Stories for sale
I've always wanted to be a writer. Working alone with my dog and tepid cups of tea is my idea of Bliss (a Peter Carey novel that still inspires me ). A poweful story, an inspirational speech or a catchy jingle use words to motivate us to act in ways we may never have realised possible. Revolutions and brands share this distinction.
The first piece I ever wrote of any consequence was a letter to the local paper wondering why Hawthorn train station was a graffiti-covered dilapidated shell, when clearly it had some historical charms. I got a call from local architect, who asked if I’d be interested in chairing a committee to help galvanise support to restore the station. “I’m 14 years-old,” I told him. He said that was fine. So for two years, I met regularly with a group of much older people who greased some wheels and helped get the station completely renovated, which increased its use and value to the community.
The first piece I ever wrote of any consequence was a letter to the local paper wondering why Hawthorn train station was a graffiti-covered dilapidated shell, when clearly it had some historical charms. I got a call from local architect, who asked if I’d be interested in chairing a committee to help galvanise support to restore the station. “I’m 14 years-old,” I told him. He said that was fine. So for two years, I met regularly with a group of much older people who greased some wheels and helped get the station completely renovated, which increased its use and value to the community.
By the time I finished school, Hawthorn station was re-opened. I knew I was more a behind-the-scenes operator than an out-the-front person because I didn’t even want to be credited with coming up with the idea; I just wanted it to happen. Like magic. Like the way you want a Coke and not a Pepsi and you don’t know why.
Fast forward 20 years and I’m living and working in New York. The Internet hadn’t yet started to breathe life into a flacid economy and depressed culture, but supermodels were giving us a lot of confidence. (I was lucky enough to see Peter Lindbergh work his magic behind the lense with Naomi, Claudia, Christy et. al. vamping it up in leather on a blisteringly hot day in Brooklyn.)
One of my earliest jobs was editing a clump of monthly rags to the trades. 1407 and 1412 Broadway were multi-storeyed meccas to the garment district back then. Brands like Squeeze, Jordache, Girodano and thousands more vied for space in department stores all over the country where most people used to shop for clothes. They plied a trade in colourful fashions paraded in malls that now exist as desolate and crumbling reminders of a time when record stores and arcades were how America wasted time after school and on the weekends.
It was thankless work at these four magazines. Over-coiffed sales women, and a man who wore too much cologne, smoked at their desks as they relaxed from the grind of door-to-door sales and poked away at phones to sign up advertisers. It was then my job to reward our benefactors with free editorial draped over fresh, young bodies I had to coax out of Ford, Elite, IMG and Wilhelmina. Most came to us hoping to build on their mid-western portfolios of a few tear sheets or head shots taken by a local photographer. Hair and make-up we did pay for – it’s the least we could do, I guess, for the free labour. Our over-grown boy/man publisher was also the photographer and he swapped his girlfriends out with a suspect frequency from the continuous parade of aspiring Linda Evangelistas and Cindy Crawfords.
Fast forward 20 years and I’m living and working in New York. The Internet hadn’t yet started to breathe life into a flacid economy and depressed culture, but supermodels were giving us a lot of confidence. (I was lucky enough to see Peter Lindbergh work his magic behind the lense with Naomi, Claudia, Christy et. al. vamping it up in leather on a blisteringly hot day in Brooklyn.)
One of my earliest jobs was editing a clump of monthly rags to the trades. 1407 and 1412 Broadway were multi-storeyed meccas to the garment district back then. Brands like Squeeze, Jordache, Girodano and thousands more vied for space in department stores all over the country where most people used to shop for clothes. They plied a trade in colourful fashions paraded in malls that now exist as desolate and crumbling reminders of a time when record stores and arcades were how America wasted time after school and on the weekends.
It was thankless work at these four magazines. Over-coiffed sales women, and a man who wore too much cologne, smoked at their desks as they relaxed from the grind of door-to-door sales and poked away at phones to sign up advertisers. It was then my job to reward our benefactors with free editorial draped over fresh, young bodies I had to coax out of Ford, Elite, IMG and Wilhelmina. Most came to us hoping to build on their mid-western portfolios of a few tear sheets or head shots taken by a local photographer. Hair and make-up we did pay for – it’s the least we could do, I guess, for the free labour. Our over-grown boy/man publisher was also the photographer and he swapped his girlfriends out with a suspect frequency from the continuous parade of aspiring Linda Evangelistas and Cindy Crawfords.
The weakest link in the golden chain
After a year of questionable characters and sweat-shop fashion, I got a job at an agency in account services that was building on a legacy in classifieds and moving into fashion advertising. The CEO once threw a pretty heavy book at me when I walked into his office while he was having a tantrum. Needless to say, I was delighted to read in 2013 that his agency collapsed amidst a scandalous bankruptcy. There was name-calling and it was generally a pretty unpleasant place to go from 9-5, five days a week. I discovered Montauk my first summer with this agency and I still remember how laid back and cruisy the weekends were on Ditch Plains. We stayed in a bungalow belonging to a guy called Bill and walked across the road to watch spectacular sunsets. He liked to fish and had seen some of the world during his time in the military.
