Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Creativity, Mum & Dad, Parents
Coming to the end of the year is always a time for reflection.
This has been an interesting year for me … with more highs than lows, but the lows have been very low.
Getting older is often about that.
For all the ‘retirement’ cliches of ‘living your best life’, the reality is it is about transitioning to a new life.
One where your value and experience is no longer deemed important by the very industry who helped you define your value and experience.
It doesn’t just reinforce the narrowing of opportunity; it reinforces the sense of being discarded. Thrown aside. Left to be taken by the earth.
It’s a pretty good metaphor for the other thing you are exposed more to …
Death.
Of people you know, friends you had, colleagues you worked with.
Some the same age as you.
Let me tell you, nothing fucks you up like seeing people you grew up with start to die.
Hell, when I was younger, I thought it was crazy I knew people who were turning 40 … but death is a whole other level of age acceptance.
So let’s be real here … growing older sucks, but as my Mum taught me, age feeds on attitude and so who you are is ultimately determined by how you live.
Look, I know I’m not going to be going out all night and rolling in at 6am before going straight into the office. But that doesn’t mean my mind has to go to bed with a cup of hot cocoa and a hot water bottle at 8pm either.
You’re as old as the limits of your curiosity.
Not liking something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t bother knowing about something. Just like not knowing about something doesn’t mean you should close your mind off to wanting to explore and investigate what’s going on.
As my Mum also taught me, ‘being interested in what others are interested in’ is one of the greatest gifts you can have.
And I am … and I have to say, I bloody love it
Doesn’t mean I always understand what’s going on.
Doesn’t mean I always agree with what’s going on.
Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the privilege I have in being able to do it.
But it does mean I know that I am always better for the simple act of being exposed to it.
Talking of exposure …
It seems the desire to be exposed to things is dying.
Instead of exploration into the unknown, people prefer curating.
Living life through a metaphorical ‘greatest hits’ playlist rather than losing themselves in the deep cuts and histories.
Hey, that’s their choice and I respect that … but not only does it mean they miss out on the nuance, they never understand how people got to where they’re at.
Or where they may be heading.
It’s why I find it funny when I hear so many people talk about ‘culture’ without ever realizing what it means.
Thinking it’s all about knowing what’s going on rather than understanding where it’s taking us.
Looking down rather than up.
Looking narrow rather than broad.
Only focusing on the present rather than future.
Or having an appreciation of the past.
I swear this attitude is a deliberate act.
A choice to save themselves from having to face their increasing irrelevance.
A decision designed to protect their ego, knowledge and importance.
Of course, this is ironic as fuck given the absolute fastest way to being left behind is to choose to put on your blinkers.
But I get it … fuck, I’ve had to deal with this reality for years and in no way am I saying I’ve got all my shit together, the thing I know is while we’re all part of culture, sailing through it isn’t the same as swimming in it.
So while I get the energy to swim lessens the older you get, the reality is age has nothing to do with relevance. What it’s really about is whether you’re comfortable being uncomfortable or you want the cosy-zone.
And while it’s OK to choose the latter, doing this not only limits who you are, it limits who you can become.
Whether you’re 24 or 54.
Which is why the older I get, the more I understand something my Dad used to tell me:
“Get the most out of life or life will take the most out of you”.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Age, Agency Culture, Apathy, Aspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Delusion, Distinction, Diversity, Emotion, Inclusion, Love, Loyalty, Management, Marketing, Mum & Dad, Planners, Politics, Prejudice, Provocative, Relevance, Reputation, Resonance, Respect
I can’t believe next week we enter the final month of 2024.
How the hell did that happen?
My god, it’s been a whirlwind and while I’ll write my annual ‘wrap-up’ post in a few weeks, I have to say – bar three truly tragic events for me – a pretty good year.
I don’t take any of that for granted.
I know it could all fall apart in an instant.
Which may explain why I follow certain theories/behaviours/beliefs that – despite knowing they’re likely utter nonsense – help me feel I’m doing things that encourage ‘good stuff’ to happen for me and my family.
Or should I say, ‘extend’ the good stuff that my family get to enjoy.
That’s right, I’m talking about certain superstitions that I follow.
I won’t go into them in detail for fear of the men in the white suits popping around to put me in a jacket with no sleeves, but on top of working hard, doing what I promise and staying interested and open to stuff … they heavily influence and drive my actions and behaviours in equal measure.
Now I should point out the driving force of this is less about maintaining an income [though that is there, of course] and more about satisfying my curiosity and hunger.
You see, despite being 54, I’m still fiercely ambitious and hungry to do new, exciting and good things. In fact – given the stuff I’ve been fortunate to do over the past few years with moving countries and working with artists in the music, fashion and gaming industries – even more ambitious and hungry than I’ve ever been.
