While the idea of promoting science literacy online is easy to grasp in principle, in reality it's a huge task. For one thing, the number of interests you'd need to address is only slightly larger than the number of available presentation media:
Interests
• Learning
• News
• Global Impact
• Society
• Legislation
• Quality of Life
Media
• Video (Animations)
• Video (Lecture Series)
• Interactive Tools
• Still Images
• Text (including e-newsletters)
Add to this the vast amount we've learned over the last 300 years and it's easy to appreciate the immensity of the challenge. Yet it needs to be faced. From making medical decisions, to evaluating legislation, to addressing the interrelated cost factors, residents of our technological society can't survive if they remain scientifically illiterate. In fact, at the pace science is advancing, a crisis about the very definition of life and death is already on the horizon.
Grasp the impact of technology.
As research into developing a workable interface between neurons and nano-circuits continues, we may discover how to rewire our minds as needed. Recent developments may also open opportunities for the controlled evolution of our species.
At the same time, the field of artificial intelligence—through steady progress—will inevitably expand our concept of what it means to be aware, awake and alive. And, at the extreme edge of credulity, if we eventually encounter extra-terrestrial intelligence, I shudder to think what reception it would receive from a scientifically illiterate population.
But never mind. There are enough real world issues to address as I try to map out a digital marketing strategy for scientific literacy.
Where to begin? Well, maybe we can reasonably expect most Americans to care about the environment—since it is the very air we breathe. Besides, the controversy the topic arouses gets right to the core of our need to be a scientifically literate society.
Look at it this way: Whether your neighbors are diehard global warming deniers or energy-saving light bulb fanatics, either point of view has a basis in scientific data. The question is, was that data derived from careful analysis or emotion-drenched polemics? Sadly, neither extreme is mutually exclusive.
Learn critical thinking.
That's because, at both ends of the spectrum, emotionalism plays a far greater role than it ought in these discussions. If your neighbors are opposed to the implementation of wind power stations they may believe:
Wind power would kill oil-industry jobs
or
Wind power is hazardous to wildlife
Of course, each of these indictments of wind power calls up several interrelated scientific issues that only a fraction of the population has the training to grasp. But that's OK. The goal of science literacy is not to turn every citizen into a biologic computer, packed to the gills with experimental data. The goal is to have every American grasp the standards by which to evaluate what they read, hear or see.
So were someone to claim "wind power is hazardous to wildlife," our scientifically literate citizens would know what kinds of data could support that statement. They would know, for example, that such claims must be based on a sufficient statistical sample.
Just as important, they would recognize the distinction between wind power in the abstract and wind power in its current configuration. Are all wind power stations hazardous? Can they be made less hazardous in the near future?
And what, by the way, is the degree of wind power's impact on wildlife? Does it threaten an entire species? Or is its threat to wildlife no greater than that posed by electric cattle fencing, reckless driving, or the destruction of wetlands by real estate developers? Good luck finding the answers with Google.
Balance the extremes.
As it stands now, meaningful scientific matters get equal play with trivial ones. As a result, important distinctions are easily ignored. Even benign pop-science sites like The Lazy Environmentalist—where consumers are always only a click away from an eco-friendly product placement—walk a fine line between education, polemics and commerce.
At the same time, to its credit, this site puts many of the most important environmental science topics within reach of the casual reader. I'll have more to say about the Lazy Environmentalist in my next post, as I attempt to sketch out a preliminary outline for a meaningful marketing strategy for science on the Web.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Science on the Web (1)
At a time when scientific literacy in the United States is in crisis and the very definition of scientific inquiry has been under fire so recently by our national government, it seems worthwhile to see how science is depicted and disseminated online.
Did I say “disseminated?” That’s a gross exaggeration. Though Web browsers give us access to vast store houses of scientific information, they don’t deliver it in a consistent, coherent form. They merely expose us to a random array of factoids—useful, trivial, accurate, deceptive, fanciful and false.
Add to that the image of science proliferated by stock art companies, and it's easy to see how remote this very human activity seems to our collective consciousness. With their atmosphere of sullen solemnity, these images tell us "Science, is for brainiacs only."
Terminology fatigue
Complicating matters, the word "science" has outlived its usefulness. While the separate disciplines we understand as science are constantly converging, Medicine, for example is as different from Astrophysics as it is from Mechanical Engineering.
