But take your mind out of the gutter for a minute, and you’ll see it’s true for lots of things; like the way you feel after a tough workout, or when you eat one of those ridiculously tart candy-thingies your kids bring home on Halloween and absolutely must be sampled to ensure the li’l uns’ safety.

I know, it's uncanny right?

Lately, we’re finding out first-hand that the same is true for growing businesses. Or for ours, at least.

As word gets around about Gabardine and our list of happy clients grows, so do the complexities of running the agency itself. From program management to payroll and everything in between, stuff gets exponentially tougher with each new piece of business. And here’s the thing: We’re loving every excruciating minute of it.

Why? Because it’s what we’ve always wanted to do. What we were meant to do.  And, for that matter, what we should have done a long time ago. (But that’s a different story altogether.)

The point is, we recognize our growing pains for what they are, i.e. tangible, honest-to-goodness indicators that we’re doing something right, and that Gabardine is fulfilling its promise—not just for us, but for our clients. And that’s an awesome feeling. But how are we dealing with the discomfort? Glad you asked…

For one thing, we’ve added a bunch of  people in positions that are incredibly important to delivering on our service model, including a senior project manager, a marketing coordinator, a director of digital experience and a writer/IA, to name a few. And we’re on the hunt for mid-level graphic designer who can help us conceive and execute more good works. If you know somebody who fits the bill, let us know.

We’re also looking for larger space. (Though that may have more to do with my volume control problems and Keith’s penchant for speed metal than actual physical limitations.)

Finally, we continue to expand our universe of amazing contract creative talent. Truth be told, in this regard the economic downturn has worked in our favor. As big, bloated agencies and once-profitable brands shed great people, we’re able pick them up to work on terrific projects for our burgeoning client roster. Funny how things work out.

Finally, we’re putting our financial house in order; using the information and insights of the past 10 months of growth to inform future planning—for materials, resources, space…everything. As you might imagine, this is tough stuff for a couple of creative guys. But here, too, we’ve got some incredibly talented folks with tremendous experience helping small agencies become big ones. So we’re following their guidance, even as we continue to lead with our guts.

After all, guts (and chutzpah; and maybe a little luck) is what got us here—a place where we have the pleasure of feeling that little bit of pain that goes along with growing something you believe in.

Ali's all 'Ima git you, sucka.' And Joe's all 'Do you wax, 'cause those brows are flawless.'

So about the title of this post: It’s not a competition, like Ali vs. Frazier, or Superargo vs. Diabolicus (a movie so friggin’ cool that it’s literally one of the few TV memories I’ve retained since childhood; the others being every episode of Abbott and Costello, including the slightly creepy The Time of Our Lives).

It’s more a matter of opinion, you know, like Nature vs. Nurture. As with that old chestnut, the question of whether people are just venal pricks at heart or if it’s the workplace that makes them that way is a source of never-ending curiosity. Well, to me, at least.

I thought about this the other day while having lunch with a friend and former colleague, who’s about year into a great gig with what for all intents and purposes seems like an amazing company (all open and friendly and creative and sh%&). He’s got a ton of responsibility—the good kind—a crackerjack team and the faith and trust of the big boss. Life’s good, right? Well, apparently, not so much.

Lately he’s run into some resistance in the firm, mostly other senior managers who, for whatever reasons, aren’t making things easy for him. Of course, this could be due to any number of factors: Poor social skills. Halitosis. Rickets.

But I know this guy, and trust me: He’s great. Smart, funny, engaging, well mannered, well groomed (something methinks Joe would appreciate (see caption, above)), and a genuine team player—the kind who’s always looking for ways to collaborate, make things better and celebrate the achievements of others.

Right about now you’re probably thinking one of two things. Either A) This guy sounds amazing; I wonder what he’s doing for the Jewish holidays, or B) It is a cosmic impossibility that such a person is friends with Leeds. Both are legitimate, but neither is germane to this post. Think of this paragraph as the textual equivalent of a musical interlude.

