We will treat each great cause as our own.
We will treat each great cause as our own.
Our mission is to help great causes succeed. In order to fulfill that mission, we must appreciate and believe in our client’s causes—not from a position of shallow understanding, but with empathy and respect.
We will embrace the differences in each client.
RHB is focused on a particular kind of great cause. Instead of casually focusing on how institutions are alike, we will diligently seek how they are different in order to identify the one true position in the universe that they occupy.
We will appreciate the contribution of each client.
We will appreciate our own expertise as marketers by respecting the expertise and responsibilities of our clients. Each client brings something to the equation that we do not. The contributions of the client are as important as our own.
We will be good stewards of our client’s resources.
Our clients will value our talents and we will respect their resources. Our clients come to us for things they cannot do. If something is left undone, we will provide our counsel with an eye toward the assets of the institution. This will be a primary measure for how much our clients trust our expertise.
We will strive to ‘make a dent in the universe.’
Our team will dream on the client’s behalf—big dreams that will help them reach the audacious goals set forth in the vision and mission of each institution. We will do this with heart, knowing that every opportunity is precious.
We will recognize every waking moment as an opportunity to learn.
The RHB team will be observant beings. From excellent services to well-designed experiences to objects of beauty, we will allow them all to guide our hands and hearts to fulfill great causes.
-Sam Waterson is the Executive Vice President and Creative Director of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency. Follow him on Twitter @slwaterson.
I made a bad decision once and ended up with this four-inch scar on my forehead and very little feeling on the top of my gourd. I tried for a year or so to cover it with long hair. Long hair was an equally bad decision. I applied collagen. I tried to “circle the dragon” with acupuncture. I painfully massaged the scar tissue. I shot it with lasers.
I hate that I have this scar.
I hate what it means, the memory it conjures.
I hate that it will never go away.
And I can’t change it.
For the first three years of my career at RHB, I thought that the most valuable “thing” that we gave to our clients was gorgeous and effective recruitment publications. For the next three years of my career, I thought that our most valuable deliverable was intelligent strategy obtained by distinctive research methods. For years 7, 8 and 9, I thought that the best possible thing we could deliver was our collective intelligence to help our client’s position themselves.
While I don’t think I goofed around for (all of) nine years, I was wrong.
What we deliver is confidence; it’s the sum of all of what I mention above. Our time with clients is marked with discovering the truth about an institution: Who they are, why they are who they are, what they are, quirks, warts and all. But discovering that truth is one thing—embracing the truth with confidence and fervor is another.
Our most successful clients find and acknowledge their undesirable marks; they hug them rather than hide them. Their scars are different than mine. Theirs are made up of controversial moments, insensitivity, violence, an embarrassing point of view that the institution no longer holds.
Scars may fade, but they don’t go away. They simply become a part of an institution’s being. And when our clients know where their scars are, they can stand and live naked and confident in the marketplace. It’s the only way that an institution can ever align what people expect of them with what they deliver.
It’s not likely that I’ll get over this scar on my head, but it’s a part of who I am, for better or worse.
My friends call me “the boy who lived.”
-Sam Waterson is the Executive Vice President and Creative Director of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency. Follow him on Twitter @slwaterson.
image via “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” by J.K. Rowling
I know all the reasons why I shouldn’t blog about Chrissy Teigen, but let me list them for you.
1. “Blogging” about a person is infinitely passé and puts me in a category with the worst 50% (Julie and Julia) and the best 50% (Chris and Brogan).
2. Chrissy Teigen is a (swimsuit) model. Business writing is supposed to be asexual.
3. I don’t know Chrissy Teigen personally.
4. The phrase, “the best at Twitter” is something that my 68-year-old dad would say. I’m 32.
5. I’m not in a position to judge anyone on Twitter, but hey, this is the Internet.
6. I’m not writing this to get retweeted, but that would be kinda sweet because my Klout score sucks.
One more foundational point before we begin: There is no way that I can prove that Chrissy Teigen is the best at Twitter, but I can say that Guy Kawasaki is the worst.
Chrissy Teigen (or user number #39,364,684, which is much sexier) is the best user of Twitter ever. She has 87,275 followers, follows 697 (about to be 698, hehe), and has sent 21,810 tweets. She has 10 favorites, but I don’t have a clue what favorites are supposed to do and no one uses them. She’s a model and aspiring chef. She’s tall.
My argument is based on five key points:
1. She’s inherently interesting. Chrissy Teigen is a celebrity. She’s stunningly beautiful, bi-coastal, multiethnic, engaged to a (talented) musician that you’d want to watch football with. She does stuff that we all want to do and encounters a lot of the same daily issues, e.g. airline travel. Her Twitter life is as accessible and idyllic as it is regular and mundane. And because of her consistent use of the medium, followers get a glimpse of all of it.
2. She has no filter. I don’t want my mom to read her tweets. But that’s not the point: Teigen tweets from the moment in time in her life, period. If that tweet is about burning a turkey or Newt Gingrich or the Super Bowl in Indianapolis, it’s truth on the spot. Frankly, it’s the best use of Twitter, no matter the context.
3. She has no agenda. I don’t know this actually, but if she’s promoting an agenda, she’s either totally ineffective or totally passive. Despite the occasional invitation to her food blog and a photo from a shoot, there isn’t heavy-handed self-promotion. You get the sense that the byproduct of her Twitter use is a deeper sense of who she is over readership for her food blog. In that way, her feed is authentic.
4. My wife would follow Teigen if my wife was on Twitter. The point isn’t that I have to be ashamed of following a model; the point is that the tweets’ subjects aren’t pigeonholed into a singular category. Our 22-year-old intern enjoys them as much as my 31-year-old wife would. Three sentences to say that she appeals to a wide array of audiences: you’re welcome.
5. She’s technically proficient. Her tweets are staccato; links and photos are posted correctly. That seems like a baseline requirement for success, but so many fail.
-Sam Waterson is the Executive Vice President and Creative Director of Richard Harrison Bailey/The Agency. Follow him on Twitter @slwaterson.
A few weeks ago, North Park University’s Marketing and Enrollment VP Nate Mouttet and President David Parkyn hosted a presentation and conversation about coherence with approximately 60 on-campus marketers at North Park. The professional teams from admissions, recruitment, advancement and internal communications attended a “workshop” after reading Coherence: How Telling the Truth Will Advance Your Cause and Save the World. We had an opportunity to discuss the North Park brand as it is evolving.
It was a fascinating discussion, touching briefly on many of the topics discussed in Dr. Parkyn’s excellent new book, Discovering Our Voice, a nifty volume articulating how North Park’s mission, vision and brand distinguishes the University from its peers and competitors. What I really enjoyed about reading his articulation of North Park’s key messages was his honesty and transparency. (Perhaps you’ve heard: we call that coherence at RHB).
In Discovering Our Voice, Dr. Parkyn creatively addresses the influence of history and cultural shifts on North Park’s brand. He’s honest about what North Park has become. He’s shown the vitality of the institution. He’s given it voice.
As the pressure is applied to higher ed to accountably perform at great levels, we have to do a better job of articulating our purpose(s) and our contributions to society. Parkyn does just that by defining eight distinctive educational ideals that give North Park its voice.
I loved this passage particularly:
Whatever we are privileged to learn is not meant to be hoarded, to be kept to ourselves in isolation from all others. Whatever we learn must soon be shared, it must become a gift to others. A gift which helps others learn. A gift which shapes the world around us for the better. A gift which lifts others up even as we have been lifted up by the gifts of others.
Maybe that means he’ll share what he’s learned with you.
-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.
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.