We speak of theoretical science, applied science, social science and I suspect the blanket applicability of the term is a major part of the problem. With so many fields lumped under one term, it's easy to see why understanding Science can seem an insurmountable task.
The delusion of futility
What's more, the way the American film industry romanticizes the concept of Genius feeds directly into our penchant for all or nothing thinking.
"You'd have to be a genius to understand that stuff," is a constant refrain in our culture of Winners and Losers—in which studying Biology is futile unless you have a shot at a Nobel prize.
So instead of valuing the skills and talents each of us possess, we throw in the towel early on and give up the pursuit of knowledge. Now more than ever, “I don’t have the head for that," is the self-excusing mantra of the terminally unmotivated American.
Selling ourselves stupid
And as I see it, nothing spells the demise of our values more clearly than one persistent determinist view of the human condition: The idea that our accomplishments depend solely on our genetic inheritance. Ironically, only someone with actual knowledge of genetics, educational theory and brain development would be in a position to know the impact of our genes on our potential for achievement.
Yet every day, people too intimidated to pick up a book borrow scientific terminology to assign themselves inferior intellectual status. They're smart enough, in other words, to build a complex rationale for why they're too stupid to learn.
As with any societal problem, this one is much easier to describe than it is to solve. What appears as one problem from one angle, appears as a cluster of problems from another. On one hand, no single entity owns digital space, so there's no way to regulate how science is presented online.
On the other, a tightly regulated Internet would be a pale reflection of its current magnificent multiplicity. Yet to the extent that digital space perpetuates the myth of Science as an aloof, inaccessible pursuit, something must be done. Now that more Americans turn to digital sources for news, information and education than to any other medium, the impact of Web content on our perception of Science cannot be discounted.
A call for science advocacy
What's needed is a consortium to help monitor and manage how scientific topics are discussed in digital space. So when a president casually asserts that creationism is a valid scientific theory, or a governor foolishly insists that a brain dead woman is alive, there will be a recognizable voice of reason to counter these manipulative arguments. Manipulative, that is, because lurking behind them is a truckload of revisionist legislation.
At the moment, there's no organization to fulfill this role. Ultimately, the absence of a sustainable science advocacy organization could be our undoing. The fact that, in recent years, we've seen US senators hostile to science rise to the heights of power should be a wakeup call for anyone sitting on the sidelines.
Whatever the solution, one thing is abundantly clear: It's time for the truth to develop a better marketing strategy. Those who hoped a new administration would ring in a new era are sadly disappointed. If we want to take our culture back from liars, manipulators and the stubbornly ignorant, we’ll have to do it ourselves.
Did I say “disseminated?” That’s a gross exaggeration. Though Web browsers give us access to vast store houses of scientific information, they don’t deliver it in a consistent, coherent form. They merely expose us to a random array of factoids—useful, trivial, accurate, deceptive, fanciful and false.
Add to that the image of science proliferated by stock art companies, and it's easy to see how remote this very human activity seems to our collective consciousness. With their atmosphere of sullen solemnity, these images tell us "Science, is for brainiacs only."
Terminology fatigue
Complicating matters, the word "science" has outlived its usefulness. While the separate disciplines we understand as science are constantly converging, Medicine, for example is as different from Astrophysics as it is from Mechanical Engineering.
We speak of theoretical science, applied science, social science and I suspect the blanket applicability of the term is a major part of the problem. With so many fields lumped under one term, it's easy to see why understanding Science can seem an insurmountable task.
The delusion of futility
What's more, the way the American film industry romanticizes the concept of Genius feeds directly into our penchant for all or nothing thinking.
"You'd have to be a genius to understand that stuff," is a constant refrain in our culture of Winners and Losers—in which studying Biology is futile unless you have a shot at a Nobel prize.
So instead of valuing the skills and talents each of us possess, we throw in the towel early on and give up the pursuit of knowledge. Now more than ever, “I don’t have the head for that," is the self-excusing mantra of the terminally unmotivated American.
Selling ourselves stupid
And as I see it, nothing spells the demise of our values more clearly than one persistent determinist view of the human condition: The idea that our accomplishments depend solely on our genetic inheritance. Ironically, only someone with actual knowledge of genetics, educational theory and brain development would be in a position to know the impact of our genes on our potential for achievement.
