Oh Lord Won’t You Buy Me A Production Team
30 May 2018
Today is my university degree show. It's a big deal, apparently. Even Sir John Hegarty showed up to tell us how bad our work was. Anyhow, I was in the committee because my course leader admitted to be incapable of putting together a more-than-extremely-sad show (if you are reading this, sorry Steve but you know it's true).
A few months ago we decided to write a manifesto. The thing is, all of my classmates hate advertising. I don't know what people were thinking when they chose this course. Most of my classmates would dream of doing anything else before writing ads. A girl writes poetry, some build sculptures or are trying to cure cancer in their free time and a very small percentage of them will be in advertising.
The committee had decided to ask the poet girl for a manifesto. Questionable choice? Maybe. From my little to inexistent experience I was led to believe that the difference between poetry and copywriting is the brief or lack thereof, and this required working with a brief. As none of us was truly satisfied with the poetry, my loving ex creative partner (we like each other so much more now that we are divorced) suggested that I write something. So I wrote a few lines on the notes of my phone, took a screenshot and sent it over to her, because what else would you do. She picked one and sent it off to the committee.
Long story short my words were laser cut, painted and stuck to a wall. It was a great feeling. What I wrote read "We all wanted to be sculptors, poets and rocket scientists. But one night we had one too many and fell for advertising". Only, there wasn't enough space on the wall. And the letters were cut too big. So it said "escorts" instead of "rocket scientist", because with all those leftover letters that's the only thing they could spell. And the font was not the one I wanted. And the justification was off. And someone accidentally painted over some of the letters. And they put a catering table in front of the word "advertising".
So, dear Santa, I am grateful for the opportunity, but this Christmas I'd like my very own production team.
30 May 2018
Today is my university degree show. It's a big deal, apparently. Even Sir John Hegarty showed up to tell us how bad our work was. Anyhow, I was in the committee because my course leader admitted to be incapable of putting together a more-than-extremely-sad show (if you are reading this, sorry Steve but you know it's true).
A few months ago we decided to write a manifesto. The thing is, all of my classmates hate advertising. I don't know what people were thinking when they chose this course. Most of my classmates would dream of doing anything else before writing ads. A girl writes poetry, some build sculptures or are trying to cure cancer in their free time and a very small percentage of them will be in advertising.
The committee had decided to ask the poet girl for a manifesto. Questionable choice? Maybe. From my little to inexistent experience I was led to believe that the difference between poetry and copywriting is the brief or lack thereof, and this required working with a brief. As none of us was truly satisfied with the poetry, my loving ex creative partner (we like each other so much more now that we are divorced) suggested that I write something. So I wrote a few lines on the notes of my phone, took a screenshot and sent it over to her, because what else would you do. She picked one and sent it off to the committee.
Long story short my words were laser cut, painted and stuck to a wall. It was a great feeling. What I wrote read "We all wanted to be sculptors, poets and rocket scientists. But one night we had one too many and fell for advertising". Only, there wasn't enough space on the wall. And the letters were cut too big. So it said "escorts" instead of "rocket scientist", because with all those leftover letters that's the only thing they could spell. And the font was not the one I wanted. And the justification was off. And someone accidentally painted over some of the letters. And they put a catering table in front of the word "advertising".
So, dear Santa, I am grateful for the opportunity, but this Christmas I'd like my very own production team.