Toitū Te Tiriti came to Heretaunga on Saturday. Ngāti Kahungunu joined day six of the Hīkoi as it heads south towards Te Whanganui-a-tara. The hīkoi is in protest of ACT’s Treaty Principles Bill, which isn’t expected to pass. You know, like Kamala wasn’t expected to lose.
Attention to detail
Recently I was asked, what was my favourite writing job?
There were ads of course that were fun to make, strategy that I thought - rightly or wrongly - was bang on, a couple of magazine articles that I’ve been writing on innovation and business, and even some song lyrics.
But my favourite work remains a simple acronym. Three words in total. My first brand voice guide.
Guides are useless if you don’t end up feeling ‘it’. It’s not what you say, but what you convey, in much the same way you can’t demonstrate what comedy is by explaining how jokes work - you just have to make people laugh.
Years ago I helped a media company when things had gone a bit pear shaped, and the receivers were called in. Helping out wasn’t even a question, and when mates are involved you run towards the flames. Or sprint towards the photocopier in this case, which is clearly more truthful albeit less Aaron Sorkin.
This was television though, which was not only dramatic, but a very glamorous and important business. I know this because it said so on the telly. No surprises then, that everyone had been a bit gung-ho at the beginning - all hair oil and no socks, as Tina’s mum Jo would’ve said - and the competition, lying patiently in wait, gave them a bloody good slippering not long after they launched. .
I’ve learnt the hard way about the importance of a good bedside manner when you’re heading into the wind. Also, in a crisis no job is too small. ‘Could I help with an invite going out to agencies for drinks that evening?’ they asked. Could I what. No trouble at all.
To be fair, not the trickiest job.
It wasn’t just drinks of course. It was about what happens next. Quite a lot was riding on the outcome - and the story they told - and critical to the network’s future was the support of the advertising industry. The industry needed reassurance quickly, and the best way to do that at the time was over a few drinks.
The invite looked suitably invitey, and besides this wasn’t the time to go reinventing any wheels. But still, it did need something. Nothing too obvious, but a signal nonetheless.
‘B.Y.O.’
It’s hard to ask for help. It’s humbling. Nuance is everything and the lightest of touch is required. Of course on this particular night alcohol didn’t hurt either. Agencies being agencies over-catered and arrived with cases of champagne, others with Lion Red. Many with both.
The call went out and it was answered swiftly. By getting into the swing of it agencies showed support. Best of all they were given a simple, immediate way they could visibly demonstrate that support. Their help to steady the foundering ship would come later and take much longer.
Nothing like a good bit of merch, to immortalise the moment, and bring a call to arms to life. The tee shirt machine kicked into life and the merch tent was fully stocked. Another subtle way to show that any money was good money.
Like pirates, the network came out fighting, and very quickly settled into becoming the underdog, a role they played elegantly to their advantage for many years. We love underdogs, almost as much as we adore a comeback.
B.Y.O. Bring your own.
A tone of voice guide? Well underdogs do speak different. They have to. Strategic thought? Yes, but let’s not forget no drinks budget. Need before ambition.
The little bit of housekeeping added to the bottom of the page may very well have had no impact at all. Hard to say. Attribution is complicated. But you always need an ignition switch.
Words are important, how you say them is arguably more so. Feelings are everything. They’re indelible, they’re what sticks.
That’s why nuance matters most. Down in the detail is where the Devil hides in wait. Tread carefully, he’ll ankle tap you without a second thought.
Bit of a yarn
I caught up with Ken the other day. It had been a minute, and there was much to discuss. Ken was curious to know when I moved to the Bay.
I’ve found that the question people really want to ask isn’t when, but why? Ken was a journo back in the day, so it didn’t take long to pry that answer loose, although it’s a story for another time.
These days Ken runs a successful writing business, and had a storied advertising career in between. I’m ever so slightly, oh ok, quite a bit envious of people that can pivot.
I’ve always been a bit of a one trick pony myself, complicated by not being great at staying in my lane, but at least these days I remember to indicate before swerving into traffic. Ken generously described me as a ‘creative entrepreneur.’ I’ve certainly given a few things a nudge, albeit with mixed success.
We talked about writing, as Ken had just penned a useful piece on the importance of reading what you’ve written out loud. It helps not just with rhythm, but you also find out pretty quickly if you’ve written too much.
My problem is commas. Usage and number. Hughesie pulled me up on it a long time ago, observing that I used one every time I took a break, rather than where they might actually be useful, or required, and reading out loud was helpful in working out the right amount. Back then, when I was still on the lung darts, breaks were frequent and so commas were plentiful.
In any case Ken’s piece reminded me just how useful talking out loud can be. Who knew I’d need to be reminded of that.
Ken also seemed interested to know if I’d written any case studies. He reckoned they probably wouldn’t be as much fun to write as the profile pieces that I’d done a few of, but I might be quite good at them all the same.
I went back to him far too quick - another rookie mistake I thought I’d grown out of - before thinking of a smarter response. It took me a week to realise that I was already writing my own, and posting them here.
I’d been choosing to call them case stories instead.
I figured one has a bit more colour and shade. A case story has less ‘yay, aren’t we clever’, because we did a thing, and a bit more ‘what the …?’ because we did a thing; often accompanied by a salient lesson that probably should have been learned in an earlier chapter; a bit like a fable.
Or sort of like having to show how you worked out the answer in a maths exam, rather than just giving one, so they knew you didn’t just guess.
Something else I’d been guilty of.
In a case study the outcome, or destination is important. In a case story, it’s the journey, and what happened along the way. The dead ends and twists in the road. The potholes and the passing lanes.
Here’s one I prepared earlier. It’s a typical second act - a bit of a yarn about unfinished business, digging deep, and coming up ever so slightly short.
Buckle up.
Five years after building the giant fern sand sculpture on Te Henga, it was time to build another. After the last adventure I probably should have bowed out gracefully and retired hurt.
But no, that would be too easy. The scars from shooting myself in the foot last time were healing nicely, and importantly, there were more lessons that needed learning.
As part of their coalition deal in 2005 the Greens wanted to run a ‘buy New Zealand made’ campaign, and since I already had one lying around, perhaps the stars were finally lining up? Well, no, not really. Opportunity and trouble smell quite similar, and while for a minute everyone got quite excited until they didn’t, it became obvious what needed to be done.
After carefully making sure all the toys were thrown well clear of the cot - rather than create a campaign for someone else - we’d build our own IP.
No client meant no money, which by any reasonable measure should have been the end of the matter. Or at least a bloody big clue. But again no, apparently not. The degree of difficulty increased, and we boxed on regardless.
As a marketing tool for exporters, Steve and I created ‘The Made From New Zealand Project’. It was to be an online community for New Zealand businesses who wanted to make their mark, and a bunch of assets to help them leverage their New Zealand-ness.
