This week: something a little more personal than the normal weekly newsletter. It’s about how I went from being a junior copywriter to specializing in humour — or, rather, one of the sparks that led to it. Personal stories always run the risk of self-indulgence, but perhaps this one shows that signposts in our careers aren’t always neon-lit. Rather, they occur when you least expect them to.
In 2000 I was 26 years old. Despite my dreams of setting the world of advertising alight (a) I didn’t have much of a portfolio, (b) the ads in my folio weren’t really that good. If you add up (a) and (b) you get a career that isn’t going anywhere fast. Would any creative directors meet me? They’d prefer voluntary root canal work.
So what happened? Well, I was a stubborn bastard: at least that counted in my favour. And through this quality and hard work, I managed to get a job at Bloomberg, the global business media company, based in London.
Things started well. I was part of the Creative Services team, working as a writer on everything from ads to brochures, from catalogues to flyers. But after a year or so, cracks started to emerge. There was a conservative edge to the company’s marketing, one that struck me as unnecessarily restrictive.
An example: I was briefed to write an internal ad that would invite Bloomberg employees to an evening view of a show at London’s Royal Academy of Art. The exhibition was of Gustave Doré’s drawings for Dante’s Inferno:
I wrote the headline:
After a long day at the office, we’d like you to go to Hell.
On the back of this, the HR department kindly warned me I was having too much fun in my job.
Clearly something wasn’t working out. Culturally, too, it felt oppressive. The Creative Services team sat in the middle of the Sales team: an army of voices selling Bloomberg products and services to financial institutions across Europe and beyond. It was very male, very aggressive, very dog-eat-dog. I started to wonder if this was my home, and if I was ever going to be truly happy here.
Then, one day, something unexpected happened.
I was passing by the desk of the Head of UK Sales. We’ll call him Matt. It was coming up to lunchtime on a brisk, spring day. I remember Matt well: toweringly tall, about a decade older than me, with a low, booming voice and a piercing stare.
I noticed, on his desk, he had a signed, framed drawing. It looked like a New Yorker cartoon. In fact, this is exactly what I saw — a drawing by the magazine’s cartoon editor, Bob Mankoff:
Now I had always loved New Yorker cartoons — such as this one by Charlie Hankin…
…Or this one, by William Haefeli…
…Or this little gem, by Alex Gregory…
…And so, long story short, I spoke up.
“Is that a New Yorker cartoon, Matt?”
He looked at me, a mixture of bafflement and irritation. “Yes.”
“Wow. Did you get it from a London gallery?”
“No. Bloomberg has an arrangement with Condé Nast, who publish the New Yorker. So we sometimes get cartoons.”
“I’d love one of those.”
He sat back in his chair, finessing his argument, circling in. “So, Patrick1, tell me this. How would it benefit this company for you to have a signed New Yorker cartoon, paid for by Bloomberg, on the wall of your house?”
“I…”
“No, please, tell me.”
I got the message. I walked off to buy a large portion of humble pie for lunch.
***
The next morning I came into work and walked up to my desk. On top of my computer keyboard was the cartoon. I walked over to Matt’s desk.
“You have it,” he said.
“But…”
“I went home last night and showed it to my wife. But she didn’t much like it. It’s yours.”
Here’s what I think: I don’t think he bought it home and showed it to his wife at all. I think he put his head on the pillow that night and thought “I was a bit of a dickhead to that guy Gilmore.” And he had the kindness, the next day, to give me the picture.
It’s hung in every house I’ve lived in since.
And that gift sowed something. I had studied humour in my Master’s and wanted to know more about it: how it functioned, what made it appealing and — one of the paradoxes of humour — why such a universal trait could be so unique to us all. I wanted to know how best it works in commnications — in ads, especially. This is what I do, and this is a learning process that continues to this day.
But I guess I learnt something else. I learnt that salespeople weren’t nasty, law-of-jungle beasts. As a 26-year-old, I too often saw the big wide world in black-and-white; I was idealistic and possibly a bit impudent too. I had yet to learn that the world is nuanced and complex and people change their minds — and changing your mind can be a sign of maturity.
I don’t regret working for Bloomberg: it sharpened my skills and I learnt loads. A year or so later, I moved company; later still, I discovered that Matt had moved on. But his gesture spoke volumes.
Many thanks for reading,
Paddy
www.studiogilmore.com / pg@studiogilmore.com / +44 7866 538 233 / Twitter: @mrpaddygilmore
The use of my birthname: a sure sign I’m going to be told off, and told off bad.