Of course I appreciate I’ve done a bunch of stuff but as I’ve written before, the more I do … the more I discover things I want to do. The problem is, the older you get, the more you know you won’t be able to do everything and so you want to try and ensure your time is spent on the stuff that fulfils you rather than drains you.
I get some people may read this and think I’m a fucking idiot. And I get it … because the basic narrative that is pushed out is the older you get, the less passion you have.
Hell, companies have used that as an excuse to get rid of experience for decades.
Worse, for a long time I believed that view too …
But what I’ve learned is that in many cases, it’s not the passion that gets tired, but the tolerance for bullshit.
The politics.
The processes.
The procedures.
The shiny-new-things.
The hang-on-to-the-old-things.
Corporate bullshit is endless.
And while I’m not suggesting people actively enjoy subjecting you to it – nor am I claiming all of it is pointless – I understand why so many people choose to walk away from it.
Which is all my way of saying how fortunate I consider myself …
Because while I have faced a bunch of bullshit in my time, the vast majority of my career has been working for – or with – people/companies and brands who value the work more than the politics. Who choose creativity over complicity. Who value what you do rather than devalue how old you are.
And that means at 54, the bullshit hasn’t won.
It may one day, but it hasn’t yet.
And that means I don’t just get to keep working with talent regardless of age, heritage, geography or discipline. Nor just get to learn, collaborate and create with people from all walks of life and from all fields of creativity – united by our desire to make something really fucking good, rather than something ‘good enough’. It means I get to keep enjoying it … being inspired by it and bringing my own energy and creativity to it.
So while there’ll be people out there who’ll make more money, have more things, possess bigger job titles or career positions than I’ll ever have … and while there may well come a time where the possibilities I see will be possibilities someone else has to realise … I can feel I beat the bullshit.
And while many won’t understand that.
Or even agree with that.
For a kid whose parents instilled in him the importance of living a life of fulfilment rather than contentment, it means that should I ever get to meet Mum and Dad again, I can thank them for teaching me stubbornness isn’t a fault, when done right, it’s an enduring gift.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, America, Art, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Context, Culture, Design, Friendship, Gifts, Jewellery, Music, Rosie, Swiftie
How the fuck is it October?
OCTOBER?
It was only February 2 weeks ago, wasn’t it?
How the hell are we going to be in 2025 in less than 3 months?
On the bright side, it does mean I go on my family holiday in less than 3 months – but October, already? Crazy.
What else is crazy is this ..
Someone sent me this.
I don’t know who it was, but I got it.
And the fact they sent it to my house, means they know me well enough to know my address.
But what messes with my head is that while the message in on point, the bracelet design and size is one that would be better placed on the wrist of a 13 year old Taylor Swift fan.
Was this deliberate?
Was this a mistake?
Did they know that regardless of its ridiculousness, I’d still wear it.
Is it a diss or a reward?
I am so confused – especially as my friends have form doing shit like this. Like the time they discovered my iTunes password and bought every Taylor Swift album – with MY CREDIT CARD – which I only discovered when all her songs started appearing on my iPod. The clever, evil bastards. [But not as clever or evil as this]
But as confused as I am, even that isn’t as confused as the people who see me now wearing it with pride … especially as it sits under a tattoo I’ve had done of my beloved Rosie, so it kinda looks like a fucked up cat-collar.
So to whoever got it for me – whether for love or for taking the piss – I love it, I thank you for it and I just wonder if it will last the few months until we hit 2025.
Filed under: Age, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Cats, China, Death, England, Family, Hong Kong, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Otis, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore
I want to apologise to someone.
Her name is Denise and I worked with her for a few months back in 1996.
While I don’t remember much about her, I do remember this …
1. She was a freelance media strategist.
2. She was a wonderful human.
3. She had amazing ginger hair.
4. She loved her cat.
The reason I want to apologise is that one day, we heard she wasn’t coming into work for the week because her cat had passed away. And frankly, I was a prick. Not because I said anything to her or about her – but because I distinctly remember thinking her reaction was a bit extreme.
A week off?
For a cat!
But of course it wasn’t just ‘a cat’ and it wasn’t just ‘a pet’. It was family.
I know some people may think calling a pet, ‘family’ is a silly statement to make … but unless your pet is a ‘working animal’, I can only imagine the reason you think that way is because of how you treat it, rather than how it treats you.
Because pets love you.
And they want you to love them.
Sure, they show it in a myriad of ways, but to them – you’re most definitely family.