Given that the Facebook was less than a year old, and Google was still a useful search engine, yet to fully morph into the black hole for advertising dollars that it is today, an online community combined with an e-commerce platform for all seemed like a smart, if not a complex and overly ambitious idea at the time.
The fern would be our calling card.
Part art installation, part media event, Steve and I carefully planned an even more ambitious Waitangi Day launch on Santa Monica Beach. Los Angeles was an important beachhead for many exporters and a major media market to boot.
Named ‘Tā Moko’ by Māori Television, it was a passion project pure, but not so simple. I was yet to learn that passion and reason aren’t always great playmates. But it wouldn’t be long.
Like the earlier iteration, Made From New Zealand was about getting stuff done as much as anything. Seeing Orlando Bloom on television in a striking but simple Huffer tee at the ‘Return of the King’ premiere sparked a thought.
To fund the project, we made tee shirts. 10,496 shirts to be precise - the distance in kilometres between Aotearoa and California - a ridiculous number, and selling them all was always going to be a massive ask.
It was four years before Kickstarter, and crowdfunding hadn’t been invented. We had all the makings of a crowdfunding campaign though, and the tee shirts, bound by a magic thread, were excellent merch.
Air New Zealand came on board, then ASB, Westpac, Telecom, Saatchi, NZTE and thousands of other companies and individuals followed. The tee shirts became our currency and somehow the story captured the imagination of New Zealanders from Palmy to Prague and everywhere in between.
Tem summed it all up pretty accurately in an interview on the wireless:
“When they first came to me I thought, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard - but I’m in.”
And with us they were.
Mark asked Sir Ed to help, and after Lady June had rummaged around in the laundry, a climbing sock was donated to the cause. Steve had it ragged’ - pulling each fibre apart and then re-spinning it with a kilometre of our finest merino. A piece of this thread, representing the DNA of the New Zealand character was sewn inside each shirt.
It wasn’t just the shirt that was coming together, it was the story.
Photos: Jane Ussher
After being blessed by local tangata whenua, Rena and Tem led off. On Waitangi Day next to the Santa Monica pier, we built the giant silver fern sand sculpture, still the size of Eden Park, and again created by installation artist Mike Mizrahi.
Ex-pats from all over the states and as far away as Canada came to help. Air New Zealand gave shirts to passengers on their two flights into LAX, and NZ5 flew overhead for a squizz.
Māori Television, TVNZ, TV3 and KiwiFM were all there to broadcast the event, with local US coverage on ABC and Fox.
Tā Moko was our mark on the world.
The day after, a thick blanket of fog covered the entire Los Angeles area. We couldn’t see a thing. Had it arrived 24 hours earlier, we would have had to call the whole thing off.
Luck wasn’t always riding shotgun. I’d anticipated the event would drive shirt sales, but this proved to be way off the mark. People wanted to help build the fern, but once we’d built it, they reasonably assumed help was no longer needed.
The second fatal flaw - completely tangled with the first - was I’d completely miscalculated how long it would take to sell ten thousand tees. Well, it wasn’t so much a miscalculation as it was just having no clue at all. Turns out it takes longer than you think.
A project without a deadline is just an idea, and while a deadline is a great way to create urgency, if you miss it, you’re fucked. Ask any retailer stuck with Santa stuff in January.
Waitangi Day had a nice symmetry about it, but it was too soon. These were good times - pre GFC - with a good summer, and many businesses were still sauntering back from the break.
When you’ve reached the point of no return, the only thing you can do is leap and hope you make it. Steve and I got our hustle on, one tee at a time. There are no shortcuts when you’re under the pump. The yards were hard ones, but one tee became five, which turned into ten.
On the other side of the ledger, days turned to weeks and into months. Unlike the tee shirts, things were unravelling at the seams. Any money coming in went straight back out to pay the bills.
We dug even deeper and with the support from so many up the front and behind the scenes - you know who you are - we snuck over the line. Just. Although not before I found the hard truth in the saying; ‘to lose one’s shirt.’ The irony being that in this case, it happened by ending up with too many of them.
The other day I heard someone casually talk about ‘failing fast’. Well done if you can do it. Half your luck in fact. Passion and drive often block a hasty retreat. Sometimes they become blindspots so big you can’t even see the exit sign.
If you carry the stubborn gene, as I do, you’ll know failures can often be brutal, messy affairs - uncomfortable, agonisingly slow, and embarrassing in ways that make you determined never to end up there again.
But here I am. Both richer and poorer for having pushed the boat out.
As Devo was fond of saying; it doesn’t matter how you get into something, only how you get out of it.
“Besides matey,” he often added, “no-one needs to know how the sausages get made.”
Rude not to
“Please don’t do any creative” said the brief quite clearly.
Well you know me. I do love a chance not to do something.
When someone says ‘yes’ in a meeting you shut up. ‘They said yes… you won … shut up.’
It took me ages to learn that one. I’ve often misinterpreted approval as a sign to continue talking. It really isn’t.
A competitive creative pitch is a dog and pony show that’s a complete waste of energy and money. It’s where the best ideas go to die, and always ends in tears for most taking part.
Not everything is an opportunity either. I’ve never figured out how in advertising, a simple request to do nothing, always ends up becoming a challenge to do, well, something.
So, like hearing the magical ‘yes’, being asked to do nothing can also be considered a win. Besides, usually a client wants to know early on if you can follow instructions or not.
Trust me, the client that doesn’t want a creative pitch is definitely a keeper.
The nice people at the America’s Cup Village didn’t. Instead, they asked a simple question: how would we quickly communicate where to park - or something like that - after say a big Team New Zealand win, where a 100,000 or more people might flood into the city at short notice?
This was in the before times, pre-social media. At first I thought it might be a trick question, since to answer it beyond, ‘oh, we’d use radio’ you’d kind of have to do the creative work they said not to do, so it seemed safest not to answer at all.
I’d like to be able to chalk this decision up to careful listening and overall diligence, but history would point towards laziness as the main contributing factor. No shame in this. Don’t be judgey
From memory I think the sidestep was something about needing to create demand before you have to worry about how to manage it, and if that was done right, then no-one would care about finding a park. They’d work it out for themselves.
There must’ve been a bit more to it though, because they said ‘yes’ and fortuitously I shut up.
Sometimes going slightly off piste is the right call.
Before the circus blew into town, most of New Zealand thought the America’s Cup was just for champagne swilling wankers, and worse, if running the event was left up to Aucklanders - commonly thought of by the rest of the country as not being competent enough to arrange a drink in a drinkery - it was a one way ticket to disaster.
At least that’s what the research said. We decided to investigate for ourselves. The rest of the country gave Aucklanders the old side eye to be sure, but they were still keen on a knees-up.
Tony Glynn and his brother Michael, a chopper pilot from Franz Joseph, were definite starters and very enthusiastic indeed. It would - Tony assured us in not so many words - be an affront not to turn up.
