It's that time of year again. Making lists, checking them twice. Wondering if you'll have everything packaged and ready in time. Going over your budget once again, because once again, you've managed to spend more than you planned. Knowing some people will be joyous -- others disappointed. Addressing, labeling, and frantically scurrying to make all the deliveries on time.
Of course, I'm talking about...Advertising Awards Season. Pretty much everything but CA and Cannes is due, like, now. Insanity reigns.
Let me disclose right away: I am staunchly ambivalent toward advertising awards. I have been through phases of my career during which I loved awards as much or more than doing the work itself, and yes, have been a self-proclaimed awards whore, with a shelf-load of most of the best ones to show for it. I am still perversely proud of the fact that a piece I did many years ago was the first our Atlanta office, before they were our Atlanta office, ever got into the One Show. Conversely, I have been through phases during which you couldn't get me to go, at gunpoint, into an awards presentation, regardless of my chances of winning. Interestingly, neither of those periods correspond to either a drought or a flood, in terms of awards won on my, my production company's, or my agency's part. After struggling with competing emotions for many years, I finally decided to embrace my ambivalence.
No industry lavishes more awards on itself than does ours. Movies and music don't even come close. Which, one would think, would devalue awards. And for some awards, that is, in fact, the case. Walk into any agency anywhere and you're sure to find a prominently placed table or shelves, overflowing with statues and obelisks of gold, silver, bronze, glass, and plexi. You might recognize the names of some, but others will be decidedly obscure. Still, there are some awards that have clearly retained their -- albeit fleeting -- star-making, buzz-making, press-and-client-prospect head-turning value, despite the overcrowding. Some awards are simply worth more. That still doesn't make me love or hate them any differently. But it does have an effect on where I put the entry budget.
To further explain my ambivalence, here's a snippet of something I wrote about awards quite some time ago, in a numbered list of 10 Things I've Learned in my career:
7. Brands count – even in award shows. This explains why a just-ok spot
with a Swoosh logo on it will pretty much always get in CA, but a
spectacular spot for Ed’s R/V Center probably won’t. As advertising
people, we’re supposed to be immune to brand worship, because we’re the
ones who create it. But actually, advertising people worship brands
more than anyone else. And award show judges are simply advertising
people who’ve reached the status of advertising god.
8. Award show judges are not advertising gods. Awards are great.
Spectacular, even. Almost nothing else has a fifty-fifty shot to: A –
make you think you’re worth twice your salary, or B – make you think
your career is over. But remember: Award show judges are there because
they couldn’t get somebody better. And in advertising, no matter how
good you are, there’s always somebody better. I’ve judged award shows.
Enough said.
Awards have value because awards create press and buzz. But press and buzz help you win awards. Get noticed, the judges notice. Judges notice, the press notices, and you get the private side meeting before the RFP. Or so the theory goes. It's complicated.
And now to complicate things further, things are getting further complicated. There was a time when one could open an awards book, and you knew what to expect, based on the year emblazoned on the cover. The cleverest headline twists combined with the cleverest visual selections, designed in the in-vogue style of the year (sometimes broken out by geography) denoted the good print stuff. Basically, the funniest TV pretty much had its way. But now, as I wrote last week, there are more definitions of good. And more places to look for it.
With the ad world all abuzz about a cyber entry winning a traditionally traditional Cannes, who knows what to expect? Of course, the cyber entry in question, the Dove film, is, while undeniably and unbelievably good, about as close to traditional advertising in form as anything cyber could be. It's simply an extraordinarily well-concepted, well-made piece of video that happened to be delivered online. Which means any panel of judges, regardless of their digital-world knowledge, would score it high. But what about stuff that works incredibly well for digital, but maybe not in other forms? Depends on who's judging. The immediate answer from the traditionalists might be that to be great, a piece has to work in any form. I completely disagree. Subservient Chicken simply won't make a good outdoor board. And most radio spots don't make great print ads. That's why there are categories. Which helps. Kinda.
People don't consume advertising and other kinds of marketing messages in neat categorized chunks. They consume it in that gigantic ever-churning mixing bowl called daily life. What matters to people (and ultimately to your client) is that whatever it is that you've put out there moves them in some (hopefully intended) way. Period. Many (probably most) award-winning pieces do just that. But then, so do some pieces that have never, and will never, hold a statue.
No actual person who's not in advertising ever looks at an ad and thinks, "Dang, that's the best four-color, full-page, regional/national, consumer products (health and beauty) ad I've ever seen." It just doesn't happen. People like the ad, or the spot or the site, or they don't - compared to, well, compared to whatever else was competing for their attention at any given time. Awards are a way to measure how much one group of people (the specific judges judging your work) like your work at a given point in time.
My ambivalent bottom line on awards? Necessary, inasmuch as gaining ground in an industry that covets awards requires you to win as many as possible, as often as possible. Fun when you win. Instructive, win or lose. Meaningful, only like most of the stuff we make -- which is to say, yes, very. But only until next year. In essence, they're simultaneously meaningless and incredibly important.
Which means, by all means, enter. Enter with vigor. And take your winnings with well deserved, honest pride. And, also, with a grain of salt.
Season's Greetings.
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