Yet every day, people too intimidated to pick up a book borrow scientific terminology to assign themselves inferior intellectual status. They're smart enough, in other words, to build a complex rationale for why they're too stupid to learn.
As with any societal problem, this one is much easier to describe than it is to solve. What appears as one problem from one angle, appears as a cluster of problems from another. On one hand, no single entity owns digital space, so there's no way to regulate how science is presented online.
On the other, a tightly regulated Internet would be a pale reflection of its current magnificent multiplicity. Yet to the extent that digital space perpetuates the myth of Science as an aloof, inaccessible pursuit, something must be done. Now that more Americans turn to digital sources for news, information and education than to any other medium, the impact of Web content on our perception of Science cannot be discounted.
A call for science advocacy
What's needed is a consortium to help monitor and manage how scientific topics are discussed in digital space. So when a president casually asserts that creationism is a valid scientific theory, or a governor foolishly insists that a brain dead woman is alive, there will be a recognizable voice of reason to counter these manipulative arguments. Manipulative, that is, because lurking behind them is a truckload of revisionist legislation.
At the moment, there's no organization to fulfill this role. Ultimately, the absence of a sustainable science advocacy organization could be our undoing. The fact that, in recent years, we've seen US senators hostile to science rise to the heights of power should be a wakeup call for anyone sitting on the sidelines.
Whatever the solution, one thing is abundantly clear: It's time for the truth to develop a better marketing strategy. Those who hoped a new administration would ring in a new era are sadly disappointed. If we want to take our culture back from liars, manipulators and the stubbornly ignorant, we’ll have to do it ourselves.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Error: Message Malfunction
If I had to guess, I’d say the just-the-facts approach taken by Dyson.com stems from a mistaken belief: that any direct, emotional appeal to consumers is synonymous with shameful Hype.
This is both an over-reaction to the worst in advertising and a sad consequence of relentless social pressure. In this case, the strict injunction to “be cool” has led a clever manufacturer to forget how people are put together.
Far from being an unfortunate byproduct of evolution, human emotion is both our universal language and the driver of every human achievement. And that includes the mysterious, innovative thinking Sir James Dyson has applied to the redesign of common household technologies.
Judging from the affable, no-nonsense delivery of Dyson’s TV spots, I can easily imagine what's happened. Wishing to avoid the sensationalist antics of the ShamWow campaign or its classic predecessors, and believing his products speak for themselves, Sir Dyson has adopted a direct, matter-of-fact style that works well on screen.
As I see it, the key problem with Dyson.com is one of translation. The "simple truths" approach that works when delivered in person, fails completely as blank text laid out in a minimalist narrative. Why? Because it makes no direct connection to consumers. As a result, the site has a messaging strategy about one desert dryer than Steven Wright.
Ironically, though the product designs are depicted in a glossy, eye-candy style and brought to life with simple animations intended to draw oohs and aahs, the accompanying text is morbidly un-celebratory. The only thing in this copy’s favor is that it’s blessedly free of iPad-Narcissism.
Structural flaws in an ideological blueprint.
Here again is evidence of the black-and-white, all-or-nothing thinking that's not only the bane of contemporary marketing theory, but is wrecking havoc with the critical legislative, moral and social issues we face as a species.
There’s no excuse for that. Our choice, as marketers, is not between rabid, "interruptive" flailing and sanitized immobility. Like artists, we have infinite gradations of light, color, shade, tone, rhythm and movement at our disposal. If the ShamWow guy is too extreme for your taste, it's not because "promotional campaigns are cheesy." It's due to specific choices made by one brand.
In this case, with a few light touches, Dyson.com could have a human voice. All that’s needed is a spark of recognition: anecdotal phrases to help consumers place Dyson products in the context of everyday life.
No need for jiggly type or gyrating jeans; just a message imbued with a touch of poetry—lines that use poetry's ability to sum up a world of feeling in seconds. Now, in keeping with the brand image Sir James cultivates on TV, I could hardly expect him to approve a line like:
The only sucky thing
about a Hoover is
the way it’s designed.
Yet there's no reason the simple truths he demonstrates in his TV spots couldn't have made their way onto Dyson.com. Instead we're greeted with:
Find out why a Dyson vacuum cleaner is different
Neglecting to balance the human equation.