There was some minor housekeeping to attend to first, but not to worry, they’d be there.
“Just need to ring Les and get a telephone warrant for the ute,” Tony explained, before downing his second Speights in the public bar of the Garston Hotel one evening.
Tony was on horseback at the time and didn’t much look like the sort of bloke whose commitment needed questioning. Nor did it seem the right time to go into the ins and outs of what a ‘telephone warrant’ entailed.
Since Garston is the most inland place in New Zealand, it’s literally as far away as you could be from a yacht, so their excitement about the Cup was heartening.
Truth be told, we’re all very welcoming hosts when there’s guests. We mow the lawns, get out the good Crown Lynn, and spruce things up a bit. All that needed doing, was to let Auckland know to expect company.
The Cup Village was a temporary affair, designed to drive sponsorship revenue. Aucklanders proved to be most welcoming hosts indeed and for a minute the village became our largest tourist attraction. In the end, three million of us popped in for a nosey.
And, as predicted, no-one gave a toss about the parking, everyone was out on the razzle and having far too much of a good time.
Would’ve been rude not to.
Never waste a crisis
Reputations are built in bad times as well as good. In a crisis, speed and decisiveness are crucial. But you learn stuff by breaking it and opportunity is often never far behind, which is why a good crisis can be worth its weight and should never be squandered.
In 2010 no one knew this better than Telecom CEO Dr Paul Reynolds and his whip-sharp comms team.
There was much at stake.
It was bad enough the shiny new XT Network had gone on the fritz more than once, what was really causing concern was the outages coincided with Telecom’s bid to build the Government’s multi-billion dollar fibre network. Customers had lost all confidence and Telecom quickly needed to restore the faith.
Not the least of Telecom’s problems was the media, who loved to give them a good kicking, and every move was made under the brightest of spotlights.
So yeah, a right old cluster-shambles.
We got the call to help document their response and craft an apology message, just a small part of their crisis management plan.
Before the work can begin, it’s customary to have a meeting. The object of this meeting is usually to get another meeting on the books, called a presentation. If the presentation goes well, things are very nearly underway and you can now start work.
In a crisis, the rules change a bit. Often the first casualty is a meeting. Two meetings if luck is really with you.
I’ve always liked presentations though. They can be nerve-wracking, but it’s theatre, and there’s no shame in being a bit of a show pony now and then. Who doesn’t like a show?
I was once part of a new business pitch led by the late David ‘Devo’ Walden. Devo introduced me to a game that they’d played at The Palace. I forget the name, but the rules were you each wrote a word - something quite out of context - on a piece of paper and then swapped it with another team member.
The objective was to gently slip the word you were given into your part of the presso without anyone noticing. I’m sure you could read a lot more into it if you had the time, but the main purpose of the game was to take your mind off the pitch and relax you.
I’d given Devo ‘supercalifragilistic’ which I smugly thought too clever by half. He managed to ease it elegantly and undetected into his opening remarks, just to put me back in my box and show me how the grown-ups played.
But not before he’d handed me my challenge, a slip of paper upon which he’d written not one word but several: ‘Interesting when you consider the rise of the oligarchy today.’
We didn’t get the business.
Humour is a great way to diffuse a situation and put things in perspective, but I still wasn’t looking forward to the presentation with Dr Reynolds and his artful strategic comms chief, given that the guts of my advice was: ‘laugh at yourself.’
Lishy had written a lovely gag we’d originally intended for Chorus, but we managed to put it to much better use on the river mouth of the Greenstone. Always a win when an idea finds a home.
You can tell a lot about people by how they behave under pressure. It can be as revealing as how someone treats hospo staff. The ad was approved in the room. I concluded these two would make excellent diners indeed.
The network kicked back into life. The tide was coming back in, and taking all the flak with grace and good humour - something the good doctor did deftly - sure didn’t hurt a bit.
The crisis wasn’t averted, but it sure wasn’t wasted either.
“The trout fishing ad was a hit. Yes, it all seems a bit hokey when you think back on it now. But it was a good mea culpa, with the copywriters somehow managing to equate giving the duff phone network another go as a measure of your New Zealand-ness. It marked the start of XT’s comeback.”
“Against all odds: Telecom’s XT Paul Reynold’s ad has copped it from Telecom knockers, but the viewers love it.”
Being unavailable
The trouble with our we-know-where-you-live-and-what-you-just-searched-for digital advertising world is that there’s an assumption we are available.
Knowing when people are supposedly ready to act encourages you to cut to the chase and miss a few steps in the conversion process along the way.
No shame in cheating. Who isn’t tempted by a shortcut?
But even if you know when someone is ready to purchase or change, I’ve always thought it’s best to believe they aren’t. That way you work harder to make sure they are, and do.
Desire drives action. You create desire with scarcity; by being unavailable. We all want something we can’t have.
No-one plays the game better than Chris.
When he lets the dogs out it’s wise to stand back.
Years ago we were working on a project and Chris had taken the bull by the horns. I had wondered out loud how great it would be if we could get meetings with the heads of our largest corporates at some stage, which was all the encouragement Chris needed.
Often, he needed far less.
It was wishful thinking on my part really, you don’t get meetings with people who can say ‘yes’ easily or quickly. There are also gatekeepers to go through, usually PA’s or EA’s, and you go round them at your peril.
‘Right’ said Chris and hung up the phone. But not for long. Within a few hours he was back on the talking stick, and the meetings were on the books. The first was set for less than a week away.
‘How did you get the meeting so quickly?’ I asked, knowing what diaries can be like. Chris relayed the conversation with the P.A.
‘I said we needed a meeting to update progress on the project, and we’d be available next Friday.’
The PA asked if her boss would know what the project was about.
‘Know what it’s about?’ Chris replied, with just the right amount of incredulity. ‘They’re in it.’
This must’ve done the trick.
‘You might be in luck,’ the PA offered. ’We could possibly give you an hour at 11 on Friday.’
Getting a meeting is an art. Chris is a master.
‘An hour?’ said Chris ‘Oh God no, we don’t have that long. We could do 30 minutes tops.
Boom!
Like anything that you really want, it never hurts to pretend you don’t.
Or to be ever so slightly unavailable.
Another trick Chris didn’t hesitate to use was the power of suggestion.
If the meeting was in Wellington, for example, especially with an official, Chris would casually mention that he’d ‘just come from the house’ and had important news to share. Once, in hushed tones, and to up the ante, he mentioned having ‘just been on the 9th floor.’
Nothing more needed saying. It was much more subtle than dropping a name and was usually met with much reverential nodding from those who knew the code.
Had anyone bothered to push him on this, Chris would’ve happily explained that the house he’d come from was his brother’s place in Petone, and the 9th floor was where he was staying at the James Cook.
The power of suggestion is all about what is left unsaid. Otherwise it would be called the power of the blindingly obvious.