The actual Cindy Crawford was a model for one the accounts at the agency. Like the publisher at the magazines, the book-thrower liked to date models and considered himself quite the catch. It took about a year for me to realise where the interesting stuff was happening and it wasn't at an agency clawing its way from the back of the magazines to the front.
The actual Cindy Crawford was a model for one the accounts at the agency. Like the publisher at the magazines, the book-thrower liked to date models and considered himself quite the catch. It took about a year for me to realise where the interesting stuff was happening and it wasn't at an agency clawing its way from the back of the magazines to the front.
In-language advertising (or not in English)
Run by a Russian couple who always seemed a little suss to me, but, it turns out, probably not as much as the agency prior, it’s the first place I started to feel passionate about communications. I fell in love with the urgency of advertising and reliant on the sense of humour you need if you’re working long hours with people who aren’t at home in New York. Late nights spent retelling stories of home and growing up that were coloured by my American experience lens of The Brady Bunch, Get Smart, Miami Vice, and The Dukes of Hazard were as much a part of the learning experience as was the last possible hour Federal Express could pick up for a next day delivery.
The techies were my favourite department. They were funny in a laugh out loud kind of way. One of them moonlighted as a bouncer for a dominatrix. Another was chronically pissed off with an always-on laconic wit. Even the clients were funny: one thought I was Italian, because of my accent and last name.
The techies were my favourite department. They were funny in a laugh out loud kind of way. One of them moonlighted as a bouncer for a dominatrix. Another was chronically pissed off with an always-on laconic wit. Even the clients were funny: one thought I was Italian, because of my accent and last name.
MVBMS
Messner Vetere Berger McNamee Schmetterer. Doesn’t exactly roll of the tip of the tongue, but it did make for the best education I got in advertising. And friendships that have survived a couple of decades and thousands of miles. It’s probably where I rekindled an interest in writing. I like to think I wasn’t ready, needed to understand how the business worked before becoming one myself. These were heady days of mergers and huge accounts moving from overly large and bureaucratic agencies to nimble assemblies of highly-skilled raconteurs with a penchant for the provocative. There were fortunes to be mined in communications, sneakers, automobiles and fast food. Magazines reigned supreme as entertainers to a savvy set of 20-somethings in media and account services. We were dined and soaked in boxes at Madison Square Garden, on yachts around the harbour and on ski weekends where loves were found and lost. And then there were Hot Wired, Yahoo! and MCI, each occupying a place in the museum of the WWW. We bought advertising, we sold it to our clients and we encouraged others to leverage this new frontier as the place where people all over the world would buy everything from CDs to steaks.
I ended up working for Yahoo! in Australia after moving to Sydney with parent company EuroRSCG, now owned by Havas. These were strange times for me, lost in a fog of where can I escape to next and why don’t I feel any sense of belonging. Marriage and family saved me, you could say, gave me a purpose that was both selfless and satisfying. And again, I made friends with people who tell great stories.
I ended up working for Yahoo! in Australia after moving to Sydney with parent company EuroRSCG, now owned by Havas. These were strange times for me, lost in a fog of where can I escape to next and why don’t I feel any sense of belonging. Marriage and family saved me, you could say, gave me a purpose that was both selfless and satisfying. And again, I made friends with people who tell great stories.
Career redux 2015
I did some casual marketing for small businesses between 2006 and I finally looked at what was staring me in the face. Both my parents at some stage in my childhood had told me independently: do what you love and the money will follow. So I set out to get someone to take a chance on me as a junior copywriter - older, but wiser.
Today, I can take credit for PayPal digital marketing in Asia Pacific and a hundreds of real estate marketing campaigns from aged care to “you wish” properties throughout Melbourne. I’ve been trusted with a branding campaign for an agency relaunch and written for Domain in The Age. Cherry Burst Tomatoes on social media, Vileda cleaning products and a Zendesk B2B campaign have made me as happy as I was working on a global branding campaign for The Discovery Channel back in the mid-90s and channel marketing for Intel globally at the turn of the century.
Some people sing stories, dance them, belt them out on a guitar. Others paint them, carve them, and even collect them. I write them.
Today, I can take credit for PayPal digital marketing in Asia Pacific and a hundreds of real estate marketing campaigns from aged care to “you wish” properties throughout Melbourne. I’ve been trusted with a branding campaign for an agency relaunch and written for Domain in The Age. Cherry Burst Tomatoes on social media, Vileda cleaning products and a Zendesk B2B campaign have made me as happy as I was working on a global branding campaign for The Discovery Channel back in the mid-90s and channel marketing for Intel globally at the turn of the century.
Some people sing stories, dance them, belt them out on a guitar. Others paint them, carve them, and even collect them. I write them.