This branching video from Tippex is a clever use of youtube.

Though beware the blue language in the set-up video.

To me, it’s not only a touch gratuitous but also a rather uncomfortable fit with the brand it’s promoting.

I’ll be popping on a more constructive post shortly, but sometimes something catches your eye you just have to share.

In this instance, it’s the intro copy to an app for a certain well-known vendor of American college-wear. Before going any further, I strongly recommend you brace yourself. Whiplash from the inevitable cringe reflex is a real possibility. Ready? Deep breath. Here we go:

Hey, you made it! Thought you’d like something to look at while you party with your friends! This is a great way to live ******, and it’s pretty cool when you can take the brand with you on all of your crazy nights. You’re welcome! No, but really, check out what’s goin’ on–it’s good stuff. Feel free to take your time and really get into it; if you look good, no one will care if you’re late, right? So, here’s what you can expect: Check out our latest iconic photography, see what’s happening with our brands, the latest in ****** style, Flagship openings, along with where you can find a store near you. We also have excellent information about who we are as a family of brands. That should give you an idea of what we have to offer–okay, get your plaid on and make it happen!

Is this a spoof? Please tell me it’s an arch, post-modern spoof. It’s not a spoof, is it?

There is doubtless some kind of lesson in here about the importance of authenticity in your brand. But I think it pretty much speaks for itself.

Though, to be fair, it is ‘pretty cool when you can take the brand with you on all your crazy nights.”

I have literally no idea what that means.

A neat little bon mot from one of the many creative how-to guides (apologies to the uncredited coiner) goes as follows:

“At all costs resist the urge to start writing.”

That is to say, only start executing an idea when you’ve thought it through properly. If you have, the copy will flow easily because you know exactly the story you want to tell.

This line of thinking can be usefully applied all the way through the creative process. For example, I’ve literally never worked on a project when too much time was spent thinking through the brief and too little time was spent tinkering with the execution.

The most popular approach is to express a general intent and then use numerous iterations of creative work to flesh out the strategy. When the right approach would be to hone the brief to a lethal point that the creative work delivers just as sharply.

It may seem counter-intuitive, but there’s no such thing as too tight a brief (briefs, maybe). The worst case scenario for any creative team is to be told hey, great news, the brief is really loose so feel free to play with it and see what you come up with.

In most cases, what they’ll come up with will be a plethora of hesitant, unfocused ideas that try and cover every angle instead of just attacking the right one.

Or, if they’re really good, they’ll come up with the brief you should have given them in the first place. And look justifiably smug.

At all costs resist the urge to start briefing. Trust me, you’re not ready yet.

Today a member of the Client Service team wondered over with what he purported to be a new brief.

“So what’s the message?” I enquired.

“They just want something generic,” he replied.

At this point I ambled to the nearest available corner, curled up into a foetal position and started singing ‘Row, row, row the boat’ in an unnerving falsetto.

It’s not the first time this has happened. But you don’t want to hear about my hilarious idiosyncrasies.

It’s also not the first time we’ve been asked to come up with a ‘generic’ campaign.

Just think about that for a moment. Could there be anything more antithetical to good communication than a generic message? What in God’s name is a generic message anyway?

Was that the brief behind the iconic Nike campaign ‘Just Do Stuff’?

“We don’t have anything to say. But we do rather want to say something.”

Presumably the second action point from that meeting was to hire someone on a six-figure salary to push a boulder up and down a hill for the rest of eternity.

To neutralise my acerbic acid, here’s a three-step process to effective communication:

1. Have a reason to say something.

2. Have something to say.

3. Say it.

Actually, it’s amazing how often at least one of those steps gets overlooked.

Secretly, I’m a nerd. I say ‘secretly’. I think my weekly Amazon delivery of sci fi books and videogames mean the creative team is on to me.

(Seamless segue approaching)

If you’ve ever bought a PC videogame, you’ll have seen two important pieces of information on the back of the box. The first is called Minimum Requirements. The second is Recommended Requirements.

They specify exactly how good your components need to be to run the game. Your graphics card, processor, memory and stuff.

If your PC meets the Minimum Requirements, you should be able to get it working. But you’ll have to turn all the bells and whistles off. And even if you do the game will stutter along joylessly.

But if it meets the Recommended Requirements, you can ratchet up the quality settings and everything will run smoothly – making for a much more enjoyable experience.

(Don’t worry. This is what’s called a metaphor. Watch…)

To my mind, employee rewards are much the same as Minimum Requirements.

(See?)

They’re fundamental. That is, they fulfil a basic expectation of every employee i.e. you remunerate me fairly for the hours and expertise I put in.

But they’re not important. That is, in the vast majority of cases, they are not the driving force behind people’s motivation at work.

They are the world of work’s Minimum Requirements. Few people would say the thing that excited them most about their job is the money. Sure, they’d be pretty miffed if they didn’t get any. But it’s not what truly stimulates them.

Despite this, organisations place a huge emphasis on communicating the tangible rewards they offer, instead of articulating their Recommended Requirements – the stuff that actually creates a great career experience.

You know. The Big Idea behind the organisation. The contribution you’ll make. The things you’ll learn. The people you’ll work with. The future opportunities. The lasagne in the canteen, even.

Get your rewards right, then get them out of the way. You might just find you’ve got more interesting things to talk about.

Together with our friends at O2, we’ve been shortlisted for a PR Week Award in October.

Must not drink too much at the ceremony.

Max Clifford would have a field day.

A common theme in the world of communication is ‘simplicity’. You know, making complicated stuff simpler so it’s more easily digested.