Chris always told the truth. Sometimes he just didn’t tell all of it.
Friday duly rolled around and as we waited in reception for our 11 o’clock Chris leaned in and whispered, ‘Just play along.’
Huh?
As it turned out, part of the reason we were able to secure the meeting at such short notice was that Chris had told the PA that I would’ve just ‘flown in’ that morning. This was also true, except that we’d both flown in for the meeting.
It’s hard to play along if you don’t know the rules of the game you’re meant to be playing, so any questions about how was I feeling after the long flight were quickly dispatched through to the keeper.
It was a good meeting, although we did run a little over.
By about 30 minutes if I were to hazard a guess.
Crushing it
Long, long ago, large companies had their own advertising departments, and did all of their work, you know, in-house. Wasn’t long before specialist firms called agencies sprung up, full of bright young things and sharp ideas.
Advertising was for the cool kids.
Somewhere along the way, technology became way more accessible. Suddenly being on the inside was much cooler, and way smarter, and so here we are back at the start.
It’s called in-housing. It’s a thing because, well, agencies.
Everyone’s doing it. Even Apple.
Their latest on-campus effort has been doing the rounds and making a bit of noise. You might have heard. Far be it for me to cast the first stone - or any stone for that matter - glasshouses and all.
Looks like I’m far too late in any case.
The trouble usually starts when you take your own advice too often and too seriously, and end up telling yourself only what you want to hear.
It’s a slippery slope. Keep listening to yourself and you end up having solutions to things that aren’t problems. If you’re not careful, the next thing you know is you’ve done something silly like invent Vision Pro or New Coke.
Yes, ideas can come from anywhere. No, they won’t always be good ones.
Once, off the back of a casual comment from a client, I managed to talk myself into the idea that I would make an excellent suit, and clearly what the client was really after was more of me.
Surprisingly, this wasn’t the case at all. Strange I know. I’m sure you’re just as bemused as I am.
Anyway, it was a long time ago, and everyone is back on speaking terms. They’re called blind spots for a reason. You need a provocateur.
We all do.
When you can’t read a room, you end up in the outhouse.
Just ask Tim Apple.
Word
Blaise Pascal, French mathematician and philosopher was supposedly the first to coin the famous phrase about brevity - often erroneously attributed to Mark Twain - which on translation reads:
“I have made this longer than usual, because I have not had time to make it shorter.”
In advertising, brevity is encouraged. How words would work on a billboard, was usually the test to pass.
But Pascal, or Twain, would have been complete amateurs on the economy of language when compared with legendary director Tony Kaye, famous for his advertising work and then feature films.
Once, when delivering a speech at the Cannes Advertising Festival, Kaye, who was not shy of voicing an opinion, was asked to address the largely creative audience on the topic of ‘how to get the best result from a director.’
The crowd on the Croisette waited with bated breath, eager for some controversy from the man who once described himself as ‘the greatest English director since Hitchcock,’ but obviously also keen to hear his answer to the question.
They didn’t have to wait long.
Hating to disappoint, Kaye approached the microphone, surveyed the hushed throng, then delivered his thought.
“Trust.” he said clearly into the mic, letting it sink in for a beat, before turning and walking back the way he came.
Genius. On so many fronts.
Of course when you get paid by the word, for say, writing a magazine article, short is to be avoided like the plague.
Since a bow can never have too many strings, I’ve been writing and snapping pics for local magazine Bay Buzz. The latest article is on remote work. I do a bit of that myself, so the words, all two thousand of them give or take, came relatively quickly.
I just ran out of time to write fewer of them.
Belinda Williams from Bad Company
Build it and they will come.
I’ve always been good at spotting opportunities. Making something of them is way, way harder, requiring a different skillset entirely and has invariably brought mixed results. I’d like to think the odds are improving. Time will tell.
‘Made by New Zealand’ was a response to a Buy New Zealand made brief that I’d stumbled across by chance back in the day. Perhaps not so much a brief, as it was a small article in the NBR, gagging to be turned into something more.
These days global supply chains make provenance tricky. Lines are easily blurred. McDonalds and Coke can promote themselves as being made in New Zealand if they wished, while Fisher & Paykel can’t. It may well be correct, but it’s silly at the same time.
I reasoned a broader approach was needed, by demonstrating what our products and ideas are really made of. The premise, was that inside our wines - for example - there’s more than grapes and sunshine; you’ll also find tenacity, passion and courage.
Inside everything we create, everything we make, every idea we develop, is our mārohirohi - our character.
Our size and connectedness means that much of what we produce is the result of many. Made by New Zealand was a thought that demonstrated collaboration. At least that’s what it said on the box.
Ten months after the initial presentation, the nice client asked for a demo video to shore up wider support for the initiative, and to convey the feeling of what the end result might be.
Such videos tend to have a small internal audience. They’e usually cobbled together from footage often nicked from another project, sometimes accompanied by a stonking big - also ‘borrowed’ - music track that you have no hope of ever buying. But these details can be dealt with later. Goosebumps are everything. It’s emotion not practicality that gets you over the line. It still does.
In this case, it seemed far more pragmatic to ditch the demo, and just start making the real thing. Surely if the project looked underway, then those manning the handbrake might believe it probably was underway, and a green light would become a self-fulfilling prophesy.
It’s easier to ask for forgiveness, than it is to ask for permission.
It was time to call Mike Miz.
Mike Mizrahi is not only an extraordinarily talented artist, he is a true impresario. With partner Marie, they had just completed the millennium spectacular in the domain, and were about to create some stunning installations for Louis Vuitton in New York and Shanghai. Years later it was their giant rugby ball you saw under the Effiel Tower to promote the Rugby World Cup. Mike took the brief of ‘big’ literally.
Since the Government had just made a huge investment in their new flash silver fernmark, we started there. Besides, I reasoned, even if the client hated everything else about ‘Made by New Zealand’, they would at least end up with some half decent footage of the fern that could be used elsewhere.
The fern Mike wanted to build was the size of Eden Park and made out of sand. As I’ve yet to meet the client who asks for a smaller logo, it was perfect. Almost perfect. Auckland was in the middle of stormy season, and 72 hours before filming, high spring tides had literally wiped the beach off the map. We had no weather cover, and no second chance.
What could possibly go wrong?
“It’ll be fine on the day,” I assured everyone over-confidently. I hadn’t a clue of course, but we boxed on.
Luck was with us. At 3am on a biting cold August morning it was a bit hard to tell, but as night turned to day and the wind dropped, Te Henga turned on a pearler. The mahi tahi was working.
A fine group of artists, entrepreneurs and business leaders, both gracious and generous, stood with us on the sand to endorse the idea, and we filmed others later as momentum grew. “A fine collection of sinners and saints,” observed broadcaster Bill Ralston, arriving on set as Graham Brazier was rehearsing a poem he’d been up all night composing especially for the occasion. Bless.
