Are we falling out of love with fame?

We love famous. Our clandestine community of look-but-don’t-touch hegemonic heroes. Human achievement blown out of all proportion, by pure scale of influence.

Since the original Hollywood stars (Monroe, Dean, Brando) enjoyed the effects of big screens and bigger distribution networks, we have looked up at bright lights and hoped that one day, it might be us.

Slide forward half a century or so and it could be. Reality TV gave everyday Joe’s a chance to feel the warm glow (and wet knickers) of being a Brad or a Jude. Suddenly ‘fame’ became an end in itself – and an achievable one – albeit, all too often, rather short-lived.

Today, every social platform is but a stage for fame. Twitter followers. Facebook fans. Audiences poised to lap up opinions, hilarious cat images, thoughtful fit-for-blog sentiments. QED.

But there’s one difference. The untouchables have come tantalisingly within our reach. Fame can be achieved through sharing and openness. Sometimes our heroes even reply to our tweets (although, despite my best efforts, Ashton Kutcher – @aplusk – is yet to find my incredibly witty offerings reason enough to take me home and make funky shapes all night).

So. The nature of small-looks-up-at-big is changing. Small is becoming, well, medium-sized. And big is being brought down to size. Less David and Goliath, more David and David’s slightly burlier older brother.

Where does that leave fame? Surely it lives and breathes through the lungs of detachment. Separation. Surely once our heroes live alongside us, they can no longer assert such a degree of dominance, aspiration or influence?

Or does it work the other way around?

How to handle difficult creatives

First in an irregular series entitled ‘How to handle…’ (future topics may include unwanted stalkers, not getting any Facebook likes, ugly penises) I would like to share some tips that have helped me when trapped in the inexhaustibly petulant company of a Difficult Creative. Use at your own risk.

1. The Creative is not really a Creative
They might look, dress and taste like a Creative, but don’t be deceived. The Converse-clad hipster in front of you is, in fact, a BAFTA-winning movie director. Just not yet. Address them with appropriate awe and you will be rewarded.

2. There is no such thing as a ‘production budget’
As all creative people know, the person in the room with a clipboard and calculator is a figment of their imagination. Sometimes they sense that someone is talking but it sounds a bit like a cat scratching a post. You’ll do best to remember that.

3. It’s hard to find an example of unnecessary innuendo but I’ll give you one
The standard ratio of creative seniority to innuendo is 1:6. Understand that all creative impulses are valid and need a suitable outlet. Enable this by ensuring junior members of the opposite sex are present at every meeting. They don’t even need to work for your agency, so long as they sit quietly and don’t sue.

4. Everyone is the enemy
Your agency creds may stink of the spirit of collaboration, but below the surface is a dense fog of passive-aggression. The only way to pierce through it is to use something shiny, like an award (gold is good, glass is better). Sometimes it is enough to wave one in the Creative’s direction. If this proves ineffective, you should to hit them over the head with it, from behind.

5. Work does not need to be ‘sold’
When a gleaming diamond emerges unspoilt from the depths of a Creative’s blossoming intellect, it does not require ‘shaping’, ‘refining’ or ‘positioning’. It exists in perfect equilibrium and any meddling will only reduce its impact. There are no exceptions, so do not attempt to explain this to the Creative. Instead, coerce the client into pretending they require ‘essential amends’ so the Creative can’t argue with them.

6. Always sleep with the creative director. It’s the only way to guarantee a smooth ride.

7. Don’t write briefs
Briefs are like punches to the soft, bulbous gut of a Creative. They are viewed with great suspicion and when they think no-one’s looking, Creatives can be found pacing around them (at a safe distance) muttering expletives. If you must ‘brief’ a Creative, carve it on a gigantic slab of Dairy Milk and let them eat it afterwards.

8. Arguments are not for you to win
Like a cheetah toys with a wildebeest, occasionally a Creative may invite you to ‘discuss’ their latest campaign ideas. To an amateur, this may look like an open invitation to proffer insightful points of view and constructive criticism. This is a trap. The Creative has already considered any argument you can muster and has a winning comeback. Try to accept that you are mere cannon fodder and retreat as soon as possible.

