Why do ad agencies always end their presentations with “thanks” or “thank you?” Was this always the case? Or was there a time when they felt confident enough to conclude an important pitch with a simple, direct “FIN.” I’d like to think that era existed in black and white. Though something tells me it’s just another French-press-fueled fever dream.
As I rarely say, “if it’s good enough for Jean-Luc Godard, then it’s good enough for me.” French New Wave cineastes never quite figured out story arc, coherent screenwriting, the best color for subtitles, or a replacement for the overwhelming banality of cigarette smoke, but boy did they know how to end things. To do it with such style. Aren’t the words panache and élan French, too? Finally things are starting to make sense. It’s why spoiling a film involves the ending. You can’t spoil the opening sequence or a tiresome montage of clichéd resilience in the middle.
In a business built on deference, gratitude often takes the place of confidence. What are we thanking these people for? We haven’t won the business yet. It’s wildly premature to thank someone in advance. Do you thank someone for a wrapped present? No, never. You tear it to shreds, assess the item’s worth, then and only then do you offer up a hollow thank you. You should be thanking consumers, not clients, since they are the ones who are the final arbiters of success. There are some rules you might be wise to abide by. I’ve done you a favor and compiled the most essential ones that should be printed and displayed in every agency bathroom, elevator bank and stairwell. Here goes.
If you think your consumers are tall, then there’s a very real chance they will walk all over you.
If you think they wear suspenders, you’ll be shocked and dismayed to see them donning a gaudy leather belt.
If you think they get “high on life,” you might forget what exactly defines a drug. Caffeine. Heard of it? Now that’s a drug.
If you don’t think ads shouldn’t shock people, well, you’ve probably never shoved a metal spork into an outlet just to see what happens.
If you think they smell like ancient redwood trees, you won’t know whether or not that means they work in the logging industry or are somehow the reincarnation of John Muir.
If you think they relish doing long crossword puzzles in their spare time – yes, using ballpoint pen, then you won’t ever consider making a TV commercial with a Sudoku Easter egg.
If you think they all have moon roofs, you might not remember that sunroofs are also a thing. But then you might stop and say out loud, “shouldn’t it be ‘moon rooves?’” Of course, you realize rather quickly that the pro hockey team up in Toronto is known as the Maple Leafs, not the Maple Leaves. So who are you to question norms?
If you think ideas don’t matter, then one day you’ll be poolside at some hoity-toity resort in Hawaii, lost in a haze of afternoon sun and one-too-many Mai Tais, casually reading The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes only to find yourself mercifully coming around to a new perspective on the subject.
FIN.
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