As Mike manoeuvred his 40 plus construction team, racing against the tide and a mischievous water table, four 35mm camera units captured the action on the beach. Long before drones changed aerial cinematography forever, the only real way to see if what we’d built was what we’d imagined, was to be overhead looking straight down. Two helicopters circled above, filming the finished fern before it returned to the sea.
The finished fern on Te Henga beach, August 2001
As we finished production on our wee demo, the Government’s Knowledge Wave conference was also wrapping up across town. It was a talkfest of Olympic proportion, but the speaker who held everyone’s attention was a humble young wāhine toa, Kesaia Waigth, a 17 year old high school student from Gisborne. Her words, and those of the other students received the only standing ovation at the event. With good reason.
Powerful and persuasive, Kesaia implored those with ‘the eyes in power to look into the eyes of those in need.’ Without empathy or equality she challenged, all the other words spoken at the conference were meaningless. True now as it was then.
Kesaia was kind enough to meet with Janet and I the day after, as the poignant words from her speech lay barely dry on the front page of the morning paper. We seized the chance to have Kesaia comment on our own mahi. Truthful and hopeful, she once again spoke to the moment.
The video may have been finished, but the process continued to drag. Frustrated by delay, and despite assurances that things were in fact moving with indecent haste, there was only one thing left to do.
Shoot myself in the foot.
Passion projects can easily get away on you, and this one certainly got away on me. Never mind that I got overly excited with a blur filter in the edit suite - on this project a patient bedside manner was the virtue most required, and back then it had simply escaped me.
I’d fallen well short on the tenacity and grace I was championing in others, and disappointing those that had so enthusiastically come along for the ride.
Things got passionate. Lessons were learnt; and the bridges glowed brightly in the flames.
The fern returned to the sea long ago. You’d never know it was there at all.
But build it we most surely did.
When life hands you lemons
I’m long on lemons right now, having been blessed with the most productive tree. It groans with the biggest juiciest fruit, so much so, that quite a bit of last season’s crop remains in place as the new fruit forms, which can’t be doing the tree any good.
I’ve made Ottolenghi’s lemon chicken, frozen lemon blocks, jars of preserved lemons, and on it goes. Our local food rescue people used to have a nice man that would come and help pick them for re-distribution, but sadly he’s moved on. Unlike the lemons.
Gilly has been getting some every few weeks over summer, as Mrs Gilly makes the most delicious cold pressed juices and tonics with lemon, turmeric and honey, but even after taking four bulging brown shopping bags at a time, he’s barely made a dent.
All of which got me thinking about others with bounty to spare in their gardens, and how we could cut some waste and share the love around.
It’s a simple thought, making use of paper supermarket bags to spread the word, and the food, supporting local food rescue groups in the process. A supermarket could do it on their own, or in partnership with anyone else in need of some brownie points.
Design by Georgia
Ideas are a bit like the lemons on my tree; they need to be used, allowing new ones to grow in their place.
So, if you know anyone that might need this one, pass it on. It’s free to a good home. I’ve got plenty. There’s no danger of a shortage.
Just like the lemons.
Pushing the boat out
“Inspire us.” said the client, gently laying down the challenge. “No pressure.”
“What do you think?” asked Nic after the meeting.
“I think they want us to push the boat out mate … and quite a long way.”
Which is how we happened to be in Times Square at Magic Hour on a Thursday, helping Chorus turn the plaza into a digital art gallery, and co-ordinating the giant billboards to display the work of 13 New Zealand design students at the same time. It was all to pitch the shiny new Ultra Fast Broadband network to New Zealand’s growing creative economy, showing what you could do with fibre if you really opened up the pipe.
We’d live stream the event, and film it doco style for a media campaign back home. Back then, the 34 screen gallery was the largest display of synchronised content in Times Square history.
Stepping into the Square the day after, most of the skyscrapers were hidden in low cloud. Then the rain arrived. Worse was coming. A few days later we raced towards Kennedy just before Hurricane Sandy rolled in, swaggering like a drunk uncle at Christmas with a belly full of piss and bad manners. Sandy was the largest Atlantic hurricane on record and was heading our way. Bullet dodged. But not by much.
No pressure at all.
Grace under pressure
“Kia hora te marino,
kia whakapapa pounamu te moana,
kia tere te kārohirohi i mua i tō huarahi”
”May the calm be widespread
may the sea glisten like greenstone
may the shimmer of light dance across your pathway”
There’s nothing worse than watching your team lose the America’s Cup as it can go on for days. Longer if the weather plays up. Which it was.
Alinghi were on match point in the 31st America’s Cup and I’d asked Hone for help crafting a message in the increasing likelihood of the team not being able to claw back the points, and Hone had offered up the whakatauki composed by Rangawhenua of Ngāti Pāhere, a hapu of Ngāti Maniapoto.
There’s another version, as there so often is, of the last line; ‘may your path be straight like the flight of the dove.’ Translation is always tricky, but the spirit was captured. Hone was given it by the late Koro Wetere, also Ngāti Maniapoto so we were in a good place.
Not so much out on the Waitemata, where things were getting bitter.
New Zealand let out a collective gasp when the mast snapped, but real damage was being done elsewhere too. The blustery Blackheart campaign was only meant to poke fun at Russell Coutts and Brad Butterworth, who had left Team New Zealand to head the rival Alinghi syndicate. There was a whole lot of dramatic outrage and ‘how-dare-yous’ from the campaign organisers at the start, but things soon took a southerly tack, ending in death threats and intimidation.
It was all good harmless fun until it wasn’t.
Team New Zealand had been quiet throughout the whole affair, staying focussed on the water as Alinghi turned the screws.
But when given a good old fashioned slippering, it was time to gently sprinkle some sugar. Manaaki time. Win, lose or draw, shaking your opponents hand at the end of the match is good sportsmanship. We expect it. The sponsors did. The many tamariki who wrote letters proudly displayed on the walls and ceiling of the team’s base certainly did.
We needed something soothing, gracious, and heartfelt. The karakia - a blessing - was often offered to wish travellers well. It was pitch perfect. Exhausted, hurting and humbled, Team New Zealand stepped up and went high.
‘Courage,’ said Ernest Hemingway, ‘is grace under pressure.’ And he wasn’t wrong.
The message aired in a television documentary about Sir Peter Blake that same night. Hone and I watched it with the rest of New Zealand on the telly. ‘It was only a rich white man’s sport until we lost it eh?’ observed Hone with a small wry smile.
He wasn’t wrong either.
Ka kite anō au i a koe.
"The worst ever social media campaign."
After Times Square, the ‘early adopters’ had pretty much all early adopted. Chorus was already hatching plans to test ultra, ultra fast broadband in one New Zealand town, so we suggested having a competition to decide where.
We called it Gigatown.