The point is, this guy’s a friggin’ gem. Oh, and did I mention he’s a star? Like he actually gets stuff done and proactively comes up with all these cool ways to further the business and the company’s brand? Yeah, that too.

So why, I wonder, is he catching flack?

Could it be that offices, by dint of their stark walls, common toilets and color copiers somehow cause otherwise normal people to become petty, spiteful, backstabbing a-holes? Or is it that such behavior is really just part of our makeup, like an enzyme that’s genetically triggered when more than a handful of us are gathered in the same place, collecting semi-monthly paychecks?

I’ve concluded the answer is Yes. Offices are breeding grounds for the detestable behavior of horrid people. And, by the same token, most of those horrid people are just genetically wired to be jerks—no assembly or external factors required. So, what to do…

Well, a lot of us have chosen to make another option for ourselves, i.e. create a new paradigm, in a different kind of office with fundamentally good people. Sounds like dope-smoking, free-love, kids-running-naked-around-the-commune stuff, I know, but it feels right and, for a lot of folks, actually seems to work. Go figure.

Sure beats the office version of the Thrilla in Manilla.

It all started innocently enough: An email arrived from SocialMedian, a service that claims to offer news, filtered by your network. And there, under the heading Marketing, was a piece that someone had clipped called ‘Find your voice.’

Normally I’d dismiss such a trite, overused term as another turd in the sea of crap marketing advice, but this was different. The source, was ‘Seth’s blog.’

For those who may not be aware, the term ‘Seth,’ in marketing circles, means Seth Godin. No, really. He’s like Cher, but bald—famously bald, in fact. It’s his trademark, don’tcha know? He’s also an author/blogger/speaker and, in the eyes of many, an all-seeing oracle on things marketing and new media related.

I’ve read a couple of Seth’s books and heard him speak, but the truth is I’ve always been a little dubious of him and, for that matter, others of his ilk. And by that I mean folks who make their primary living telling other people what to do. Whether the subject matter is social media, real estate foreclosure or Dianetics, I just find it difficult to really get behind someone who’s preaching and not doing.

I clicked through to the post anyway. (Warning: The sheer genius of what you are about to read may cause rectal bleeding.)

Find Your voice

Marketing (in all its forms) is unlike everything else an organization does, because it’s always different. There’s no manual because everyone does it differently, and what successful marketers have in common is that they are successful.

The only way your organization is going to make an impact is to market in the way only you can. Not by following some expert’s rules or following the herd, but by doing it in the way that works. For you. Don’t worry about someone else’s invented standards for new media, invent your own. Avoid obvious mistakes, don’t follow obvious successes.

Find your voice, don’t copy someone else’s.

Wow. Still with me, or did you blackout somewhere around ‘what successful marketers have in common is that they are successful?’

Yup, you guessed it: Here’s where the calling bullsh%&t comes in. Because Seth’s blog doesn’t allow comments (which, BTW, sort of defeats the point of social/new media),  I left a quick riposte on SocialMedian, but then I thought about it some more…

This is a joke, right?

‘…market the only way you can’? WTF is that, some self-help bs he got from an EST seminar in 1978?

And I love ‘avoid obvious mistakes.’ Really Seth? Think that’s a good idea? ‘Cause I was just about to infect myself with the h1n1 virus right after I invested all my savings with what remains of the Madoff clan!

The height of irony—or is it hubris?—is the part where Seth cautions that your organization isn’t going to find marketing success ‘by following some expert’s rules…’ Weird, because from what I can tell Mr. Godin makes a nice chunk of change serving as just such an expert. Go figure.

Look, I appreciate that the guy is about as prolific as they come, writing, speaking and consulting like a Jack Russell terrier who got into his master’s meth stash. And it must be damn hard work coming up with new and interesting things to say as often as must be required by the machine that is Seth, Inc. But, with apologies to all you Godin sycophants out there (and it’s true I count many of you as friends), I have to say that with this little bit of profundity the guy has officially jumped the shark.

You know, it’s kind of like what your Mom used to say: If you don’t have anything even moderately worthwhile to say, don’t say anything at all. (I said ‘kind of’ like…)

That’s it for now. But stay tuned, I’ll call again.

Update: re-posted on Fatt Lipp by our good buddy John Fatteross

Our own story of adventure began innocently enough, by naming the company Gabardine. It was, we agreed, pitch-perfect and rich with meaning, i.e. We come up with big ideas and weave them through a company’s marketing communications, like a continuous thread that strengthens and extends the brand fabric.

But, alas, it seemed that gabardine.com was already spoken for. A ‘domainer‘ had parked a nasty contextual ad-serving page there, and according to Internic, there was a legit owner. What was a young company to do?

Being the creative geniuses we are, it only took a couple of weeks to come up with the novel idea of using gabardinestudios.com, instead. ‘Phew,’ we thought, the prospect of coming up with another doozy of a company name weighing heavy on our minds.

And then, well, we just went about growing our business. You know: Taking meetings. Designing stuff. Breaking in the corporate card. Writing stuff. Snorting NoDoze. Killing it.

Still, something seemed…off. Like we weren’t completely legit because our domain didn’t match our company name. Of course, we knew this was completely irrational and that lots of businesses go the Plan B route because it’s either too costly or too much of a hassle to get the domain they really want. (Group favorite: Open.) But that knowledge wasn’t enough to stamp out the burning flame of domain desire.

So we set about investigating what it would take to make gabardine.com our own. We expected the worst. A king’s ransom, perhaps. A first-born male child. The head of Alfredo Garcia. We were way off.

Our first attempts to contact the domain owner directly were less than successful. Actually, that’s the nice way of saying it. In truth we were given the run-around between what seemed for all intents and circumstances like two different shell companies posing as registrars of gabardine.com and, we’re sure, countless other domains. Fed up and, frankly, a little queasy, we decided to bite the bullet and try a more conventional route of paying the folks at sedo.com to track down the real owner and sort the whole mess out.

…we were engaged in a steel-cage deathmatch with an unnamed, unseen dark force that wanted to suck us dry for the privilege of owning a domain…

Here’s how Sedo works: You pay $69 for them to track down the real domain owner and extend an offer that you pretty much pick out of thin air. Ours was $850. That’s right, 850 smackeroos. The thinking was that if a textile magnate with an interest in finely woven fabrics was out there, s/he’d probably be using the domain productively. This certainly didn’t appear to be the case, judging from the cheesy, squatter-like page that was posted, so we figured $850 was a good place to start the bidding.

According to Bill, a ‘domain broker’ at Sedo, we figured wrong. He said they had contacted the owner, who promptly countered with an offer of $7000. The penny, as they say, dropped. We understood instantly that we were engaged in a steel-cage deathmatch with an unnamed, unseen dark force that wanted to suck us dry for the privilege of owning a domain that s/he most likely obtained by going through the dictionary in the hopes of a nice, fat payday. We reluctantly countered by nearly doubling our offer to $1600, and pointed out that negotiations were officially over.

Bill said he was ‘working closely with a colleague on the deal,’ as the owner was in Korea, and translation was an issue. (Great.) We held our collective breath for a few days and then, lo and behold, the textile magnate agreed to our price! But the fun wasn’t over yet. It took almost two weeks, another Sedo representative (Colin, my Transfer Consultant) and—surprise!—a 10% commision for Sedo before we were able to navigate our way out of the rat hole of wire transfers and domain permissions.

In the end, though, we got the domain we wanted without sacrificing an arm or a leg.

And the experience of being exposed to the seedier side of the Web? Priceless.

Like all infamous resignations, Mr. Bowman took his employer to task for a variety of sins. In this instance, those sins would seem to reinforce a great many outsider’s (read: my) suspicions about the Do-No-Evil Giant:

“Yes, it’s true that a team at Google couldn’t decide between two blues, so they’re testing 41 shades between each blue to see which one performs better. I had a recent debate over whether a border should be 3, 4 or 5 pixels wide, and was asked to prove my case. I can’t operate in an environment like that. I’ve grown tired of debating such minuscule design decisions. There are more exciting design problems in this world to tackle.”

