the decider

The first time I got promoted to creative director, I was immensely satisfied (some might say smugly, but I can't comment) at the natural evolution of things; this was the next step of my career, and I was ready for it. I was heading up an existing team on an established account, in a category where I had previous work experience. There was plenty of support for me. Easy peasy, right?

Well, I can't say it was terrible. But the big change from being a plain old writer, what I wasn't expecting, what floored me, was that people were constantly demanding answers. My team, suits, clients – they just never stopped wanting to know things.

Things to which only one person could have the answer.

Me.

It was exhausting and overwhelming. Nothing prepares you for the fact that you can't defer to anyone else. You can't hide. You can't kick decisions up to the Executive CD, because that's what he/she has hired you to take care of.

What's worse, you have to care about your answers. You're making decisions that affect people and their work and their jobs. You have to care, even when you don't want to. That takes energy too. Energy that you used to put into brainstorming and writing. So you learn (eventually) that you can't work on as many projects, and you can't take on anything too big or juicy, not without all the other jobs on the account suffering.

After about a year, I got sick of all that stuff taking over my life. I went freelance.

When I returned to a CD gig, I knew what I was getting into. I finally enjoyed the pressure and responsibility, the team building, all the little things you have to do to help creative teams achieve great work.

Like providing answers.

All of which is just a long preamble to this 2-part article on Design Taxi is all about what makes a good creative director. And a good reminder, for those of us in the trade, of what we have to live up to.

(And look, not a single goddamn mention of Don Draper.)

nasty stories of creative directors who once interviewed me

When I was trying to escape from the in-house marketing department I'd started in and get an actual agency job, I interviewed for over a year. I had no contacts in the agency world and a book full of retail work based on what I hoped were clever lines and extremely repetitive, product-focused layouts. I was fueled by hope and desperation, and not much else.

I cobbled together a list of agencies and headhunters from award show books and the yellow pages (remember, this was before most companies and agencies had much of any presence on the intertube) and tried calling around. Most were never available; any switchboards I managed to get through led me to voicemail, not voices. It was a very long process.

One of the first CDs who agreed to see me was at Dentsu. Their offices were at University and Dundas, not far from where I worked at Eaton's, so I "had a dentist appointment" one morning and humped my nascent portfolio down there, hidden in a large knapsack. It being my first time in one of those things called an agency, I was terrified. Sweat waterfalled off my palms and forehead as I approached the receptionist to announce my presence, and pooled as I sat waiting for the Creative Director. A few minutes later he was there, introducing himself and being somewhat humourless, and he took me into a small boardroom.

Within 90 seconds whatever weak hope I had had been punctured. He hated everything; told me briefly how I should change each piece, and I was in and out of there in about ten minutes. After that I did not make any calls for several dark weeks.

Looking back, of course he had no reason to understand the situation I was in, no reason to be nice, no reason to try. Today I understand his impatience – I can only wince thinking at how awful my book my have been – but I don't understand why he showed it. If I agree to see someone junior or new, I think I owe them a certain amount of patience. Not an endless amount, but some.

Much later, while I was freelancing, I met the ACD for direct and digital at a small "integrated" shop. She liked my work; liked it so much that she took me to see the executive CD. He was a mass guy, mucho awarded. The ACD introduced me, said some very nice things about me and my conceptual DM work, and left me with the CD. He didn't have time to see my book at that moment, he said, but wanted me to make an appointment to come back before I left. He was very friendly, he talked about their recent work and how they liked to work; he even showed me some work that wasn't final yet. I thought we had a terrific connection, so I was really looking forward to my time with him the next week.

Things started to go downhill as soon as he opened my book. He saw direct mail and the temperature in the room dropped thirty degrees. He didn't look at me as I tried to talk about the strategy of the work, flipped through a few more items, and suddenly had an urgent meeting to go to. I was in his office for a grand total of five minutes.

This time, I wasn't crushed. His agency had approached me because of the work I was doing in DM. I knew why I was there, and was confident about what I offered them. He was clueless, and dismissive of work he knew nothing about.

The first CD taught me some valuable lessons, and forced me to go back to my book and rework the hell out of it. It was a necessary, if painful, first step.

The second CD was just an asshole. The only lesson he taught me was that some creative directors are just assholes.