Towns competed to win the fastest internet in the Southern Hemisphere - the winner being the town who wanted it most, as measured by social media activity. And compete they did. As luck would have it, Gigatown launched at the same time many local councils - who had been developing their own digital strategies - were looking for a catalyst to engage their communities. Boom.
A user generated campaign was an obvious thing to do really. Certainly the most appealing at my end. Not that there’s any shame in laziness. I take great comfort in Bill Gates’ advice: ‘always get a lazy person to do a hard job because they’ll find the easiest way.
Stuff journo Henry Cooke had quite a bit to say about Gigatown, claiming we’d used twitter ‘as a plaything’ and calling it the ‘worst social campaign ever’. To be fair this was long before the muskrat literally used it as a plaything, but even so I was a little confused as to what he thought twitter was actually for. By the end of his tweets Henry managed to un-convince himself, admitting that the worst thing about Gigatown was its success.
New Zealand’s hashtag of the year - and four others in the Top Ten - were all Gigatown related. Nic reminded me the other day that at one point Gigatown traffic took twitter down for three minutes, so we can actually say we broke Twitter long before Elon had the idea.
The game generated earned and social media exposure more than ten times the campaign budget. When it was all done and dusted, Gigatown won Best Community Engagement, Best Social Media campaign, and the Supreme gong at the NZ Marketing Awards.
You make the whole world smile
It’s not a cure for cancer’.
I’ve been guilty of taking myself far too seriously on many occasions, so it’s these wise words I try to remember whenever it’s time to pull my head in.
It’s always nice doing the mahi that does make a difference though.
Years ago Murray, Murray and I wrote ‘You Make the Whole World Smile’ - the Red Nose song - to help raise awareness of Cot Death Prevention; and money, to conduct ground breaking research into the causes of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. The little earworm is one of the reasons you don’t hear so much about cot death anymore.
Hammond Gamble is one of the most generous, humble people you’ll meet. Getting Hammond to sing the track was a gift. Which wasn’t quite how he saw it. “I really don’t know why you asked me.” Hammond remarked as he was warming up for the session in the big room at Stebbings. “There’s plenty of good singers out there.”
Mmm not really. But how about, ‘because you’re a bloody legend?’
This was a job from way, way back in the day. My daughter was just walking when she appeared in the video. She’s celebrated 30 trips around the sun since. Cassingle anyone?
The double platinum song spent three weeks at No.1 and repeated the trick a year later. Anika Moa did a version in 2010 to raise awareness for Cure Kids.
Like every project here, if some magic happened, then it’s all down to mahi tahi.
Kia ora for that.
What I'd do about a kai
My bike got nicked a few weeks ago, which was a bit annoying. I did hope that whoever took it needed it more than I did, and I needed it quite a bit. They nicked my helmet as well, so nice to see health and safety messaging having a positive effect.
It also had a flat tyre that needed inflating every couple of rides, which might not have provided a total upper body workout, but it didn’t hurt. So when the inevitable recession was finally announced I was reminded these are desperate times.
“Thank God,” said Tina on hearing the news - about the recession, not the bike - explaining, “if it’s here, we can climb out of it.” She was right of course; her optimism was like knowing we’re heading into summer immediately after the shortest day, even though it’s still really bloody freezing for months.
Maybe times weren’t so desperate after all.
The language was a bit more colourful; she’d just lost most of her crop and fencing when Cyclone Gabrielle took them out to sea, but her farmer’s determination remained. Bruised but not broken. Climbing out of anything requires momentum. Momentum requires a catalyst and that’s what ideas are for.
Thinking our way out of things seemed like a good subject to write about and besides I had plenty of ideas lying about. Some, with good reason should probably be left lying about, but you can make your own mind up.
I liked the idea from Te Pāti Māori of removing GST from food. It’s good for everyone and because of that helps demonstrate Te Pāti Māori leadership. Their president John Tamihere had made the astute observation of how a growing tribe of largely younger voters make decisions based on conduct and character not skin colour.
Te Pāti Māori have a huge opportunity to woo voters of any ethnicity, but because their focus has been on winning Māori seats, I wondered how many pakeha knew they could give Te Pāti Māori their party vote, and so I sent John this thought, ‘anyone can vote for common sense.’
Photos by Olena Sergienko & Vicky Hladynets on Unsplash. Poster design by Georgia.
Te Pāti Māori policy must be upsetting someone’s polling data, because by the look of it, the pushback has already started.
The article did get me thinking that maybe an even bolder idea was in order. An idea to help address a whole lot of problems.
So here’s one I prepared earlier:
Let’s start with food waste.
If food waste were a country it would be the third largest carbon emitter in the world, said a 2013 UN report. Approximately 30 - 40% of food is wasted across the supply chain. In New Zealand we threw away $2.4 billion of food in 2021. I expect we’re not throwing away as much these days, but still.
Another problem; 32% of New Zealanders are obese and another 34% overweight. The index is far greater against Maori and Pacific Islanders. In 2021 the Sapere Research Group estimated the direct cost to our health system at two billion a year.
The biggie is child poverty. It costs NZ an estimated $10b per year. - John Pearce, Analytica, 2012. Of that total $3.5 - 4b was estimated to be the cost to the health system.
It’s quite hard to get an accurate fix on this one, but in the 2020 budget the Government set aside $22.1 million just to improve the measurement of child poverty. To be fair, this was down from the 25 mil that was set aside to measure it - incorrectly it would appear - two years earlier.
Food insecurity is a result of poverty, and equality lurks not far behind. According to a recent article, living costs have risen over 18% in the last seven years for households getting some sort of benefit. But only 13% in homes that aren’t. As usual, not everyone’s taking the same hit.
Joining all of this together is food. More specifically diet. When I wrote this, a loaf of white bread was $1.19 at Pak‘n’Save. “A good diet costs a lot,” observes nutrition expert Professor Elaine Rush in the same article.
To to help fix all of these problems; food waste, obesity, and child poverty, you’d simply just have to get everyone eating exactly the same thing.
A controlled diet, to be blunt. Which is of course impossible because who would agree to it? Or follow it.
Oh wait, that’s right, we’re already doing it.
Each week tens of thousands of New Zealand families pay for fresh food in a box - a controlled diet - to be delivered from My Food Bag, Hello Fresh and others, proving it’s not only possible for people to eat the same food, done properly it’s actually highly desirable. I can’t imagine anyone’s ever been embarrassed by a Hello Fresh delivery.
The MSD have already trialled My Food Bag for Emergency Food grants, but since ‘emergency’ and ‘food’, are words that shouldn’t be used so closely together, just give a Food Box to everyone that wants one. Every week.
‘Are you mad? What about the cost?’
Glad you asked. The cost to feed 1.85 million households, five meals per week, with an average of three people per household, is $9.6 billion a year. And that’s at retail, $100 per food box, with no allowance for efficiencies of massive scale.
