Commonly regarded as “the father of Advertising”, David Ogilvy was an avis rara at the time when being different was very new, not a mandatory practice. To be a Scotsman who went on to become a Madison Avenue giant is no little accomplishment, considering that in 1848 (the year of the Communist Manifesto and a series of revolutions in Continental Europe) Punch declared:
let us be a nation of shopkeepers as much as we please, but there is no necessity that we should become a nation of advertisers.
Fastforward to 2011, and Britain is doing pretty well, having probably as many advertisers as there are shopkeepers. The country has also produced two advertising genuises in the short space of 100 years who sadly have both passed away: David Ogilvy and Paul Arden.
I have now moved back to Moscow, but will be visiting England, and Manchester, regularly. I am unlikely to leave advertising (we’re all in it, anyway), I just think I will serve it better a woman-of-letters. I have just come back from one such flying visit, during which I bought Ogilvy’s Confessions of an Advertising Man
Don’t get me wrong: books must be useful for as long as possible, so I’m not at all displeased that Ogilvy’s maxims still matter. What I do find shocking is that even his criticism is still valid, and not only valid, but the instances at which the critique is directed are still present. In fact, they are persistent. As we know, genuine things (and people) are forerunners, but in Ogilvy’s case he was a forerunner of telling us what faults to expect to find in an agency. Here are a few examples.
Pay people peanuts, and you get monkeys.
I wrote a post many months ago, comparing good professionals with a Chinese vase. What constitutes the real value of a Chinese vase? Is it the age, the form and decoration, the previous owners, or something else? How can you tell the difference between the real vase and a fake one? And why on Earth would you want to pay a lot of money to buy the real thing, only to put it in the corner and to marvel at it? Good professionals are the Chinese vases. They are expensive, awkward, and nearly obsolete – but they also make a huge difference for your status and your campaign. You’ve got to pay them their worth. If in doubt, consult this other statement by Ogilvy:
If each of us hires people who are smaller than we are, we shall become a company of dwarfs. But if each of us hires people who are bigger than we are, we shall become a company of giants.
Alas, it looks like the world is shrinking in size all too rapidly.
Still on the subject of copywriting:
Good copy can’t be written with tongue in cheek, written just for a living. You’ve got to believe in the product.
You cannot put it better, and yet how many people out there write and rewrite texts only to make a living? They rewrite ridiculously huge numbers of text for a ridiculously small payment. Not only do they not believe in the product, they often don’t even know it well. To my credit, when I was once being urged to “simply rewrite” articles about cars, I refused. I hadn’t had the expertise, nor personal interest in cars. There were other clients in whose products I was much better versed, so why shouldn’t I have been writing for them? I feel that this sometimes is interpreted as the lack of subordination, but I can only abide by what my professionalism dictates me. It is extremely sad that Ogilvy died in the same year as blogs had started (1999). I wish he was still alive today – the Internet surely needs a slap on the face from him.
I avoid clients for whom advertising is only a marginal factor in their marketing mix.
I wish more advertisers had the balls to resign a (prospective) client like this, or not to approach them in the first place. Even though they are not the same, copywriting and PR have grown very close in the last few years, so the client has to be passionate about advertising – although he shouldn’t also forget another Ogilvy’s maxim: why keep a dog and bark yourself?
Advertising is a business of words, but advertising agencies are infested with men and women who cannot write. They cannot write advertisements, and they cannot write plans. They are helpless as deaf mutes on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera.
To add to this, they also make mistakes. I am always willing to accept it, if someone is writing in their second language. But I genuinely cannot find enough understanding for those who didn’t perfect their native language.
I notice increasing reluctance on the part of marketing executives to use judgment; they are coming to rely too much on research, and they use it as a drunkard uses a lamp post for support, rather than for illumination.
Sadly, this still stands true, many decades after it’s been first written. Now, don’t be confused: research IS important. The better you know the product, as Ogilvy proved many times, the better you sell it. The best advertising doesn’t draw attention to itself, and when you know the product your passion naturally shines forth and infects everyone. It is important to regard your product as your cause, to be a Don Quixote, although not as idealistic – we’re in business, after all.
However, the way research is often being used by agencies, it is limiting creative opportunities and denies the possibilities for growth. It is used to tell you what to do and what not to do, but more often that not, it suggests whose examples to follow, i.e. to imitate. It is therefore necessary to quote another adage:
If you ever have the good fortune to create a great advertising campaign, you will soon see another agency steal it. This is irritating, but don’t let it worry you; nobody has ever built a brand by imitating somebody else’s advertising. Imitation may be the “sincerest form of plagiarism”, but it is also the mark of an inferior person.
There is one more fault that Ogilvy notes that I observed at the last agency I worked for in 2009; after that I went back to working for myself, which is harder but more fulfilling. At the agency the following was true:
Most agencies send large delegations to present their case to prospective clients. The head of the agency limits his own participation to introducing a series of subordinates, who take turns haranguing the prospect. I have always preferred to make the presentation myself. The final choice of agency is almost always made by the head of the client company, and chairmen should be harangues by chairmen. I have also found that frequent changes of speaker lead to confusion with other agencies which are competing for the account. One orchestra looks like every other orchestra, but there is no confusing one conductor with another. The agencies with the best record in new-business solicitation rely on their leader to put on solo performances.
Needless to say, the leader should know his industry inside out, but rather often than not, which was true about the agency in question, this is not the case. But let’s forget the agencies; while it’s good to be surrounded by faithful supporters, if you are running a business, then it is you who should represent it. After all, leaders grasp nettles.
I could quote you entire Ogilvy’s book because a lot of what he says relates not only to advertising, but to our conduct in life in general. It pays to remember Arden’s words – “we are all in advertising” – so whether you are selling directly, online, or figuratively, The Confessions of an Advertising Man is a must. I will get back to the start of the post: is it not shocking that many years on this book is still so valid in ideas, as in criticism? It is not amazing that after years of reading how not to shoot ourselves in the foot, a lot of people still do it with remarkable persistence?
Just to round it off on a pleasant note, here are some generic aphorisms:
Develop your eccentricities while you are young. That way, when you get old, people won’t think you’re going gaga.
The pursuit of excellence is less profitable than the pursuit of bigness, but it can be more satisfying.
Next to the theatre, advertising is probably least secure of all careers.
The secret of long life is double careers. One to about age sixty, then another for the next thirty years.