Imagine you’re the CEO of a thriving travel firm … say Tumi.
Business is good.
You’re respected.
You’re viewed as being professional to the core.
Your image is one that competitors and companies alike, all hold in the highest regard.
Now imagine you’re the CEO of an financial services organisation.
Despite the ‘little dramas’ of the past few years, business is good.
You know you still have to work to do on ensuring mass respect, but you figure that by being consistently professional, your image will dramatically improve and you will soon get back your title as one of the best in the business and financial World’s.
Now imagine both CEO’s are having dinner together.
It’s a pleasant little bistro somewhere in Europe. Possibly Zurich.
Now imagine an advertising executive has joined them.
They’re having a lovely time … chatting, sipping wine, eating overly-expensive pieces of meat.
Within a few hours, they have covered an incredible array of subjects … from favourite holiday destinations to how they can reduce their marketing expenditure to what happened in last nights episode of ‘Real Housewives of New Jersey’.
Suddenly, out of nowhere and at precisely the same time, both CEO’s have an aneurism.
One second they’re chatting about their families and business, next they’re slumped in their chairs gurgling like a baby.
The ad exec – sensing his chance to make a name for himself – immediately loosens their ties, gives them glasses of water, calls an ambulance and then gets them to sign a piece of paper.
That piece of paper is a contract … a contract for him and him alone to do all their advertising … a contract that promises he will reduce their advertising expenditure by finding a way to do communication that jointly promotes their individual companies … a contract that states reducing their marketing costs is more important than maintaining their image of integrity and professionalism.
Maybe this is all a figment of my imagination, but how else can you explain this:
