Cuppy got home last night around 11pm. Another late night at the agency. He started thumbing through all of our unpaid bills, but before he had a chance to ignore me, I told him he smelled like an art director and that his new glasses were kinda redic. He said my hair smelled like shrimp (from my job at Benji-Hanna) and for the first time in about a month, we shared a genuine laugh over a tin of Chef Boyardee’s finest.
The conversation, as it usually does these days, ended up on the “special care and treatment” of creatives. A phrase Cuppy borrowed from one of his creative directors. Those who don’t know Cuppy don’t realize his penchant for rambling, so I asked him to focus.
Me: “Stop. Elaborate. And I’ll listen.”
Cuppy: “Well, we creatives…we have needs.”
“Like?”
“It’s kinda hard to explain. But regardless of gender, creatives are most like – teenage girls.”
“Tweens? You’re serious?”
“Think about it. Have you ever met a teenage girl that was truly and utterly comfortable in her own skin? Think about all their insecurities. The constant gnawing obsession with body image, looks, beauty, style, social status, relationships, feelings and emotions. It’s all so much. And no matter what they look like, all teenage girls want to be told they’re pretty. That they’re special. That in their own way, they’re unique and beautiful. And it doesn’t matter if she’s the most popular girl in school or the girl everyone calls ‘Canklesaurus Rex,’ I think they all feel like there couldn’t possibly be another person in the entire world that could understand what they’re going through.(1)
Creatives are no different. They want people (read: everyone) to pay attention to them. To treat them differently. To simply acknowledge that they’ve burdened with the gift of creativity, therefore, they are not only allowed but entitled to certain privileges and perks. I myself am partial to Egyptian terry cloth linens that would adorn a ‘creative only’ bathroom and fresh guava and papaya smoothies.(2) The latter to be served, of course, in a ‘creative only’ bar at the center of the agency, (so all the non-creatives can walk by and be toates jeal) sectioned off with velvet ropes and an ornery bouncer named Ovaltine Jenkins.”(3)
“Your point was?”
“Ever notice that teenage girls take extra care in decorating their rooms so it quite literally spells out exactly who they are? Why do you think they write, bedazzle and curly cue their names onto EVERYTHING? With creatives, it’s exactly the same. Everything we wear, say and do has intention and thought behind it. Sure we may look like we just woke up all greasy, disheveled and hungover. But trust me, it took us an hour in the morning to get that look just right.
And like tweens we need our privacy. Not from each other, but specifically from non-creatives. We covet our nooks, crannies, lofts and bubbles that allow us the physical space to concept and create. And honestly, we’d love nothing more than to have an obscenely large neon sign declaring which areas of the agency were strictly reserved only for creatives. So the suits can have their cubes and fancy tucked in shirts. We’ll gladly take our special corners stocked with bean bags, slides, scooters, teeter totters, red bull and cigarettes.
So yeah, I’m a creative and I admit I’m kinda like a little girl. I know I’m special, but I still like to hear it every once and a while.
I’m just saying, with creatives, make us feel special and we’ll gladly stay until 2am and crank out some amazing work. And if you still need to call us whiny babies behind our backs, please, go right ahead. Because as long as you buy us pacifiers with our names on it we’ll be completely happy. Just don’t give them to any non-creatives, ’cause that just cheapens the gesture.”
“Are you still talking to me or your imaginary talk show audience?”(4)
“Whateves. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going? It’s 1am.”
“Where do you think? I’m going to get a mustache tattooed on finger, dumbass.”
—
(1) Teenage boys know they’re a dime a dozen. They get to fart and burp at will. It’s expected of them. It’s a much simpler life.
(2) Speaking of delicious treats. For the love of all that is good and chocolatey, does it really need to be said that agencies must have a constant supply of imbibables and ingestibles available 24/7? Ideas don’t just appear from nowhere. When creatives have spent countless hours staring at the ceiling, praying for divine creation, we must reconnect our synapses with carbs and sugary-caffeinated sustenance.
(3) If you’re not watching Psych, then what are you doing with your life?
(4) Cuppy constantly practices (out loud) speeches and stories he will tell Oprah when he makes a name for himself.
[...] (2) Tell Me I’m Pretty [...]