Proactive is a four-letter word. We learn to pronounce it at the knee of the first creative director, to revere it in the train of the first creative guru. We learn to fear it in the wake of the first pitch, and hate it with a passion for the rest of our days.
Fuck, on the other hand, is a multiple choice question. (Occasionally, this may also be learnt at the knee of the first creative director.)
It is a tirade, an affirmation, a meditation. A calling upon of the Gods, a falling out of friends, a mustering of Samurais. A rant, a rave, a respite. A eulogy, a dismissal, a reservation of judgement. It can contain your anger or loose it, ruin your day or make it. Someone got fired, someone got promoted, someone got passed over yet again. The artwork’s ready against all odds. The layout’s ruined beyond repair. The account manager didn’t make it on time. The motorcycle messenger just made it. The art director’s car got towed, the MD’s got a new car, the media planner got pregnant. Fuck is our reason for being, quite literally. Within its hallowed syllables lies the history of our industry.
Fun is what clients have. Time is what nobody has. Red is the colour that everybody sees, unless it’s read misspelt, in which case it’s something nobody did. Self-respect is the thing that’s hanging outside the window to dry for seed.
“Why me?” is something you must never ask. It’s always you.
