“These are real ads!”
Back in the day, I snagged an interview with “Lyor Silver,” VP Chief Creative Officer of JL & Associates. They were a solid independent shop doing about $100 million in billings. Lyor was friends with “Keith,” this art director at a smaller agency that I’d interviewed with earlier; he really liked my book but just couldn’t afford to hire me so he gave me the names of some major shot-callers to help me out. (Very cool.)
So after a few calls, Lyor and I meet. He looks like Magnum PI (if he were about 5’5): Bushy hair, bushy mustache, stocky build, bright colored suits with shoulder pads, etc… He lets me know upfront that he’s only meeting with me as a favor to Keith then starts up with a generic pep talk about what’s it like in the “real world”. He sounds so disinterested that it feels like I’m back in high school on Career Day or something. So to speed things up I mention that Keith liked my portfolio and thought he should see it.
“You have a portfolio?”
Why he’s surprised that a copywriter candidate has a copywriter’s portfolio I had no idea so I just pull out my book and give it to him. He opens it up and looks at the first page. He pauses. He looks up at me eyes wide open, then back at my book then up at me then back at my book and turns the page.
“These are ads! These are actual ads!”
He says it again like he’s cheering on a circus act. I calmly note that I put together my first portfolio as a freshman and that my writing influences were industry legends like Howard Gossage and Bill Bernbach and that I’d been reading CA annuals and Archives for years; and while I was 21 I was hungry, willing to work cheap and felt I had lot to offer an agency. That’s when I realized something important:
“These are actual ads... This is the kind of work that we do!
He wasn’t listening to a single word I said. He just kept looking at my book and at me and kept trying to figure out how the two got together… and of course, he kept saying stupid things like:
“So where did you learn how to do this stuff?”
Part of me wanted to tell Lyor that I was actually a crack dealer and one of my clients was a strung-out copywriter who traded me their portfolio for another hit. But instead I told him the truth.
“Wow. That’s great that someone like you wants to get into this industry…” he responds. “Now I know you probably can’t tell to look at me, but I’m Scandinavian. I’m an outsider, too.” (Sometimes people say things that make you squint because you can’t believe you actually saw the words come out of their mouths. Businesspeople have made me squint a lot over the years. A lot.)
Lyor then proceeds to equate the struggles of being a below-average height, second-generation Scandinavian-American with a slightly unusual first name with being a black male in America. And just as he overcame, I shouldn’t let prejudice stop me from succeeding; and while he didn’t hire me and wouldn’t recommend anyone else who was looking for writers, he was definitely on my side.
So after a few calls, Lyor and I meet. He looks like Magnum PI (if he were about 5’5): Bushy hair, bushy mustache, stocky build, bright colored suits with shoulder pads, etc… He lets me know upfront that he’s only meeting with me as a favor to Keith then starts up with a generic pep talk about what’s it like in the “real world”. He sounds so disinterested that it feels like I’m back in high school on Career Day or something. So to speed things up I mention that Keith liked my portfolio and thought he should see it.
“You have a portfolio?”
“These are ads! These are actual ads!”
He says it again like he’s cheering on a circus act. I calmly note that I put together my first portfolio as a freshman and that my writing influences were industry legends like Howard Gossage and Bill Bernbach and that I’d been reading CA annuals and Archives for years; and while I was 21 I was hungry, willing to work cheap and felt I had lot to offer an agency. That’s when I realized something important:
“These are actual ads... This is the kind of work that we do!
He wasn’t listening to a single word I said. He just kept looking at my book and at me and kept trying to figure out how the two got together… and of course, he kept saying stupid things like:
“So where did you learn how to do this stuff?”
Part of me wanted to tell Lyor that I was actually a crack dealer and one of my clients was a strung-out copywriter who traded me their portfolio for another hit. But instead I told him the truth.
“Wow. That’s great that someone like you wants to get into this industry…” he responds. “Now I know you probably can’t tell to look at me, but I’m Scandinavian. I’m an outsider, too.” (Sometimes people say things that make you squint because you can’t believe you actually saw the words come out of their mouths. Businesspeople have made me squint a lot over the years. A lot.)
Lyor then proceeds to equate the struggles of being a below-average height, second-generation Scandinavian-American with a slightly unusual first name with being a black male in America. And just as he overcame, I shouldn’t let prejudice stop me from succeeding; and while he didn’t hire me and wouldn’t recommend anyone else who was looking for writers, he was definitely on my side.