Even those independent, demanding, constantly judging beasts-on-four-legs known as cats.
They may make you work hard for affection.
They may turn their back the moment they get what they want.
But they love you … almost as much as you will likely love them.
So why do I want to apologise 28 years later to a person I have no knowledge of where they’re at and who I only knew fleetingly?
Well, even though the moment I had that thought I was angry at myself for how fucked-up selfish I’d been letting that thought enter my head even for a second, I want to apologise because it breaks my heart to say I now have first-hand experience how losing your precious pet feels because earlier today, we had to say goodbye to our wonderful, cranky, seven-country-living, Singaporean street cat: Rosie.
We’re all devastated.
Totally adrift in grief.
And even though we know she had an amazing 17 years of pampered, spoilt, and deeply-loved-and-cared-for life – which is much, much longer than the average tenure of a street cat [which is 2 years] – it still doesn’t feel long enough.
No where close.
While she’d had a kidney problem for a long time – as well as some arthritis in her back – it was being managed by a special diet and us putting little steps around the house so she could climb on whatever she wanted. But that aside, she was generally in good health. In fact it wasn’t that long ago the vets were surprised how old she was as she seemed so much younger in her spirit and overall well-being. And over these 17 years, there had only ever been one occasion where she had become properly ill so she was a strong little thing.
But then one day recently – about a month ago – things changed dramatically and suddenly.
Loss of appetite. Her meow sounded like she was smoking 70 cigarettes a day and she was restless. The vet had given her an injection to relieve the arthritis pain and some meds to help with her kidneys and it worked for a few days but – even though her spirit, meow, calmness and complaining returned with gusto – her loss of appetite kicked in again.
We took her back to the vet and her blood test showed a huge decline in her kidneys function – far more in a month than we’d seen in almost a decade – so we took her to the cat hospital for a few days to see if more intense treatment could help.
It was very sad in our house because while we hoped for the best, we feared for the worst.
For me, it all felt a bit like the last days of my Dad. I described it at the time of someone walking around their big, old house and closing all the windows, turning off the lights, closing the doors. One by one. Bit by bit. Getting ready to depart for the last time.
And that’s what it felt Rosie was doing.
Still loving – in her own, unique way – but spending more time in her own world.
Ironically, in the days leading up to her going into the hospital, she was more loving than maybe she’d ever before. Wanting us to wrap our arm around her while she slept next to us in bed rather than adopt her normal practice of balancing precariously on our hip. Like she was trying to say goodbye. A final loving cuddle. I even thought that at the time but I tried to put that idea out of my mind, not wanting to contemplate it or consider it in case I tempted fate. But the reality is, I knew things had changed and nothing reaffirmed that more than when we went to see her in the hospital and it was obvious the treatment wasn’t working.
She was happy we were there.
She came out for a cuddle and a brush.
But she was not great. Not just because of the sedatives, but because she was not well.
And maybe, that was the first time, we accepted we had to make a decision.
A decision no one wants to make.
A decision where you actively have to fight your instinct to be selfish and keep them around.
But while she was not in pain, her lack of eating – and the increasing effects of her kidney disease – meant she was getting very thin and her quality of life was starting to be impacted and that was the very last thing we would ever want for her. Would ever do to her. So after a call from the hospital, we brought her home today, Monday 12th, … spoiling her with love, kisses, brushes and walking her all around the house, including the deck outside, where she loved to be for hours, in the sun, in nature, watching the birds fly by … before gently letting her go this afternoon, at 2:15pm, surrounded by us by her side.
And we’re inconsolable …
For her loss and the feeling of confusion and pain we felt making this decision.
Knowing it was the right thing for her, but hating it at the same time … all while trying to fight off the feelings of guilt that we knew when her last day would be, before her.
And even though it honestly feels like she knew it was time and wanted it to be, it still feels so wrong and hurts so deeply … to the point I feel sick thinking about it, physically sick. That’s how much our wonderful little Rosie meant to all of us.
I mean Otis had had her in his life, his whole life.
Even my Mum had met Rosie, that’s how long she’d been part of our family unit.
Hell, anyone who has read this blog at anytime over the past 17 years, would know her as she made her first appearance within days of her coming into our lives.
And yet for someone so small, it’s amazing how much she filled our house.
Her presence. Her sounds. The little signs she left to make sure we knew this was ‘her house’.
Without her, it all feels quieter, emptier, less welcoming now.
Every corner reminds us of her. Every little place and piece.
Of all the places she lived – and there were a lot, from being a street cat in Singapore to HK, China, America and the UK – she loved this place most.
She loved the peace, the nature, the hiding places and the opportunity to run out the front door when we would come in and then annoyingly sit under my car until finally being tempted out with Friskies.