But, while simplicity is a prerequisite of effective communication, alone it’s not enough.

We’re not simply (there it is again) in the business of making things more easy to digest, after all.

Marcus Wareing doesn’t just fillet, scale and cook the reassuringly expensive halibut you ordered. He adds a sprinkle of magic (or maybe saffron) to make it not just digestible but downright delicious.

It’s the difference between a cook and a chef. Or a copy editor and a copywriter. Or even an average agency and a good agency.

Just to clarify my butter, the difference I’m talking about is the addition of an idea.

By which I mean the thing that unites and ignites whatever information you’re trying to convey. That changes a disparate set of messages into a logical, compelling story. That provokes interest rather than merely avoids disinterest.

It might be a memorable strapline. It might be a distinctive visual treatment. It might be a clever way of using the media. It might be an animal metaphor, a reference to an old 70s TV show, or a gorilla playing the drums.

Whatever it is, once you’ve got it, everything else falls into place.

Take my own day-to-day job: copywriting. It actually involves a surprisingly small amount of actual writing. Or, rather, writing copy takes up a disproportionately small amount of my time compared to sitting in a room talking in ever decreasing circles about the idea.

Because, once we’ve got the idea, the execution itself is relatively easy.

Sometimes it takes technical skill. Sometimes it takes artistic flair. Sometimes it even takes money. But, compared to conjuring the idea itself, it’s a cakewalk.

Simple communication is good communication. But only an idea can make it great.

I recently read an idea for a new agency model in the comments section of one of the multifarious creative blogs out there. It struck me as sheer brilliance. Here’s how it works.

Basically, you pick a brand (any brand) and start doing advertising on its behalf.

You don’t need their permission, which straight away cuts out the stress and expense of the pitch process. Plus, imagine how cool the work would be if you didn’t have a pesky brief to fulfil, constraining brand guidelines to consider or even anyone else’s opinions corrupting your pristine vision.

You continue doing this free of charge until, inevitably, the brand in question becomes a world-famous category leader. And here’s the clever bit.

You then demand huge sums of money from said brand – otherwise you will STOP what you’re doing.

I’m currently looking to raise the (substantial) capital needed to get this idea up and running. If you’re interested, you know where to find me.

What could possibly go wrong?

Today a client had the brazen cheek to give feedback on an ad I was involved with. I know. I was apoplectic too. The gist of it was, “We love it but could you tone it down a bit for the audience?”

It will surprise no one to hear that this happens a lot when you work at a creative agency.

In fairness, it’s easy to be all brave and edgy when it’s not your £multi-million logo that’s going to be sitting in the corner. Looking all sheepish if you’ve judged it wrong.

But I still think it’s worth a moment to reflect on the assumptions behind that kind of feedback.

It’s basically saying, “Of course, we get it. But they won’t.”

It says, “As an individual, I enjoyed that. It tickled me. But The Audience is not like you or me. They are faceless, humourless drones. They won’t be entertained. They will be furious.”

I should point out at this point that the audience in this case is essentially regular Joes and Janes – not a fervent ascetist cult. And that the ad in question featured neither nudity nor animal cruelty.

I can understand the desire to avoid courting controversy. But often this protective corporate instinct goes into overdrive. It sees scandal everywhere. It turns a simple, human piece of communication into a soulless, homogenised husk.

(The Client Service Manager will doubtless be giggling at the melodrama of all this – it was a pretty minor change. But it’s the principal of the thing!)

Are these changes made because people genuinely think they’re the right thing to do? Or because of some nebulous sense of corporate rectitude looming over their shoulder like Banquo’s ghost?

I dunno. I just write offensive ads.

It was The Institute of Internal Communications Awards 2010 on Friday night (the artist formerly known as Communicators in Business). And, together with our talented chums from the O2 IC team, we were chuffed to pick up a gong for ‘Best Reward and Recognition’. Huzzah!

The night didn’t get off to the best of starts. Having manfully resigned myself to missing the England game, one of the O2 gang whipped out her iPhone and got the whole game live streaming. Magic. Except, as history will reflect, it wasn’t.

No matter. Shortly after the whistle was blown on that aberration, the world of spin’s most spinniest spinster, spinmeister-general Alistair Campbell took to the stage and delivered a blinding speech. I mean blinding in the most literal sense. By that point I’d consumed an ill-advised quantity of white wine and the stage lights were really bright.

Then the awards began. All 35 of them. To be fair, it was all conducted with ruthless efficiency. Nominees announced, winner declared, blast of contemporary popular music, shake Big A’s hand, pose for photo, jog on.

Listen to me, pretending to be all like, whatevs. My hoop was well and truly a-cocked when our turn came around and we got the nod. Less thrilled when I realised I’d been nominated to represent WMW in the twosome who would actually go and collect the award.

Possibly through our last minute booking arrangements, our table was located at the remotest possible point from the front of the room. At that moment, the path from table to stage seemed roughly equidistant to the path from Bag End to Mount Doom.

I staggered gamely towards the light with an amiable (drunk) grin plastered on my face and the whole handshaking/posing/leaving thing seemed to go okay. I didn’t fall over or insult anyone and I’m 90% sure my flies were in the appropriate position. Returning to our table, group hugs and multiple high fives ensued. Oh yes. We were classy in victory.

Congrats to all the night’s other winners and short-listers. If I met you on the dance floor, I can only apologise.

Favourite hazy flashback
Mr Campbell’s segue into announcing our triumph:

“And the winner is the entry the judges said had the wow factor – Fanclub!”

One of the competing category entries was called ‘The WoW! Factor’.