#2: Ahem, Excuse Me, I Was Wondering If I Could Just-
First steps, going public, and the fear of it
(We went to Croatia at the start of May, to mark a break between two chapters. Beautiful.)
James, here. Hello from a desk in Second Home, London Fields, where the plants are plentiful, the chairs are midcentury (and therefore aesthetically comfy but posterially variable), and the space is "designed around biophilic principles." Biophilia basically means helping humans connect with the natural world through design. I can get down with this, especially after offices whose main purpose is to impress those looking in from the outside, rather than to nurture the workers within. Though you could make a fair argument that SH are doing both, and good for them.
It's been a busy week. It's had a broken shape (biophilic! - SH), but with three running themes:
a) Asking independent friends for advice on how to be your own enterprise in the world (to them: THANK YOU, you have made me understand how hard this can be whilst making me feel this is possible - at the same time. To everyone else: ask your friends for help more often. They want to help you.)
b) Setting up meetings. It's actually really fun. If you put yourself out there, all sort of people you don't expect suddenly show an interest in buying what you're selling. Speaking of which:
c) Telling my story. Over and over again. Why I'm here and not where I was before, the problems in the world that I think I can fix, and the way I can make this happen with a potential client. And as I tell it in different spaces, I notice the phrases I repeat, the changes in emphasis, the expansion and elision. I'm almost ready to commit it to paper, and when I do you'll see it first, but for now it's exciting to observe the organic, Socratic, wiggly way it comes about.
On Respect
At time of writing, there are 31 of us on this mailing list; the size of my class when I was at school. My heart goes out to teachers. I have teacher friends and an ex-teacher Mum, and the idea of holding the attention of a class of children thrills and terrifies me.
Much like this newsletter.
(Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, in the wonderful Hark A Vagrant by Kate Beaton. He was an early champion of LGBT rights, even speaking publicly for them in Munich in 1867.)
Which is strange, because in the whole of my marketing career this is, of course, the smallest audience I've ever had. I've developed the story and messaging for brands that had the money to reach hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions (hell, I even wrote the script for this one, which ended up on Gogglebox). But none of them have given me the particular flavour of fear that doing Eureka has. I think this is down to a few things:
1) Who I am. It's me writing as me, or a still-forming version of me. I'd like you to like me, which is only human.
2) Who you are. You are friends, family, and old colleagues, digital acquaintances and business partners, who've all opted into a letter in this chaotic world. You've done the emotional-GDPR act of trust, and I want to honour that.
3) Well y'know it's a pretty amazing time and who knows what's going to happen, emotional weather is worth sparing a thought for etc etc
But my conclusion is that these feelings are not wrong, they just have the wrong name if we call them fear. They are simply the signs of respect at work. I'm hoping to be respected, and I wish to respect your attention. (I really hope it's a relationship that pays off for all of us.)
This is something we might think about, next time we're handed the keys to a big brand's megaphone. Nobody has a lot of time for brands nowadays, and the media dogma response is "okay, we'll have to be disruptive and grab as much time as we can." There's truth to this, but once we all start doing it, it leads to a sort of CMYK-noise in the media landscape.
I'd like to gently propose the mental model of not stealing an audience's attention, but respecting it. Making sure you are clear, human, truthful, and compassionate. A few years ago I gave a talk at the advertising conference LEAD, where I suggest there be some kind of Marketing Hippocratic Oath including the words "I will sell it like I made it, or not sell it at all." A hard ask, but perhaps it's worth at least reaching for.
What I'm Reading
Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder: A teenage girl starts receiving letters from a philosopher who, little by little, introduces Sophie to the big questions of life. Apparently a worldwide bestseller, and I can see why: everyone who lives in this world should be incredibly curious into, well, what the hell is going on here, and this book is a masterclass is using comparison, metaphor and dialogue to crack open that dormant curiosity.
Adapt or Die by Charlie Ebdy: Since his President's Prize-winning IPA Diploma essay, Ebdy has refined the precious art of tearing down dogma, and Adapt or Die has a truly uplifting message at its heart: marketing isn't as simple as everyone says it is, and that's a good thing because there's lots of room to be smart, take risks and make something brilliant happen.
So, that's issue 2. Phew. If there's something you'd love to see more/less of, why not drop me a line @jamescmitchell?
And if you just think this should happen again, my request to you is that you forward this email and maybe the sub link to just one person, saying "this guy is worth five minutes of your time." Word of mouth and "compassionate forwarding" is the fastest way newsletters grow, and as scary as it is, I would love to believe that if I honestly put myself out there, about once a week, there are people who would appreciate that. If it's true, I won't stop.
Until next time, water your plants, water yourself, and look out of a window once in a while.
James
❧