Convinced that people only respond to schematic, "no-hype" instructions, Dyson.com makes a critical miscalculation. Keep in mind that these products are the epitome of the high-priced spread. Consumers asked to shell out more for basic tools need a lot more convincing than a one-dimensional "Ours Are Better" strategy.
While some shoppers’ inner techno-geek might well be slightly intrigued by "Root Cyclone Technology," the key challenge of any ad campaign is helping consumers feel how well your brand meshes with their self-image, their world-view; how it solves the problem they’re fixated on at this moment.
Needless to say, claiming your product is different accomplishes none of that—not least because “different” does not imply “better” to all people in all contexts.
Now, having handed over its digital presence to a mere design vendor, Dyson’s brand narrative hangs on the thin thread of a consumer's TV-memory. Coming to the site with this ingenious man's voice in their ears, some consumers might well be "pre-sold" enough to buy.
Trouble is, they're much more likely to turn away, since the products pitched as breakthroughs on TV are presented online with only a tad more excitement than the moisture-retaining microwave cookware sold by upscale e-merchandisers.
Besides, relying on "old media" to plug the holes in your "new media" engagement model? That's no way to engineer success.
This is both an over-reaction to the worst in advertising and a sad consequence of relentless social pressure. In this case, the strict injunction to “be cool” has led a clever manufacturer to forget how people are put together.
Far from being an unfortunate byproduct of evolution, human emotion is both our universal language and the driver of every human achievement. And that includes the mysterious, innovative thinking Sir James Dyson has applied to the redesign of common household technologies.
Judging from the affable, no-nonsense delivery of Dyson’s TV spots, I can easily imagine what's happened. Wishing to avoid the sensationalist antics of the ShamWow campaign or its classic predecessors, and believing his products speak for themselves, Sir Dyson has adopted a direct, matter-of-fact style that works well on screen.
As I see it, the key problem with Dyson.com is one of translation. The "simple truths" approach that works when delivered in person, fails completely as blank text laid out in a minimalist narrative. Why? Because it makes no direct connection to consumers. As a result, the site has a messaging strategy about one desert dryer than Steven Wright.
Ironically, though the product designs are depicted in a glossy, eye-candy style and brought to life with simple animations intended to draw oohs and aahs, the accompanying text is morbidly un-celebratory. The only thing in this copy’s favor is that it’s blessedly free of iPad-Narcissism.
Structural flaws in an ideological blueprint.
Here again is evidence of the black-and-white, all-or-nothing thinking that's not only the bane of contemporary marketing theory, but is wrecking havoc with the critical legislative, moral and social issues we face as a species.
There’s no excuse for that. Our choice, as marketers, is not between rabid, "interruptive" flailing and sanitized immobility. Like artists, we have infinite gradations of light, color, shade, tone, rhythm and movement at our disposal. If the ShamWow guy is too extreme for your taste, it's not because "promotional campaigns are cheesy." It's due to specific choices made by one brand.
In this case, with a few light touches, Dyson.com could have a human voice. All that’s needed is a spark of recognition: anecdotal phrases to help consumers place Dyson products in the context of everyday life.
No need for jiggly type or gyrating jeans; just a message imbued with a touch of poetry—lines that use poetry's ability to sum up a world of feeling in seconds. Now, in keeping with the brand image Sir James cultivates on TV, I could hardly expect him to approve a line like:
The only sucky thing
about a Hoover is
the way it’s designed.
Yet there's no reason the simple truths he demonstrates in his TV spots couldn't have made their way onto Dyson.com. Instead we're greeted with:
Find out why a Dyson vacuum cleaner is different
Neglecting to balance the human equation.
Convinced that people only respond to schematic, "no-hype" instructions, Dyson.com makes a critical miscalculation. Keep in mind that these products are the epitome of the high-priced spread. Consumers asked to shell out more for basic tools need a lot more convincing than a one-dimensional "Ours Are Better" strategy.
While some shoppers’ inner techno-geek might well be slightly intrigued by "Root Cyclone Technology," the key challenge of any ad campaign is helping consumers feel how well your brand meshes with their self-image, their world-view; how it solves the problem they’re fixated on at this moment.
Needless to say, claiming your product is different accomplishes none of that—not least because “different” does not imply “better” to all people in all contexts.