The challenge is how to pay for it all without any tax increase, as you can’t just find 10 billion down in between the couch cushions. Well, actually you can, as this chart from Treasury quite clearly shows. Look at the second largest item.
Source: Stuff / NZ Treasury
No functional classification, 33 billion dollars.
Huh?
That’s right, 33 billion. On something that doesn’t even have a name, and clearly serves no purpose at all. Everything else looks pretty reasonable. Health, social welfare, defence, police. It’s all there. There’s $14b set aside for ‘other economic’ activity. It’s a decent chunk of wedge which I assume includes things like tourism, but again, how would you know?
There’s enough detail to mention spending $411 million on ‘fuel and energy’, but I’m none the wiser as to ‘energy’ meaning the power bill, or a whole lot of Peanut Slabs someone’s racked up on the parliamentary Z petrol card.
There’s even a lazy $435m allocated to ‘other’. As dear Squeeze would’ve said: “Matey, you can almost do something with that.”
‘No functional classification’ is just Wellington for ‘stuff’ and at the very least it’s a line item that could stand a bit more scrutiny. To paraphrase Alexander Skarsgard’s Lukas Matsson character: “We need to get in there and cut shit close to the bone.” This is about spending less money not more.
Food waste, obesity and child poverty are problems that cost taxpayers about $14 billion a year, give or take. Which is quite a lot more than 9.6 billion. Sure, it’s not that simple, but isn’t it? Prevention is always cheaper than repair.
Once you’ve dipped into the ‘no functional classification’ fund and found the money, you’d have to market the idea quite cleverly. But hey, with ‘free food’ or ‘controlled diet’ as messages, there’s something for everyone. The good news is the Government has way, way more comms people than the country has journalists, so time for the dark artists of the Terrace to get to work.
Supermarkets will take a hit. Or they won’t, and become part of the distribution pipe instead. Or, they get out in front and lead the charge. Any loss of employment would be absorbed by the creation of s new supply chain. Insist on the idea being a sustainable, ethical way to support our local food producers. B Corp it up the wahzoo.
Maybe the Food Box won’t be revenue neutral, but it certainly won’t ‘cost’ anywhere near $9.6 billion either. Maybe we’d have less domestic violence because there’s less worry about how to feed the family. Maybe there’d be less anxiety, and increased productivity from not having to waste time working out where the next meal might be coming from.
Maybe fewer bikes will get nicked. The butterfly effect and all that.
Some people hate this, no surprises there. You can always find a reason not to do something, especially if you put some effort in. Others are more positive.
It’s all good either way. Debate is healthy and we need more of it. They’re just ideas after all, nothing to be afraid of. Sooner or later one comes along that gives us the momentum we need.
It’s how we climb out.
Forever-ish content
I’d only just posted about delving back into the past, when Geoff came through and reminded me about a post that I had written a couple of years ago - ‘Forever Content’. Geoff reckoned it had made him laugh out loud, but couldn’t find it, and he encouraged me to repost ‘for my fan club’.
I don’t know about having a fan club, but I was once chased by a man who’d caught my brother and I nicking plums from his tree, although I’m pretty sure that’s not the same thing. However given Geoff is as sharp as creases and had built a successful career on giving smart advice it was sensible to follow it.
It turned out the post was on a different site altogether and as I could barely manage one website, two seemed to be just silly. The work he liked now has a new home.
The real reason though, was that the content idea I had never really fired and I’d moved on. If I’m honest, this was down to me not trying hard enough. But I’d promised to update you either way, and I hadn’t, which was hardly in the spirit of telling the bad with the good, so here we are. On a re-read it seems I was right about one thing - nothing was going according to plan.
Funnily enough, I’d been asked to make a piece of what I’d called ‘forever content’ only a couple of months ago. My friend Meg wanted a photo of her family, and there were six of them. They’d never had one taken since the kids had grown up with kids of their own, so it was quite a big deal.
Six is quite a crowd when it comes to a photo. Like a marketing manager using Canva, and other silly things that shouldn’t be allowed, I turned to Annie Liebovitz’s Vanity Fair work for inspiration. There’s a painterly quality to her group shots and plenty of online tutorials about how to achieve the look. Well kinda.
I’d also stupidly told Meg what I was aiming for, destroying any opportunity to under promise and over deliver later on.
One of Annie’s most famous shots is a VF cover of a naked and pregnant Demi Moore, of which Annie observed; “If it were a great portrait, she wouldn’t be covering her breasts. She wouldn’t necessarily be looking at the camera.” Even if there wasn’t any nudity planned for Meg’s work, I worried that I’d set the bar way way too high.
I had discovered that Annie’s even lighting effect and no lens distortion is largely what makes her photographs painterly, and is achieved by compositing. I roped my daughter Georgia into this role, grabbed a couple of lights from Gilly, and arranged to meet Meg and the whanau at Frimley Park just before magic hour.
To do the compositing requires the photographer to be technically proficient, patient and follow the rules. I’m none of these. You need a clean background plate and even lighting. Each shot needs to be taken along the same plane. No colouring outside the lines in other words.
I didn’t even come close.
Georgia saved the day, skilfully blending eight different, in some cases very different, shots together. I’d learnt a couple of valuable lessons, the most important was don’t rush things, oh and just because you can fix it in post doesn’t mean you should. While her wizardry made up for most of my technical missteps, it would have been a complete ‘mare to pull together. Graciously she’s never bought it up and we’re still on speaking terms. All is well.
Meg was happy, her Mum and Dad were chuffed and the end result was swiftly dispatched to the printer, although probably no need to bother Annie with it.
That’s the update, it took a little longer than expected, but that in itself reminded me of a letter I once received from Sue Bradford that opened with ‘I have delayed writing for as long as possible, so I could give you the most up to date information available.’ She what she did there? Genius.
Anyway, here’s the original. It’s for Geoff. And the fans.
Forever Content
A couple of weeks ago I was taking some photos of a young mum and her baby boy. I’ve been getting seriouser and seriouser about photography for 7 or 8 years now, and while there’s never any shortage of things for me to learn; or indeed a shortage of photographers, a couple of hours behind the lens reminded me just how much fun it was.
”Shit”, I thought to myself, “I wish I could do more of this’.
It was after this shoot that I decided to get behind the camera more often.
As it turned out, I was having a gap year, and therefore quite available, and so, here we are.
I’ve always loved writing stories and now I’ll be telling them with pictures too. I love showing people a side of themselves they might only rarely get to see.
I’m going to focus on making what you could call ‘forever’ content. Sure, the name’s a bit shit, but the idea is solid. It’s simply pictures that because they make you feel good, you might just want to see more than once.
Here’s some I prepared earlier.
It’s content designed to last, and be read and viewed over and over, just like in the olden days. Images and yarns that we might take a little more time crafting, because they’ll be all the better for it.