In fact, to remember her we’re going to make a decal of her, as mocked up above, that we’ll place on the window at the side of our front door. The place where she would come sit, meow and greet us whenever she heard our cars come down the drive. And we’ll also scatter some of her ashes in the trees she loved to look at from the deck at our house as well as get another tattoo in her honour to go with the one I’ve got of her nose and whiskers from years ago.
If you think this is all a bit over-the-top, I don’t care … because I cannot put into words how much I loved that cat.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am to Jill for finding her and bringing her into our life.
And while she was my first proper pet, she was more than that to me.
She was a member of my family.
Crazy I know, but she was.
Hell, I even turned down a job – ironically at Colenso – because of her. Well, partly because of her, because the New Zealand authorities wouldn’t let people based in China bring their pets to the country. Fortunately, having moved from China to the US and the UK, it was all good.
In many ways, I don’t want to end this post because then it means it’s final. Official. The end. And while I know her memory will stay with me/us forever, the reality is our wonderful Rosie has gone. Which is why I end the last post for this week with this …
Rosie. I love you.
You made an old man very happy – even when you made me bloody annoyed.
Like the time you broke my brand new X-Box. Or destroyed that expensive lamp.
But you always did it with style.
Just like the way you would find new places to hide.
Giving me a heart attack thinking you’d got out and run away.
Like when you made Jill climb up onto the roof of a block of flats in London … only for you to be found an hour later sleeping in our wardrobe, having purposefully stayed quiet while watching us run frantically around, shaking a bag of treats shouting, “Rosie, where are you?”
I am so grateful for all you were.
I am so glad we could give you the most loving of homes.
But most of all, I’m so grateful for all we were together.
We’ll never forget you.
Please don’t forget us.
And please forgive us.
Because we love you so much.
Always will.
Thank you for everything you gave to us.
We send you off with hugs, kisses, brushes and Friskies.
Sleep well our dear Rosie.
Sleep well.
Rosie. 1st July 2007- 12th August 2024.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Age, Brand, Brand Suicide, Comment, Content, Context, Crap Campaigns In History, Creativity, Empathy, Marketing, Marketing Fail, Mediocrity, Resonance
Growing old is a fascinating experience because of the multitude of ways it impacts you.
And while a lot of the narrative around it is negative, it’s not entirely the case.
You give less of a fuck about things that used to bother you because you realise they don’t really matter. And you feel more confident to speak up about issues that do bother you, because you are less nervous about expressing how you feel.
Sure, that can lead to all sorts of problematic behaviour and attitudes, but as long as you’re not a myopic, prejudiced dick … it’s generally good.
But without doubt there’s things that do mess with you.
Parts of you hurt you didn’t even know was a part that could hurt.
You are made very aware that your relevance to society is less important.
And when you look in the mirror, you don’t recognise the old bastard staring back at you.
There’s a lot of money in trying to delay the signs of ages.
Or should I say, the physical signs.
And while I could make this a post about the unfair, unjust and unrealistic expectations [and judgement] that society places on looks – and aging – especially towards women, that’s not the point of this post.
You see I recently passed a cosmetic beauty shop/spa/clinic whose promise to ‘help you counter the realities of growing old’ seemed to miss the point of what potential customers actually are looking for.
Or at least it did to me, because their ad said this …
Now maybe I’m wrong, but surely one of the main points in seeking anti-aging treatment is so you DON’T age your way.
That, if anything, you age someone else’s way.
Preferably someone much younger than you.
And hotter.
OK, with hindsight, I get that’s what they maybe meant.
That they were trying to say their treatment allows you to control how you age, as opposed to leaving it to nature. And if that’s the case, then it’s probably closer to being the right proposition [albeit flawed, generic and contrived as hell] with some of the worst writing.
But then I hate that whole ‘YOUR RULES, YOUR WAY’ ad narrative that appears so often.
Communication that’s devoid of any sort of definitive or differentiated idea, other than utterly preposterous suggestion their product/service empowers you to conquer and counter all the rules, realities and science of the World that relates to your particular situation or need.
The imbecilic idea that people will believe this company/brand has the knowledge/technology/magic to achieve what no other organisation or individual can achieve.
ON THE PLANET.
Jesus Christ, it’s so lazy and unimaginative.
Sure, I get this approach works … but the whole business strategy appears to be ‘get a bit of the same pie everyone is eating’ rather than develop a point of view that will get you more of the pie.
But as bad as that is, I realise there’s something even worse than that
It’s all of the above generic shit … but with a headline that doesn’t even convey it with clarity.
Which is the real ugly side of beauty.