Now, having handed over its digital presence to a mere design vendor, Dyson’s brand narrative hangs on the thin thread of a consumer's TV-memory. Coming to the site with this ingenious man's voice in their ears, some consumers might well be "pre-sold" enough to buy.
Trouble is, they're much more likely to turn away, since the products pitched as breakthroughs on TV are presented online with only a tad more excitement than the moisture-retaining microwave cookware sold by upscale e-merchandisers.
Besides, relying on "old media" to plug the holes in your "new media" engagement model? That's no way to engineer success.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Digital Messaging: Stage vs Page
Despite theories of digital user experience that celebrate Brevity as the only virtue, there are times when a site needs to convey a large amount of information. Does that mean that such content density is ultimately unsuitable for digital space?
As I see it, it's a matter of staging.
While there might be a practical limit to how much content a site can present, there's no reason to decide the issue prescriptively. Before you bite the bullet and replace any block of text with an unordered list of touch points, take a moment to rethink the flow and internal organization of your content.
The first step is to re-imagine your message in more fluid terms by abandoning the print-based model we flatter ourselves to think we've outgrown.
Communication in print is understandably linear—a fact of life as much to do with tradition as it is with paper. In digital space, moreover, you have the opportunity to pace your message as a director does in film, building your story through a series of scenes or visualizations. Beyond that, digital space also offers the opportunity to roll out its message through more than one type of content.
Storyboard the message.
Realize that and you've had yourself all the epiphany you need. You'll no longer conceive your message in terms of words or even language. You'll craft it to unfold idiomatically in a dynamic, multidimensional medium. If the prospect seems daunting, you're in good company.
Stroll over to a typical Web address and you're confronted with a mishmash of rigidly stratified offerings:
Let's get real: in its current state, digital space uses only a fraction of its potential to communicate. That's because we're still thinking in terms of isolated, static pages. What's needed is a new narrative flow that blurs the boundaries between text, image, video, sound—and the page itself.
Imagine if users could drag selected blocks of copy into a video window to illustrate a point. Consider the boost to coherence and continuity if a video or still image could be dissolved into text to reinforce the site's umbrella theme. Ultimately, this fluid cross-referencing of content from all sectors of the site would liberate digital space from the prevailing print-page model.
Reblock the experience.
Within current technical limitations, the larger problem is one of order and proportion. Given an array of relevant assets in different media, Web-crafters must solve several knotty problems:
Adjust the focus.
And that brings me back to staging. With all of these unresolved issues, it's no surprise our expert corps of usability consultants continue to sacrifice emotional impact at the altar of Brevity. I sympathize. In this state of affairs, tiny little paragraphs make the illusion of integration a heck of a lot easier to create.
But let's be clear: There's nothing inherently un-digital about long-form copy. What's needed is not fewer words but a more idiomatic way to roll out digital content in any form. Again, the root of the problem lies in the very concept of building a Web "page." A page is flat, limited, solitary, one-dimensional. By contrast, a valid digital unit would be virtually limitless, interdependent and multidimensional.
Sure, it's an elusive goal, but it's one we can achieve in increments. Let's start by recognizing that a Web presence need not be a flow of text punctuated by design elements, video, stills, flashy buttons, groovy fonts—and then wrapped in a blanket of hastily downloaded, pre-fab templates. Let's focus on the story we want to tell rather than the content blocks we feel obliged to manufacture, in slavish obeisance to received wisdom.
As I see it, it's a matter of staging.
While there might be a practical limit to how much content a site can present, there's no reason to decide the issue prescriptively. Before you bite the bullet and replace any block of text with an unordered list of touch points, take a moment to rethink the flow and internal organization of your content.
The first step is to re-imagine your message in more fluid terms by abandoning the print-based model we flatter ourselves to think we've outgrown.
Communication in print is understandably linear—a fact of life as much to do with tradition as it is with paper. In digital space, moreover, you have the opportunity to pace your message as a director does in film, building your story through a series of scenes or visualizations. Beyond that, digital space also offers the opportunity to roll out its message through more than one type of content.
Storyboard the message.
Realize that and you've had yourself all the epiphany you need. You'll no longer conceive your message in terms of words or even language. You'll craft it to unfold idiomatically in a dynamic, multidimensional medium. If the prospect seems daunting, you're in good company.