9. Always, always suggest that ‘we do this over lunch’

10. All is fair in love and advertising
Creatives have an inbuilt radar to detect unfair treatment. The other team got to go on the Barbados shoot? Oh dear. They will not let you forget this until you furnish them with a new office, sexy intern or feature spread in Campaign. Better yet, sleep with them. In their new office. With the sexy intern.

I hope these tips help ease your tumultuous journey through agency land. Feel free to submit tips of your own.

The future of TV – Same as it ever was?

Straight to it with no foreplay, Krishnan Guru Murphy kicks off BAFTA TV Question Time with dour debate on whether we can still trust the BBC post-Savile scandal. 4 to 1 say we can. Auntie is too important an institution to let fall to the gutter because of one incident that was (while inexcusable) a symptom of the times.

Content is next. Why don’t British broadcasters make great drama, like the US? Stuart Murphy alludes to a ‘minimum level’ of programming to secure a subscription – who cares if people actually watch it? (Only 10% of Sky’s revenues come from advertising.) And as to whether the nation’s ADD (multi-screen, multi-channel) is affecting the prevalence of quality, long-form narrative, Peter Kosminsky argues that a strong story will always hold your attention, and the temptation to incorporate transmedia storytelling will only prove effective if the story is, well, effective. Naturally. Concludes with a defence of new commissions like Girls and C4′s Utopia as proof that broadcasters are risk-takers and just as good as the US. Ok then.

On to diversity. Why do all gameshow panels, continuity announcers and comedians have the same tone of voice? Because they all come from the same place, argues Grace Dent (mostly white, confident, middle class backgrounds). What are broadcasters doing to break free of this? Not enough, agrees the panel. Stuart Murphy shifts a little in his seat as he jokes that white, confident, middle class men aren’t all bad – after all, he is one. Titter.

As to the future of TV? Great content that challenges those in power and speaks to all audiences, not just those who produce it. Less lazy thinking. More risk-taking. Sounds good to me.

Walk on by

Looks at me
up
from darkness
to hope
a girl
a guy
no time for who, if, why

I cut past him
slice and shatter
possibility into
fear.

Danny’s inside joke

I am the world
And I’m watching you, London

What is there to see I haven’t already seen
Don’t tell me, you’re gonna wheel out the Queen?

Sex Pistols, dancing nurses, Roger Waters?
This was a story for your sons and daughters
Lit by a burning empire and the rest of us

A house made of movies and a dance of true love
007 falling from above
Grime and punk and a world wide web of confusion
5 gold rings ring out industrial revolution
(Liberal shit, an angry Tory tweets his resignation)
NHS, CND, what does it mean to me?
Mary effing Poppinses

The world is your stage London and you’ve certainly set it
But I’m not British and I’m not sure I get it.

The same, but different

 

 

 

 

Now this is interesting.

After last week’s disastrous O2 network issue, hoards of angry customers reacted negatively against the brand.

Compare this to giffgaff: a smaller, community-owned and operated network (currently asking for consumer’s suggestions on their The Big Bang Theory sponsor ads).

giffgaff piggyback on the O2 network, so they were equally affected by the issue, and yesterday announced that all customers would be compensated with an extra 10% on top-up credits.

Not only are hoards of calm and reasonable-sounding giffgaff users not complaining, they are going after those customers who do complain: “Members do not deserve anything more than what we get, so I will not be topping up … as I feel I get a good enough deal already” (You can read some of the comments here.)

In some ways the two companies are the same. Both are owned by the same network and both suffered a significant blip in service.

But the relationship they have with their customers couldn’t be more different.

Making it on Made in Chelsea

In front of me, Spencer Matthews (sexy rogue-type whose daddy owns superstar hangout the Eden Rock Hotel in St Barths) is dressed in nothing but a skin-tight jumpsuit, performing a range of contortions that wouldn’t look out of place in a 70s porn film but are somewhat at odds with the demure surroundings of the Valmont Club, where we are filming. My stage directions are to converse with my drinking partner, then (at a given cue) frown in subtle disapproval, and walk off screen (quietly – in one take, my 6-inch Ted Baker heels forced a re-shoot).

