In the seventies, the normal fare on my eight channels was reruns (it wasn’t called syndication yet)—Bewitched, I Love Lucy, The Original Mickey Mouse Club, I Dream of Jeannie, The Brady Bunch—and it got to the point where I knew the dialog from every show cold. But I didn’t watch to see what a moron Darrin Stephens or Major Nelson were or witness Lucille Ball’s physical comedy. I watched for the commercials.

I jumped at every opportunity to see more commercials, study the messaging, learn more about the lighting and camera angles. Little did anyone know that the television was more than a mindless brain drain, but rather a series of seminars I built for myself in that empty apartment that would be the backbone of my future career.

My self-educated study of advertising was better than anything I learned at UCLA or any subsequent continuing education classes I still take. When we would visit my uncle, who was in the ad game, I would smuggle extra copies of Advertising Age and (later) Adweek from his office so I could learn even more about the business and the creative process, always looking to get to the next level. I distinctively remember being captivated by Madge, the Palmolive manicurist, who had a gift of the gab and forced her clients to soak their hands in dishwashing liquid while doing their nails.

That advertising was effective and I begged my mom and dad in separate households to buy Palmolive instead of the other Brand X. I had to negotiate for it, even committing to do the dishes at age seven. Did them I did and yes my hands remained soft and I never had “dishpan hands.” And then, the commercial that stopped me in my tracks, aired one fateful afternoon.

It was a seminal moment for me. Maybe it was the perfect script or perhaps it was the freckle-faced kid with the same name as me. But whatever it was, I remember exact the time I watching this new spot in an awe-inspired trance in that Inglewood apartment. As an only child, I was captivated by the camaraderie at the breakfast table. As a kid of divorced parents, I was amazed there was time for breakfast debates, or that there was even a breakfast. I loved the announcer’s manipulative script and authoritative tone directing parents to manipulate their households that something good for you was actually delicious. I must have watched that commercial 20-30 times that weekend, taking in the nuances of the edit, studying every aspect of it including writing down every word in my black notebook with fresh college-rule paper.

Seeing this spot opened my eyes to the fact that you have to find that amazing idea and drive it with a powerful narrative for anything to truly become special. From a production perspective, I appreciated the meticulously detailed cut and as an ardent viewer, I was convinced that this was one seamless take that built all the way through the debate, the first taste of cereal and climaxing with the “He likes it! Hey Mikey!” What kept me coming back for more was that the momentum didn’t ease with the kids. The announcer played us all like puppets with his crafty delivery that drove you to the final framed shot of the cereal box. Brilliance in thirty seconds.

On Monday, I went to school and everyone ruined it. It seems my entire class had seen this commercial and convinced themselves I was the real Mikey. “He likes it! Hey Mikey!” echoed the hallways for a solid month. It was not was I was looking for in life at that time. I never did try Life Cereal but it was that experience that convinced me that it was me who had to craft the commercials. From the writing of the spot to the actual directing of them. It was a must and so I official began my journey.

As I aged and the innocence of the spot gave way to sexier ways to incite a surge of adrenaline that I could encapsulate into my own work became my calling card. Each spot I contrive takes a boutique agency approach working closely with clients to ensure I’m not just checking boxes and running through the motions, but crafting something that will catch the attention of today’s constantly changing audiences. Here’s the latest series of “Long Man” commercials produced for Sakeru Gummys in Japan…

Who knew that all of this could grow from cereal and dishwashing soap commercials?

The post The Inspiration of Mikey appeared first on Media Guy Struggles.

“I don’t need my glasses.”
“I’m not gaining weight.”
“I’m not slowing down.”
“I’m not out of shape.”

But I was.

All of it!

The 1920s penny scale in the entry way and the notches on my belt didn’t lie. Those bastards have crystal balls. So about a year ago, I decided to face facts and make some changes.

The ad game is a lonely expedition.

Now I’m lighter and back into jeans that aren’t rapper baggy. I’m downward dogging through yoga classes. And I’ve got energy to spare. I feel pretty good about this, but I keep remembering how much I disliked it all and how long it’s taking An entire year of my life to get within shouting distance of getting back in shape.

You see, I’m the kind of (media) guy who wants results immediately. I mean, who doesn’t? Well, there are some people who don’t, but they’re about as intelligent as a bag of bricks and I don’t like folks like that. I’m all about getting things done.

But over the years, I’ve grown to understand that speed is not always practical or possible. As a purveyor of all things marketing, I adjust my expectations when I start advertising campaigns because I know every campaign isn’t an award winner or designed to make the phone ring off the hook. Sometime, it’s a longer process. So instead of expecting things to go through the roof, I’m satisfied with brand extension — campaigns designed to maintaining the good work and gaining good feedback. These is the work that builds the foundation and eventually leads to campaign greatness.

My desire to create genius ads like this…

Every now and then, you hear about an ad (wo)man who graduated from college and six months later rose up to director status at one of those big agencies landing account after account. Well, that person is the exception, not the rule. The majority of us serve in the trenches for years before they catch that big break.

There’s no instant gratification in the ad game.

The key here, for both Media Guy and client, is to recognize that results take time. You can’t have one without the other. If you don’t agree, you’re a walking contradiction, and that path leads to failure.

One of my issues with the powerhouse companies that get featured in Adweek and AdAge week after week is that most of them don’t know how to develop campaigns. Those ad guy sign clients and from day one, they use their big budgets to overwhelm consumers with commercial after commercial, massive social media pushes, and favored induced earned media. That’s called swinging for the fences, and it’s a bad idea because the competition is fierce and the odds are stacked against you. Sure, the clients are excited by those opportunities because they feel like they’re cutting the line, but after a year of flat sales, the powerhouse agency will probably create an internal conflict and leverage it into landing a competitor, leaving them with little to show except a stack of inane commercial spots that may or may not have resonated with new customers.

Wouldn’t it make more sense to take your time—creating guerrilla and micro campaigns that that lead to bigger ones, carefully building your circle of engagement, working toward a successful annual strategy built on a foundation of hard-earned wins?

…led to creation of this masterpiece. PERSEVERANCE!

There’s no cutting the line in this industry. Not to get all Tony Robbins on you, but I genuinely believe you must fall in love with the process. That means embracing the bumps in the road.

It’s knowing that every campaign that doesn’t send metrics completely through the roof is giving you valuable experience.

It’s the perseverance to lead a diversified campaign and not put all your eggs in one basket.

It’s realizing that resting on yesterday’s success won’t give you the resources you need to book your business class seats for that Italian vacation.

Embrace the journey, not just the end of the road.

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