The inevitable contrasts with Apple have been made (which must mean Google really is the new Microsoft), and the engineering-centric folk have begun to circle the wagons. Oh how quickly bright stars lose their luster in our fickle online world. Sure seems like Google could use a shammy n’ shine these days. Or do they?

What strikes me about Mr. Bowman’s grievances are how absolutely common they are. In my not nearly as illustrious career, I’ve had to deal with both extremes: beancounting engineers wanting a scientific rationale for every minor design change, and Captain Feathersword-types who use buzzwords concepts like “Rapid Prototyping” to mask an inability to make a decision. And while just about every designer has been stymied by such an environment as (apparently) exists at Google, I applaud them for taking it to the next level — 41 shades of blue?! — just as I give props to Mr. Bowman for finally throwing in the towel, realizing that he’s hit an unmovable object. (Plus, it sounds like he got another job anyway.)

But to his central complaint: The man has a point. I love Google. I use it and its tools all day, every day. But its design sucks. Period. I’m not talking about its plainness. I have nothing against minimal design (in fact I love it.) No, I’m talking about its usability. Gmail has some serious issues in this area, but other offerings, including Search, analytics, Apps and others are problematic, as well. And none of them have a similar user interface or navigational structure. In fact, the only commonality between them is that the documentation blows. I use them because, to be honest, they’re the only tools available to do those specific jobs and do them well. I don’t enjoy using them.

NOTE: If you don’t think you should enjoy the tools you use to do most of your work, then perhaps you should re-think whatever it is that you do (pay attention to that statement Adobe. You’re next on my list.)

When someone cares about design, and fights to bring good design to a product, it makes it more human. That doesn’t mean squishy-touchy-feely-granola human, but pleasant to use and, dare I say, fun.

Now expand that to the world of marketing and advertising: When someone cares about their creative work enough to try to connect with their audience on a human level, the result is an ad or a spot or banner that’s just better: More pleasant to look at, easier to comprehend and and a damn sight more compelling. In contrast, slapping a list of bullet-pointed ‘features’ on an ad, or filling space with vacuous marketese is the same as focus-grouping 41 shades of blue. It sucks all humanity from the work — along with any pleasure, arched eyebrow or chuckle — and reduces it to mere ‘data.’

Yuck.

Point is, there’s nothing quite like a neat desk or a row of perfectly aligned socks to soothe my inner neurotic. Even a Spring cleaning can get my juices flowing with the promise of less clutter…which equates to more open space…which serves as a clean palette on which to create, well, more orderly groups of things.

This trait has been professional gold in a lot of ways. I can usually spot the tiniest imperfection. The most minute misalignment. The slightest color variation. And it’s been particularly helpful in terms of corporate identity work, where consistency is so critical to establishing the meaning and integrity of a brand.

But there are times when the consistency cops go too far—even for me. In these moments, you invariably hear a lot of talk about how any variation from ‘the system’ can cause confusion in the marketplace, disrupting the customers’ understanding of what the brand stands for, and doing irreparable damage.

paying more attention to Pantone values than customer values can have dire consequences

Folderol (I have ALWAYS wanted to use that word in some sort of meaningful context. Not sure this counts, but hey…).

That’s not to say brand consistency is bunk; just that it’s woefully misunderstood. For too many people, it means ensuring that the same logotypes, fonts and color palettes are used in precisely the way on each branded piece. And while I acknowledge the case for such consistency, I’ve also found that paying more attention to Pantone values than customer values can have dire consequences.

The real meaning of a brand is embodied in how it makes the customer feel; the extent to which it reinforces her beliefs; what she is able to see of herself or what she wants to be reflected in it.