Stroll over to a typical Web address and you're confronted with a mishmash of rigidly stratified offerings:
- Here's a text block
- There's a video window
- Here's a quiz
- There's a Facebook feed
Let's get real: in its current state, digital space uses only a fraction of its potential to communicate. That's because we're still thinking in terms of isolated, static pages. What's needed is a new narrative flow that blurs the boundaries between text, image, video, sound—and the page itself.
Imagine if users could drag selected blocks of copy into a video window to illustrate a point. Consider the boost to coherence and continuity if a video or still image could be dissolved into text to reinforce the site's umbrella theme. Ultimately, this fluid cross-referencing of content from all sectors of the site would liberate digital space from the prevailing print-page model.
Reblock the experience.
Within current technical limitations, the larger problem is one of order and proportion. Given an array of relevant assets in different media, Web-crafters must solve several knotty problems:
- Creating coherence and stylistic unity across those media
- Finding an efficient, memorable and motivating path to convey their message
- Integrating each of these elements into an ongoing narrative
- Engaging, entertaining, enlightening—to empower repeat visits
Adjust the focus.
And that brings me back to staging. With all of these unresolved issues, it's no surprise our expert corps of usability consultants continue to sacrifice emotional impact at the altar of Brevity. I sympathize. In this state of affairs, tiny little paragraphs make the illusion of integration a heck of a lot easier to create.
But let's be clear: There's nothing inherently un-digital about long-form copy. What's needed is not fewer words but a more idiomatic way to roll out digital content in any form. Again, the root of the problem lies in the very concept of building a Web "page." A page is flat, limited, solitary, one-dimensional. By contrast, a valid digital unit would be virtually limitless, interdependent and multidimensional.
Sure, it's an elusive goal, but it's one we can achieve in increments. Let's start by recognizing that a Web presence need not be a flow of text punctuated by design elements, video, stills, flashy buttons, groovy fonts—and then wrapped in a blanket of hastily downloaded, pre-fab templates. Let's focus on the story we want to tell rather than the content blocks we feel obliged to manufacture, in slavish obeisance to received wisdom.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Culture of Neurosis
On an average day at a digital agency you can barely count to 10 before someone announces, "The schedule's really tight for this project..." If you're new to the business, you might think this was an occasional complaint, the result of unforeseeable circumstances. In time, however, you can't fail to notice the command performance this phrase, or one of its variants, makes at every kickoff meeting.
Whether accompanied by ritual eye-rolling, forehead slapping or knowing clicks of the tongue, talk of tight time lines is so much a part of agency culture, I have to wonder why this phenomenon is so little examined. Considering upper management—both client-side and agency-side—is still dominated by Generation Six Sigma, you might expect that process-control teams would have set things right long ago.
Since improbably short project schedules are in fact the rule, I suspect they can only be an outgrowth of the many addictive behaviors common to agency culture, including:
Adding to the ferocity of these addictive behaviors is the persistent American delusion that people deliver their best work under extreme pressure. Perhaps a hangover from the glory days of World War II, when our ancestors cranked up industrial production to unheard of levels, this belief colors every aspect of our corporate life.
"Get tough and get results," growls this dehumanizing refrain, part of the rumbling thunder that sets the stage for a perfect storm of bad scheduling decisions.
Once addiction to these and similar delusional states takes hold in an agency, conditions for disaster build inexorably. Perhaps the most common storm seeder, procrastination, gains force from its fraternal twin, perfectionism.
"We can't kickoff yet. The client, the client's CEO and the partner agency haven't weighed in. Besides, we still need the September numbers, the revised brand guidelines, the updated metrics...and I'm just not crazy about the sweater that focus group moderator is wearing."
And when, blinded by anxiety, the project leader kicks off with a time-deficit of three weeks, you can already see the clouds gathering on the horizon—and feel the buzz of high-wire danger coursing through your veins. Thrilling, ain't it?
Er…I mean, “What a shame, isn't it always the way?"
The spectre of addiction
So we stay up until 4:30 am, making edits to the edits of the edits in a desperate attempt to adopt another perfectionist tweak and another and another until, at last, at the precise moment a glimmer of light appears at the end of the tunnel....
The Shadow Stakeholder appears.
