A few weeks ago, I wrote about the great apology and ‘no questions asked’ return policy that Jawbone offered those who purchased the new UP wristband. I opened mine on Christmas day and I love it. Though there are some inconveniences about it, for the most part it’s a great device. The mystery of its measuring my steps, my sleep and my caloric intake are fascinating; the on-demand statistical reports are clear and lovely; and the opportunity for challenges with other UP wearers looks like fun, though I’m still a bit intimidated to join. 

I took advantage of the gracious return policy. I’d like to get the update when it’s available. And I wanted you all to know that I’m a fan.

-Rick Bailey is the principal and founder of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency and author of Coherence: How Telling the Truth Will Advance Your Cause (and Save the World). Follow him on Twitter @RichardHBailey.

There has been a lot of talk in the creative media about the rising value of failure. “Fail harder,” “Don’t be afraid of failure,” “The Best Learning Comes From Failure.” Here, here, here. The message has become so prevalent that failure has become an objective. All of this attention to failure seems misguided based on a handful of perpetuated myths.

Myth 1: To achieve any meaningful objective you must risk failing.

Patently untrue. Expertise in a discipline, mastery of craft, experience and intuition takes most of the risk out of any endeavor.

Myth 2: What I’m doing has never been done before.

Likely untrue. True innovation in modern marketing is scarce. This doesn’t mean that we don’t try to break new ground, or invent, but nearly every initiative can be evaluated with a fair amount of objectivity prior to a launch. Does that mean that only experts can innovate? No, but any innovator has learned from scanning the landscape of marketing by years of experts.

Myth 3: We learn best from failure.

We don’t learn ‘best’ from failure, we learn ‘hardest.’ Meaning that there are real ramifications and accountability for our actions. You can learn that the stove is hot by touching it, or from someone that knows the stove will burn you. Learning from failure is not an objective or a noble task; it’s just good business.

Myth 4: Failure is a black and white outcome.

All “failures” lie on a continuum. Did you not garner the response that you wished on that direct mail campaign? How much did you miss by? Are you able to adjust your strategy to increase your response? 

Myth 5: We need to do something risky to gain attention.

Now we’re talking. Whenever we hear this, it generally means that the client is scared to tell the truth about their institution because of a lack of confidence or need in the market place. If you tell the truth about your organization, there is no risk, there is just truth. But you have to tell the truth. 

Myth 6: I can’t work scared. 

You’re right, that’s no way to live. Consistently fearing to fail leads to paralysis. So if we can’t take huge risks and flyers all the time and we can’t work in a straight jacket, what does that mean? Live INFORMED. Be observant. Be truthful. It’s the can’t-get-anything-done-to-reach-an-audience-coughing-sniffling-sneezing relief medicine.

Myth 7: I don’t have time to experiment.

Make some. If you’re trying to make mistakes, you’re experimenting. Experimentation allows for controlled failure. 

There was a time (not so long ago) when the charge was to do perfect work. “Not failing” doesn’t means we’re being less creative. It means we’re working with diligence, ingenuity, discipline and humility. Taking amnesty for failing seems to run counter to doing our very best for our clients. They shouldn’t stand for it, and neither will we.

PS: I appreciate innovation and experimentation as much as anyone you know. I push our team to go in directions that are new and dangerous that are in the best interests of our clients. Awarding trophies for failing is reckless and naive, but that’s just me.

-Sam Waterson is the Executive Vice President and Creative Director of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency. Follow him on Twitter @slwaterson.

I’m a sucker for anniversaries. In fact, one might say I heart them, and I’m fast-approaching a pretty big one. On January 20, 2011, Rick and Tam Bailey treated our office to an outing at the IMA to watch, Milton Glaser: To Inform and Delight. Sure, some people say that this or that documentary is a life-changing one, but this one, that night really did change things. It changed everything.

If you haven’t seen it, you must. (Take a second to add it to your queue right now. Go ahead; do it. Now.) The film discusses things nearly everyone knows about Milton, like his ubiquitous I <3 NY campaign and how he served as the genius behind NY Magazine. But the film also shed light on a little-known (at least to me) Glaser fact: that every summer, he hosts a weeklong workshop at the School of Visual Arts in New York. Hundreds apply, few are accepted. 

