Advertising is a young person’s business. So we hear. Sometimes from headhunters explaining the “downward pressure” on salaries. Often from pundits who encourage us to stay current by twittering. But if you’re like me, and you’ve got some years in the game, the person you hear that most from is the little creative director in your head. It’s a voice that pops up, usually in response to some slight sneer, or a roll of the eyes, or the faint muttering that you sometimes hear as you walk away from killing some team’s idea, an idea they were sure was an award-winner.

“They think you’re a hack.” And sometimes, if you’re honest with yourself, you wonder if it’s true.

The good news is that it’s probably this nagging doubt that keeps you from being a hack. It keeps you honest. Keeps you engaged. Because real hacks, the legendary, larger-than-life hacks, the ones we all love to talk about…they don’t ever wonder. They know they’re right. They’re ALWAYS right. And it’s this monstrous sense of certainty that allows them to sail blithely over the edge of good taste into the Sargasso Sea of hackery. I’m sure we’ve all met these people in our careers. I, for one, am happy for having done so. Because like the asshole dad who screams at his Little Leaguer son, they provide the best example of what not to be. Sort of the opposite of a guiding star.

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about.

I was in St. Louis, working at a small, hot shop that I got summarily fired from. But I was enjoying my time there: I was playing for a really good rugby team, had a giant loft space that I paid something like $450 a month for, and a girlfriend who kinda looked like a shorter version of Uma Thurman. So I thought I’d see if I could stick around for awhile by freelancing. I went to DMB&B to interview with a group CD there who was looking for a partner on a Budweiser project. I was ushered into his office. He did not get up from his red, high-backed leather chair to greet me. The place was like a shrine to The Clydesdales. There was a team of horses pulling a wagon on his desk. Framed pictures (signed!) on the wall. At least twenty ad reprints showing the big, bulky quadrupeds with manes flowing and nostrils flared. A big picture of him feeding one an apple.

He must’ve taken the dumbstruck look on my face as a sign of awe. He put his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, looked me right in the eye and with a smug sense of self-satisfaction said, “You know, when I started working on this account they were just using the one horse.” (Insert dramatic pause.) “And I thought, you know, it’s time to set this team free.”

Hack.

I’m sure you have your own stories. Feel free to share.

- James Brown