It might be a bespoke coffee table book about your business perhaps. Or your home, or farm. Maybe a short film. A celebration of an important anniversary or milestone. A gift for overseas clients. Framed portraits for Father’s Day. Or maybe a documentary film of a family gathering.
Coffee-table books for your family. Or your brand. For a gift. To make a statement. Not only are they special, they’re great fun to do. ‘The Italian Blog’ (Blurb, hardcover, 128 pages) was for the amusement of friends. Check it out here.
You get the picture.
At least that’s the plan. Mind you I’m struggling to think of anything I’ve done that’s gone to plan, so as I watch my comfort zone disappear behind me, who knows what will happen.
But when it does, I’ll be sure to write about it here.
And then we can all laugh about it together.
How to smarten up old chops.
I’ve always liked this phrase to describe a freshen up. I’m not sure where it really came from, but I first heard it from my friend Tina, who got it out of her mother Jo’s CWI cookbook from the chapter on ‘mutton’ in the ‘leftovers’ section.
It’s arguably more poetic than ‘new-ish website here.’ Although since ‘smartening up’ involved dousing the chops liberally in vinegar, maybe only just.
Anyhoo, prior to Covid putting the skids under so many things, I was doing a job with Greg Partington. He’d just bought the rest of his company back from Head Office and was keen to open up the throttle. Greg can be demanding and a ‘hard marker’ - but mainly on himself.
He wanted a campaign for the new company ‘Stanley St’ and we had settled on doing a series of candid interviews with his people that would run in Air New Zealand’s ‘Kia Ora’ magazine.
One thing we quickly agreed on was that ‘storyteller’ was a well overused term, ever since it had been kidnapped by people in marketing.
Stories have twists and turns, mood and details, characters you want to slap, and those you root for. The good ones have nuance and aim, vulnerability and charm. Of course so do the best ads, but contrary to what that insta tutorial has told you, writing copy doesn’t automatically mean you’ve written a story, least of all a good one.
I know this because I’m guilty too, having hastily written a shopping list more than once or twice. I’m trying harder.
It’s all well and good giving advice, my problem is following it. But as I rambled my way around Squarespace, I realised that behind my own work there was often an interesting backstory.
I’ve tried to tell things as they were, although I’m sure, ‘recollections may vary.’ There’s been some wins, some hard yards, and I’ve also kicked some spectacular own goals along the way. It’s all a work in progress I reminded myself.
But be honest, the fails are more interesting aren’t they? The car crashes. Even the little ones, of which there are many. Like the time I was giving a presentation - back in the day to be sure, but coincidentally also with Greg - and the client, who was staring at my feet started laughing. Looking down to see what was so funny, I discovered I’d put on two very different shoes. The shared the same colour but that was about it.
“What?” I asked, with a shameless pivot to the front foot. “You’ve never been so focussed on a job that you’ve put on different shoes?”
Who could argue with that sort of commitment. Shameless or not.
It’s not all the mahi by a long shot, just the stuff I like and the stories I remember. Well most of them. I’ll add more here. I’d like to say regularly, but I history would suggest otherwise. I’m working on that too.
One thing for sure is, I’ve been fortunate to stand on the shoulders of many, many talented people along the way who have shown not only kindness but an extraordinary amount of patience.
They know who they are, now you can too. It’s their story as much as mine.
Enjoy the chops.
Rewiring Ourselves
“I don’t really want any more work, I don’t want people ringing me up” said Meg, explaining what she didn’t want her website to do.
You’ll never die wondering what Meg Rose is thinking.
“You’ve come to the right place” I reassured her, albeit somewhat puzzled by Meg’s desire to be on the interweb at all. We first met working on Kirsten’s Mayoral campaign a couple of years ago, and I’ve offered to help Meg build a website in return for some sensible advice she’d given me. We chat as I take her photograph.
“So what do you want it for?” I asked.
“World domination” said Meg in the blink of an eye and devoid of any irony.
It turns out Meg has big plans indeed.
Invited by Hardin Tibbs, a futurist and scenario planner from the University of Cambridge, Meg has written an article for the World Futures Review on how she uses Hardin’s strategic landscape tool in her work. The tool was originally developed for use by large scale corporates and governments, so that they could change direction by learning to rewire themselves, but it was how Meg had adapted it for local use that caught Hardin’s eye.
“I work with CEO’s, gang members, prisoners, and small businesses” says Meg, “one client said my work … hang on … “as she reads from a testimonial “ - helped him rewire himself’”.
“But yeah, no matter who it is, the conversation starts with the same two questions: what do you need and what could we do?”
I was momentarily distracted, wondering if the CEO, gang member, prisoner and small business owner could possibly all be the same person, meanwhile Meg is patiently explaining her dream of scaling up those individual conversations so they are held by whanau, communities and Government.
“The real big picture,” says Meg, calmly outlining her plan to rewire our most fundamental systems, “is to fuse the strategic landscape tool with the work Sir Tim Berners-Lee is doing on an alternate world wide web. The good web.”
Well, yes, of course it is I’m thinking - a little cross at myself for not having arrived at this blindingly obvious conclusion earlier. As it turns out though, I’ve heard a little bit about this ‘good web’,
”Isn’t it like the current web without the porn?” I offer. “Without the advertising actually,” Meg replies straight faced. “That’s the real problem”.
I let that one go through to the keeper, as most discussion about the relative merits of pornography vs advertising usually ends in the none too salient observation about both industries being full of wankers.
During the day Meg and her husband Andy teach life skills, a job that is intensely rewarding as it is demanding. Often their clients are dealing with a problem, but they have no idea what it is, let alone how to fix it. By a process of gentle pragmatic coaching Meg helps people identify whatever it is that’s holding them back.
“A lot of the work centres around the relationship between mind and body, when we understand how our body reacts to situations, we can learn to respond differently.” says Meg.
They’ve set up camp in the cleaning supervisor’s office. Anyone on staff can book a session and clients get free advice on anything from budgeting, to anger management, or relationship guidance, through to how to sit a driving test.
They go into the workplace because it’s easier on the clients, this place has hundreds on staff. “Andy’s even got a set of toy cars he uses for the driving tests, because not everyone can read.” Meg adds.
For some clients Meg or Andy might be the only people they can talk to about stuff, or at least the only people that will listen. Some are really battling, others just surviving, all seem to be hurting: if Meg doesn’t want the phone to ring, it’s only because she wants to develop a set of tools that we can use to fix ourselves.
“Men really get the DIY angle” she laughs. It’s a work in progress though. “Often, they’re just looking for an acknowledgment, a validation of their journey.” Meg adds. “You can physically see a breakthrough. The exhale of breath, the body slumps forward in the relief of being heard.”
Like anyone on the frontline I’m sure Meg can tell horror stories alongside tales of triumph.
But always with the same starting point: what do you need and what could we do?
See? World domination. But in a good way.