I’ve found the best, most resonant examples of this more emotional branding approach in a couple of today’s more progressive lifestyle companies: DC Shoes and Element: two brands that rode the wave of skateboard culture into the mainstream, but still refuse to play by mainstream rules as far as branding is concerned. Logos are routinely cut off or otherwise bastardized. There are too many fonts to count. And color palette? Fuggetaboutit. For these brands, the entire spectrum is their palette and they’ll use it however they damn well please, thank you very much.

DC's DB Character

Element's Bulls Eye Dartboard

So how do they get away with it? Well, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that they’re ‘rebellious’ or ‘irreverent’ product lines that by their very nature have license to break with convention. That’s selling short the geniuses who built and continue to evolve these brands.

No, they get away with it because while they undoubtedly have a traditional set of brand standards, they refuse to allow them to limit what the brand can become.

Instead, they listen to customers and take stock of the role brands like theirs play in the culture—not just the in the marketplace.

They see that ‘innovation,’ ‘uniqueness’ and ‘edgy’ aren’t just words that belong in a Powerpoint deck, and inject them into new brand expressions.

And they recognize that the importance of consistency, while central to organizing a sock drawer, can be overestimated when it comes to branding.

The Crisis of Credit Visualized from Jonathan Jarvis on Vimeo.

I worked in the financial services sector for almost 10 years whipping up marketing collateral for technology platforms that enabled trading in things like Credit Default Swaps and other highly dubious financial instruments. In all that time no one that I worked for was able to explain basic concepts like leverage and CDO’s like Mr. Jarvis has done here.

My team often sat in meetings with internal clients discussing the creation of sales brochures and banner ads in order to sell newfangled financial platforms. We were often presented with bullet lists of ‘amazing features’ (or jargon) like ‘sub-millisecond trades‘ and ‘low-latency‘ and told that’s what the customers responded to. I sometimes wonder if no one ever really understood what they were buying and selling, even down to the technology platforms that enabled the trading of these esoteric instruments.

This piece hits a lot of my pleasure centers, a well designed and snappy animation that crunches through a complex subject and presents it in human terms. If only the financial firms and investors had been able to do the same for themselves.

It is, in every sense, a heartbreaking work of staggering conceit. A primer for creative prima donnas. A masturbatory masterpiece of business rationalization.

I told Pepsi that I wanted to go to Asia, to China and Japan, for a month and tuck myself away and just design it and study it and create it.         – P. Arnell

For those who have yet to uncover the insights hidden within the 27-page tome, let me break it down for you: Arnell traces the historic geometries of Pepsi’s logo (‘perimeter oscillations’), parallels the evolution of the brand mark with the Golden Ratio of proportion as well as the earth’s electro-magnetic fields and, finally, employs attraction theory and statistics about the expansion of the universe—you know, f(x)=ex.
[1 light year = 671 million miles per hour]…I mean, duh!—in order to justify their multi-million dollar fee.

Indeed, as Peter Arnell himself explained to Advertising Age (Jan. 19 issue) “When I did the Pepsi logo, I told Pepsi that I wanted to go to Asia, to China and Japan, for a month and tuck myself away and just design it and study it and create it.” That kind of research—China AND Japan!—doesn’t come cheap.

As you might expect, there’s been quite a bit of hubub about the document, which is widely regarded to have been leaked by an Arnell staffer. Most folks are astounded by the sheer chutzpah of it all. Some are appalled at the convoluted reasoning and pandering tone. Gawker, perhaps predictably, ran a snarky little piece that seemed to strike just the right note.

But what’s going UNsaid is, I think, much more interesting; i.e. that this is exactly what the branding/advertising/marcomms world needs right now. It’s a stark look in the mirror. A reality check that forces us all to re-evaluate the way we package and present our work, lest we come off like a pack of raving douchebags.

Look, everyone on the services side of this business—read: agencies, freelancers, consultants—knows that what we we do is part art, part science; bringing together strategy, design and messaging in unique, compelling ways. And when it’s done right, the results are genuinely extraordinary.