The next Monday during a lunchtime reading of Print, Sam and I noticed an ad for the Workshop. “You should apply,” Sam said. “Yeah, right,” was my response. “Do it,” he insisted. “Now.” Never thought I’d find the courage to apply, but I did. Never thought I’d be accepted in, but I was. Never thought I’d hug Milton Glaser, but we hugged. 

There’s a reason not many know of this one-week experience with a design icon: it’s the Las Vegas of graphic design. What happens at the Milton Glaser Workshop stays at the Milton Glaser Workshop. Why? For one thing, it’s hard to describe, but the most important reason is because Milton insists upon it. There’s no way to prepare for your week with him. The workshop requires a certain element of surprise. To experience the most growth, one must make herself uncomfortable, and Milton ensures that as much growth happens as possible. Translation: It’s one heckuva hellish, uncomfortable, uplifting, extraordinary, indescribable week. It’s the kind of week that makes you say, “Did that really happen? It must’ve because I feel different somehow.”

 Out of respect for Mr. Glaser and his spectacularly spunky assistant Carla, I’ll not reveal any specific details. I suspect when people apply for Glaser’s workshop, they expect to learn about pushing pixels and point sizes. In fact, it’s so much more. You should know that after a couple of intense days (filled with critiques like, “If I were the client, I’d throw you down a flight of stairs”) followed by a couple of sleepless nights, he hammers you with what should be a days-long project that’s due in 12 measly hours. While you’re gasping from shock, he adds, “In 25 years, no one’s ever failed.”

 ”Well, Hell!” we collectively thought. “We’re not going to be the first!” So no one did. It. Was. Amazing. Simply gobsmackingly amazing. People not only finished, but they kicked that project in the rear. (One workshop-goer said she felt as if she was on a reality show called,Milton Glaser Hates You.) After a couple of days mending wounds to our confidence, we were all suddenly so pleased with ourselves. After not smiling for days, we witnessed the corners of his large mouth turn up. He said, “When I told you yesterday that no one had ever failed. That may not have been true.” We had been duped! He went on to say, “I changed your perception of what you thought was possible.”

 Indeed. I’ve had several “impossible” personal and professional projects since then, but I keep telling myself, “no one’s ever failed.” It’s amazing what you can convince yourself is possible when failing isn’t an option. 

-Lindsay Hadley is the Lead Designer at Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency and teaches Publication Design and Graphic Design at Franklin College. Follow her on Twitter @lindsayhadley23.

How often do you/we rationalize our way to coherence? At what point do we forgive incoherence?

For NYE, my three sisters (one by blood, two others by choice—love them all) planned a paella dinner. We wanted fresh ingredients, particularly the seafood (we used fresh chorizo made by chef and sausage king Sam Waterson), so we headed to the new Lincoln Park Whole Foods at North and Sheffield in Chicago. Besides, we wanted to experience this new food retail phenom first hand. We had heard it was awesome. Indeed it was.

The Whole Foods spans 75,000 feet on three floors, plus parking. It’s an incredible array of food options, not to mention a coffee bar, beer pub, wine bar, gelato station, cooking school and wellness center. WF has always been a haven for hipsters, but this? This was a Mecca. Everything about it appealed to my inner selfish, materialistic Boomer.

Well, almost everything. First, this is no place for the adult ADD-ridden. Way too much stimulation. The cheese bar alone creates anxiety. 

But much more than that was the antithetical messaging that didn’t correspond to the experience. The elevator from the parking lot promoted the spa on level 2, but when we emerged on the main floor, we entered immediately into the bakery and its neighboring gelato bar. While Whole Foods wants us to think of them as holistically good for us, it’s clear they intend also to lead us astray. 

And though their signage screams their interest in my health, the food bar seemed not to reflect that message. Floating grease was as common as the lentils. And I saw no rooftop garden, though I would expect Whole Foods to lead by example in the city.

So, while I completely enjoyed my visit and found the mussels, clams, scallops and shrimp we needed, I came away a bit conflicted. And though I think I may choose this site for my next vacation (you really could spend days here), I noticed lots of incoherence that, as you know, troubles me.

