what many consider to be the best advertisement ever created, and it came from research. The client was Rolls-Royce, and Ogilvy found a line in an engineer’s report that he stuck into the ad pretty much verbatim: “At sixty miles an hour the loudest noise in this Rolls-Royce comes from the electric clock.” It’s catchy, it’s creative, and it’s true. So it works. But it’s damn hard to duplicate.
“6,” I say steadily, “I’ve been through more Coke history than I knew existed. If anyone ever uses the phrase ‘secret formula’ within my earshot, I’m going to slap them. But there’s nothing right for an ad.”
6 looks at me silently for a moment. “I don’t want to put any more pressure on you, Scat,” she says, “but we have until five P.M. tomorrow to come up with something.”
“Well you know,” I say, a little exasperated, “I haven’t exactly heard a wealth of great ideas from you.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Scat,” she says, which immediately makes me suspicious. “Ideas aren’t my strength. They’re yours. My strengths are in development, negotiation and management. Which you don’t have, or you’d be worth three million dollars right now.”
I open my mouth but fail to fill it with a snappy reply. Poor management skills, perhaps.
6 says, “That’s why I chose you, Scat. We have complementary skills.”
“I see.” I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted, so I settle for a little of each. “So you’re relying on me to come up with the greatest ad in the history of marketing.”
“Yes,” 6 says, widening her eyes. I know by now that she does this just to suck me in, but I take a delicious moment to bathe in them, anyway.
“And unless I come up with this ad by close of business tomorrow, you have to go with the old campaign. Spend your next six months implementing other people’s ideas.” I allow myself a little smirk at this scenario, because, finally, I am in a power position over 6.
6 is silent for a long moment. “Actually,” she says, “that’s not quite true.”
6 confesses [2]
“The thing is, it’s too late to go with the old campaign.”
I blink. “Too late?”
“Yes.” 6 bows her head, her midnight hair sweeping forward. “The campaign’s design calls for some specialized graphic work, and I haven’t hired anyone to do it. There’s no way to get it ready for summer now.”
“I see.” I choose my words very carefully because it’s important to get this right. “So are you telling me that unless I, Scat, come up with an ad by tomorrow afternoon, Coca-Cola isn’t going to have a summer campaign?”
To her credit, 6 also spends a few moments checking through this. Because, like I said, it’s important to understand our position. If Coke has no summer campaign, it will lose maybe 50, maybe 100 million dollars in sales, its stock will fall through the floor, the CEO will resign, PepsiCo will make millions, and television networks all over the world will lose one of their biggest customers. I’d guess that 6 doesn’t particularly want to be remembered as responsible for that.
“I made a decision, Scat. I could begin implementing the campaign immediately, or I could take a risk on developing a new campaign from scratch.” She shrugs fractionally. “I decided to take a risk.”
“6,” I say gently, “I don’t want to be pessimistic here, but there is a chance I won’t have anything by tomorrow afternoon. What happens then?”
6 takes a long sip from her 7 UP “I place a call to the CEO to inform him of the situation and tender my resignation. Then I’m unemployed and no marketing manager in America will ever hire me again.”
She looks at me with dark, surprisingly calm eyes. I try to think of something sympathetic and consoling to say, because suddenly I really feel bad for her.
Then 6 says, almost gently, “Or hire you.”
snap
I have a deep, solid sleep so I wake completely refreshed Friday morning.
I keep
“6,” I say steadily, “I’ve been through more Coke history than I knew existed. If anyone ever uses the phrase ‘secret formula’ within my earshot, I’m going to slap them. But there’s nothing right for an ad.”
6 looks at me silently for a moment. “I don’t want to put any more pressure on you, Scat,” she says, “but we have until five P.M. tomorrow to come up with something.”
“Well you know,” I say, a little exasperated, “I haven’t exactly heard a wealth of great ideas from you.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Scat,” she says, which immediately makes me suspicious. “Ideas aren’t my strength. They’re yours. My strengths are in development, negotiation and management. Which you don’t have, or you’d be worth three million dollars right now.”
I open my mouth but fail to fill it with a snappy reply. Poor management skills, perhaps.
6 says, “That’s why I chose you, Scat. We have complementary skills.”
“I see.” I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted, so I settle for a little of each. “So you’re relying on me to come up with the greatest ad in the history of marketing.”
“Yes,” 6 says, widening her eyes. I know by now that she does this just to suck me in, but I take a delicious moment to bathe in them, anyway.
“And unless I come up with this ad by close of business tomorrow, you have to go with the old campaign. Spend your next six months implementing other people’s ideas.” I allow myself a little smirk at this scenario, because, finally, I am in a power position over 6.
6 is silent for a long moment. “Actually,” she says, “that’s not quite true.”
6 confesses [2]
“The thing is, it’s too late to go with the old campaign.”
I blink. “Too late?”
“Yes.” 6 bows her head, her midnight hair sweeping forward. “The campaign’s design calls for some specialized graphic work, and I haven’t hired anyone to do it. There’s no way to get it ready for summer now.”
“I see.” I choose my words very carefully because it’s important to get this right. “So are you telling me that unless I, Scat, come up with an ad by tomorrow afternoon, Coca-Cola isn’t going to have a summer campaign?”
To her credit, 6 also spends a few moments checking through this. Because, like I said, it’s important to understand our position. If Coke has no summer campaign, it will lose maybe 50, maybe 100 million dollars in sales, its stock will fall through the floor, the CEO will resign, PepsiCo will make millions, and television networks all over the world will lose one of their biggest customers. I’d guess that 6 doesn’t particularly want to be remembered as responsible for that.
“I made a decision, Scat. I could begin implementing the campaign immediately, or I could take a risk on developing a new campaign from scratch.” She shrugs fractionally. “I decided to take a risk.”
“6,” I say gently, “I don’t want to be pessimistic here, but there is a chance I won’t have anything by tomorrow afternoon. What happens then?”
6 takes a long sip from her 7 UP “I place a call to the CEO to inform him of the situation and tender my resignation. Then I’m unemployed and no marketing manager in America will ever hire me again.”
She looks at me with dark, surprisingly calm eyes. I try to think of something sympathetic and consoling to say, because suddenly I really feel bad for her.
Then 6 says, almost gently, “Or hire you.”
snap
I have a deep, solid sleep so I wake completely refreshed Friday morning.
I keep
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