. Yet, he was troubled –especially as of late– by his mentor’s odd, seemingly overt, intimate behavior. Preposterous as it may sound, he believed the professor was coming on to him! Why just the night before, he could’ve sworn Mr. Bell had made a pass at him! They’d been sitting in the library, taking a well needed break with some hot tea when, all of a sudden, Alexander moved over to the small sofa where Watson was sitting, and plopped himself down beside him. Just like that.
“Gregory, are you happy?” he asked.
“What do you mean, sir?” Watson responded, nearly stuttering. He was obviously embarrassed, his face turning all hues of red. No one ever called him Gregory before, save for his mother.
“I mean here. Are you happy here, with me?”
“Of course!” Watson answered, perhaps too brightly. What else could he say?
He was happy. Delighted to be working with such a learned and distinguished scientist. It was a rare opportunity, to say the least. And Mr. Bell had been such a kind and gracious host, offering him every hospitality, every aid. And here he was all but touching him! “I’ve never been better,” he continued, averting his eyes to the fire, hugging the edge of his seat like it was a life preserver.
“You may call me Alex,” Alexander said. “And don’t be so edgy; you look like a frightened rabbit.” Alex put his right hand over Watson’s left and touched it lightly. It was trembling. “Is my poor Gregory a frightened little bunny?” he asked, giving his shaking hand a decisive squeeze. He was gazing hard into the young man’s face. “Oh, Please Gregory,” he said with passion. “Do look at me. I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t.”
“I’m sorry sir,” Watson stammered. “It’s just that I should be studying right now. With all the work we –I have.” He got up as he spoke, continuing to talk as he walked, backward and nearly into the fireplace. “Excuse me, please!” he said, stumbling over the screen. He gave the professor a last glance, looking a lot like the frightened rabbit he was accused of being and then dashed out of the room.

Looking back on it, it’s a wonder he didn’t burn himself. It was as if the already intimate library had shrunk on him, trapping him between the raging fire and his raging colleague. Ever since the unfortunate incident, Watson had kept his distance from Alexander, pretending for all the world like the whole thing had never happened. Obviously, he still continued to work with the man. He had to. Leaving now would be a terrible mistake. Not when they were on the verge of discovering the very mechanisms behind electronic communication. Forsaking his apprenticeship with a caliber scientist like Alexander Bell was simply out of the question. The smarter move was merely to go on, say nothing, and hope like hell something like that never happened again.