What may have been most troubling was my own willingness to forgive Whole Foods for these trespasses. Maybe it was the good spirit of Christmas that increased my tolerance for such blatant sins against coherence. Or maybe it was my own delight and sensual pleasure that allowed me to overlook my own participation in these false pretenses.

Okay this little ditty may lean a bit on the hyperbolic side (really, under what circumstances is coconut gelato ever a sin? ((please don’t answer that))), but it does point to one of the crucial issues of marketing, doesn’t it? Truth-telling has some grey areas. Especially if we want customers. This is not easy stuff.

P.S. The paella was awesome.

-Rick Bailey is the principal and founder of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency and author of Coherence: How Telling the Truth Will Advance Your Cause (and Save the World). Follow him on Twitter @RichardHBailey.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah and Joyous Kwanzaa.

We’re guessing you are ready for a break. We hope that you are going to have one. 

We wish you the very best this holiday and we look forward to connecting in the new year. 

-Rick Bailey is the principal and founder of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency and author of Coherence: How Telling the Truth Will Advance Your Cause (and Save the World). Follow him on Twitter @RichardHBailey.

Move over, Andy Dunn. Hosain Rahman may have “upped” you in the apology department. (I still like you, Andy.)

I bought a Jawbone UP wristband for Tammy to give me for Christmas this year. Before I even had a chance to use it, Hosain sent his “deepest apologies” for its not living up to expectations. He regrets “any disappointment” they’ve created for the “our community of users.” They’ve discovered some production issues and software snags, so they’re giving us a full refund, but letting me keep and use the UP for free. They’re even continuing to improve the app while they make improvements to the product and re-launch. 

My NBF Hosain says he’s doing this “to offer peace of mind.” But what he’s already done is gain my loyalty. Smart guy.

-Rick Bailey is the principal and founder of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency and author of Coherence: How Telling the Truth Will Advance Your Cause (and Save the World). Follow him on Twitter @RichardHBailey.

Love means never having to say you’re sorry.

—Jennifer Carilleri (Ali MacGraw) and Oliver Barrett IV (Ryan O’Neal) in Love Story

I received an apology today from Andy Dunn, CEO of Bonobos, a men’s clothing site that I occasionally visit and from which I’ve purchased some mind-blowing shoes. He wrote to me to say he was sorry for the mishap with his site on Cyber Monday. Apparently, some customers had a bad experience. 

Here’s Andy’s letter to me (click on the thumbnail to read a PDF of the letter):

I didn’t celebrate CM in the traditional ways this year. Instead, I went to work and actually worked. Nonetheless, his kind letter made me think back to the letter I received last September 20 from Reed Hastings, CEO of Netflix/Qwikster:

Here are five things that make me like Andy much more than I care for Reed.  In fact, I don’t care for Reed very much.

1. Andy took quick action. Although his apology was delayed by 10 days, Reed’s was delayed by about two months. Andy’s timing was much better.
2. Andy didn’t try to make me think we were friends. He didn’t start with “Dear Rick” because he hadn’t earned that right. He knew I knew we had never met. Reed tried to buddy up. Didn’t work.
3. Andy wasn’t defensive. He didn’t try to explain what happened or what his intentions were. He apologized for the problem. Reed got all noble about intentions that didn’t sound all that noble. By the time he apologized at the end I was just angrier with him. And he said he wanted to “apologize again” when he hadn’t yet apologized. 
4. Andy admitted he wasn’t out of the woods, but he and his team were working on it. His transparency made me trust that he’d get on that fix right away. Reed told me nothing except that I’d get charged more anyway.
5. Andy kept to the point, said what he needed to and ended the note. Reed worked too hard and wrote too much—especially without saying much.

Thanks for teaching me some good lessons, Andy. I like you more now than I did yesterday. And we haven’t even met…yet. Oh, and I cancelled Netflix. 

-Rick Bailey is the principal and founder of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency and author of Coherence: How Telling the Truth Will Advance Your Cause (and Save the World). Follow him on Twitter @RichardHBailey.