For the umpteenth year in a row I did not win one of these.
Fact is, I don't even own one of these.
Not one.
You might, but I don't.
And I never will.
Oh I had a few noteworthy pieces of work that might have won, but they didn't. And I don't blame the judges.
Because the sad truth is, the judges never saw the work.
Let me peel another sour grape and explain.
It turned out that work we thought was being boxed up, laminated and sent to France to compete against the world's best advertising (a phrase that means nothing to nobody but us navel-gazers) missed its flight.
And by missed its flight, I mean executives in the top echelon of the ad agency thought our English word-heavy campaign would not play well in the international circles of cheese-eaters and rose wine drinkers.
Unbeknownst to myself and my partner, the work never made it to the cargo hold of a Boeing 767.
I might have been bitter about it then, but I'm more than thankful now.
The truth is I'm not big on festivals.
Of any kind.
I don't enjoy being in large crowds.
I don't have a body built for Capri pants.
I don't like being surrounded by second hand smoke.
I have little use for grown men in Trilby hats.
I never ate a snail and have no intention of starting.
And yachts make me yak.
Finally, to complete this little humblebrag (of sorts), even if our work did win, I'd be hard pressed to shell out $300-$400 for a gold plated metal trinket that would now be in a box with Lulus, Tellys, ANDYs, ADDY's (Regional and National), OBIEs, Webbys, Beldings, CLIOs and One Show Pencils, on a shelf somewhere in my garage.
Wedged in with all the camping equipment that reeks of bacon fat and mosquito repellent.
Mmmmm, bacon.
4 comments:
$300-$400? More like $1500.
Rich, many years ago, I worked for a writer named Ron Rosenfeld. He was a huge star at Doyle Dane Bernbach in the '60s and '70s.
He won pretty much every award there was to win at the time. Reportedly, he was also the first writer to make over $100,000 a year. I can't even imagine what that would be equivalent to today. Ultimately, he went on to co-own an agency that did well for quite a few years — Rosenfeld, Sirowitz and Lawson. Ron, unfortunately, died quite young (at 62 a I think).
Not long long, I was told that someone found boxes of his awards in, of a places, a thrift shop.
Rich, I think you'd look damn good in capris.
Cannes Lions always remind me of dryer lint. That's because, as a youth, long before I thought about working in advertising, I would see a Cannes Lion on the wall in the basement laundry room (my father was at BBDO). Later I would run into cineastes who mocked me for thinking that this trinket had anything to do with the Cannes Film Festival. Of course this is the only reason the Lions are in Cannes at all...so that people in advertising could be overheard mentioning the award they won in Cannes, and (in pre-internet days anyway) could pilfer some fawning adulation and bed wide-eyed, would-be starlets before the truth came out and the jig was up. In addition to being deceitful, it's an example of "borrowed interest," and even in ad agencies, that is a no-no. The holding companies might be more supportive if the Lions were moved to a more modest location, say, Laughlin, Nevada. Then an agency could rebrand Laughlin as the new destination par excellence for rosé-swilling kleptocrats, ECDs and CMOs. I would give that agency a Lion. Made out of dryer lint.
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