This is ‘constructed reality series’ Made in Chelsea’s end of season show, where ‘some scenes are filmed for your entertainment’ – and they’re not exaggerating. Lines were fed to the cast (some members, although it would be indiscreet to say whom, struggled to remember simple sentences) and the scene was conducted by a bad-tempered, badly-fitting-jeans-wearing director (like any advertising shoot, basically).

My favourite moment was a conversation with one of the cast (again, to remain nameless) about the force-to-area ratio of 5mm diameter high heels – it was my attempt at a chat-up line but the result was a blank expression and a flicker of panic behind the eyes. The moral of this story? Don’t let strategists near celebrities.

Catch the end of season show on E4 tonight at 10pm or on 4oD.

Announcing… nothing

Today, on my twenty-minute tube journey, I counted 37 announcements.

They covered a diverse range of stimulating topics, from informing me of the current station to asking me to take my litter home.

That’s 1.85 announcements per minute – nearly one every 30 seconds.

That’s 74 announcements per daily commute (excluding any extra trips during work).

People complain about the number of advertising messages we are exposed to each day. Operatic comparison site salesmen aside, I’d pick TV ads (which I can mute) over being trapped in a metal box bombarded, against my will, with loud interruptions.

This tally of decibel-based intrusion does not include:

• Other People’s Noises (yapping on the phone, headphone residue, screaming child)
• Incidental Backgound Noise (metallic screeching, footsteps, whirring escalators)
• High Pitched Beeps (doors opening, doors closing, doors opening, doors closing…)

I want to know how this is affecting my brain.

How it is affecting my ability to concentrate.

More critically, how it is affecting my relationship with sound.

If we spend an hour every day blocking out the sounds around us (because they are monotone, brash and irrelevant), do we blunt our receptiveness to the subtlety around us – a bird, a chuckle, a whisper?

I’d like to hear what Dr Daniel Müllensiefen makes of this.

I’d like to hear what Transport for London has to say.

I’d love to hear what you think.

The age of honesty

This is the start of an idea rather than the end of one.

In the 80s it was all about image. The mask. Showboats swam, shy-aways sank.

But the new era brings a see-through revolution. Transparency, you see. Now our every move is visible to our numerous networks, concealment is harder. The fact that your work mates and your mum see the same Facebook page makes it more difficult to lie about where you have been, and who with.

Which brings us to an emerging movement: honesty.

Like @humblebrag – the Twitter feed that collates show-off tweets comprised of, essentially, a brag disguised with a drop of endearing humility – more and more people are being (perhaps having to be), well, all open and approachable.

The trend is evident not only across social networks, but in sitcoms, movies, even music (Lily Allen’s self-aware ‘The Fear’ posed questions about image-culture without feeling encumbered to answer them: ‘I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore’).

A poet friend of mine talks about being able to fail on stage: ‘You need to learn that it’s ok to fail. Accept it. And use it.’ There is something enormously engaging about someone who’s prepared to laugh at themselves. It’s a social necessity, in fact. The junior presenter who can stand up in a meeting with everything to prove and quip a one-liner about a dodgy choice of clipart will win more friends, and respect, than the jittery try-hard who takes a provocative question to heart and gets defensive.

Brands are adopting this new, more humble mindset too. Since BP changed their end line from the grand ‘Beyond Petroleum’ to the more honest (and accurate) ‘It’s a start’ (and gained £millions in brand value as a result) organisations everywhere have been eagerly shedding their corporate masks and coming over all ‘real’. Like Tesco Mobile. Or   Wonga. 

But do you know what’s really irritating about all this? It’s as if people (and therefore brands) think that by being charmingly honest, it excuses them from poor behaviour. After all, Wonga still command an impressively bent 4214% APR on their loans. But as long as they’re honest about it, right?

Anyway, I did say this was the beginning of an idea. Not sure where it goes from here, to be honest.