Too often, though, whether it’s to compensate for inferior work or profoundly low self esteem, we allow the focus to shift away from the results and begin to dwell on our own extraordinary genius. We spend more time proving that we’re the smartest people in the room than we do on coming up with solutions that solve business problems. We convince ourselves that effort we put in to the work legitimizes its quality.

With any luck, the mere prospect of ending up in the same hall of shame as did Arnell with this stuff will keep us all a little more honest in the future.

And although they’d never actually met my wife, like lots of people who engage me in otherwise innocent conversation, they’d heard stories…

Mostly garden-variety stuff about marrying young, being polar opposites in lots of meaningless ways and how I could never cheat because, as my best friend, she’d be the first person I’d call to tell about the indiscretion.

Then there are the jucier bits I’ve shared with unsuspecting people in casual discussions. Like the fact that my wife’s a former teenage delinquent who surprised everyone—especially and hilariously her mother—by becoming super wife/Mom/volunteer/professional. And, of course, the one about our third child being conceived post-vasectomy. (Always a crowd-pleaser or hair raiser, depending on your point of view.)

I could never cheat because, as my best friend, she’d be the first person I’d call to tell about the indiscretion

But what usually goes unstated is the effect my wife (her name’s Randi, BTW) has had on my professional career. It’s been and continues to be, in a word, profound.

It’s not just the unwavering support and encouragement…the patience of Job when it comes to travel, late nights and weekend assignments…the amazingly engaging small talk with clients and colleagues. That stuff’s par for the marketing-spouse course.

What really makes Randi special is her ability to see me in ways that I can’t even see myself, and then gently, subtly guide me in the right direction. (So gentle and subtle, in fact, that at the time I invariably think that heading in said direction was entirely my idea.)

That’s pretty much what happened with Gabardine. She’d seen enough of what I do to know that it was time to start the agency at which I always wanted to work. And to create something more than ads, sites and brochureware.

She saw Gabardine as my destiny long before it even had a name and, gradually but deliberately, led me straight to it.

So on this, our 16th wedding anniversary, I want to thank her for all that she’s given me: An amazing family, a loving home and a business to call my own.

The message is simple: Do more.

In too many instances, these otherwise bright, ambitious marketers stop short of doing what studies show needs to be done to create joined-up brand experiences that influence consumer behavior.

Of course, it’s hard to argue with success, and executions like breakthrough annual reports, incredibly popular desktop widgets or killer Flash applications deserve the credit they receive.

But without follow-up, without continuity, without a larger, integrated plan and the means to implement it, each piece is just that: A stand-alone. A one-hit wonder. A flash in the proverbial pan that burns out as quickly as it sparked up, and is then relegated to the equivalent of a highlights reel. Good for the resume/portfolio, but for the brand? Not so much.

without a larger, integrated plan and the means to implement it, each piece is just a one-hit wonder

What’s needed, instead, are marketing campaigns. Old-school, multi-channel affairs that take an overarching theme and version it appropriately for different customer types in specific media.

Admittedly, tighter budgets and more competition make it more of a challenge to pull off such campaigns, but that’s no reason to avoid them. In fact, there’s a compelling case to be made that smaller investments in ‘mini campaigns’ deliver more bang for the buck and have a greater effect on customer behavior than bigger, one-dimensional initiatives.

The good news is there are more opportunities than ever before to spread your messages around, including social media tools, affiliate programs, product-friendly blogs and more. One of my faves from this past year was from the insurance company Liberty Mutual, whose campaign is based on the notion of responsibility—it’s their ‘policy’ (get it?) to do the right thing, and reward customers who do the same. They got the message across with some nice TV spots, and then carried the theme through to banner ads, real-time surveys that solicited personal stories of responsibility and even a fairly rich blog with some serious digital shorts.

It’s all really good stuff that hangs together well and reinforces the message in a bunch of different ways. All of which suggests that if you still think of marketing as a project-by-project effort, you might want to think again.

(And if you think differently, I’d like to hear about it.)