The Shadow Stakeholder is a classic shape-shifter, appearing now as a smug, overseas partner, now as the disgruntled COO of the client's parent company, now as a hard-as-nails Account Director with "standards," now as a wide-eyed Creative guru whose every concept revolves around b-roll...lots and lots of b-roll.
From then on, hold on to your hat, or your head, if it's still nailed down. The schedule? The budget? The Shadow Stakeholder will hear none of it. With a dismissive wave of the hand, you land smack in the middle of Round 19, clutching tattered scraps of the Big Idea that was everybody's baby only hours before.
And in that moment, the perfect storm hits with vein-quaking intensity, shattering life plans and grinding creative talent into a fine powder of sickening compromise.
"Yo, we can do this," goes the stoic rallying cry, "if we pull together and work smarter."
Now, with your colleagues in this altered state, you'd have to be a fool to suggest that working smarter is the very thing that would have made this frenzied moment unnecessary. And yes, it's always unnecessary—starting from the moment we realize the toll our neuroses take on ourselves, our profits and the public perception of our industry.
Whether accompanied by ritual eye-rolling, forehead slapping or knowing clicks of the tongue, talk of tight time lines is so much a part of agency culture, I have to wonder why this phenomenon is so little examined. Considering upper management—both client-side and agency-side—is still dominated by Generation Six Sigma, you might expect that process-control teams would have set things right long ago.
Since improbably short project schedules are in fact the rule, I suspect they can only be an outgrowth of the many addictive behaviors common to agency culture, including:
- Badge of Honor Bonding
When the camaraderie of working "under fire" becomes an addictive end
in itself - Adrenaline Stoking
The "flight or fight"panicky high that kicks in when a project seems lost. And what puts a project in greater jeopardy than impossible deadlines? - Kiss Me I'm a Hero Syndrome
When bored and dangerously insecure executives plan and precipitate an
artificial crisis so they can "save the day" and earn phony visionary status
(Trust me, you haven't lived until you've seen this in action)
Adding to the ferocity of these addictive behaviors is the persistent American delusion that people deliver their best work under extreme pressure. Perhaps a hangover from the glory days of World War II, when our ancestors cranked up industrial production to unheard of levels, this belief colors every aspect of our corporate life.
"Get tough and get results," growls this dehumanizing refrain, part of the rumbling thunder that sets the stage for a perfect storm of bad scheduling decisions.
Once addiction to these and similar delusional states takes hold in an agency, conditions for disaster build inexorably. Perhaps the most common storm seeder, procrastination, gains force from its fraternal twin, perfectionism.
"We can't kickoff yet. The client, the client's CEO and the partner agency haven't weighed in. Besides, we still need the September numbers, the revised brand guidelines, the updated metrics...and I'm just not crazy about the sweater that focus group moderator is wearing."
And when, blinded by anxiety, the project leader kicks off with a time-deficit of three weeks, you can already see the clouds gathering on the horizon—and feel the buzz of high-wire danger coursing through your veins. Thrilling, ain't it?
Er…I mean, “What a shame, isn't it always the way?"
The spectre of addiction
So we stay up until 4:30 am, making edits to the edits of the edits in a desperate attempt to adopt another perfectionist tweak and another and another until, at last, at the precise moment a glimmer of light appears at the end of the tunnel....
The Shadow Stakeholder appears.
The Shadow Stakeholder is a classic shape-shifter, appearing now as a smug, overseas partner, now as the disgruntled COO of the client's parent company, now as a hard-as-nails Account Director with "standards," now as a wide-eyed Creative guru whose every concept revolves around b-roll...lots and lots of b-roll.
From then on, hold on to your hat, or your head, if it's still nailed down. The schedule? The budget? The Shadow Stakeholder will hear none of it. With a dismissive wave of the hand, you land smack in the middle of Round 19, clutching tattered scraps of the Big Idea that was everybody's baby only hours before.
And in that moment, the perfect storm hits with vein-quaking intensity, shattering life plans and grinding creative talent into a fine powder of sickening compromise.
"Yo, we can do this," goes the stoic rallying cry, "if we pull together and work smarter."
Now, with your colleagues in this altered state, you'd have to be a fool to suggest that working smarter is the very thing that would have made this frenzied moment unnecessary. And yes, it's always unnecessary—starting from the moment we realize the toll our neuroses take on ourselves, our profits and the public perception of our industry.
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