SMARTY.

Dismissed.

December 12, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

There are usually a few paths to the same place.

A few weeks ago, on a Friday afternoon, just as I was powering down for the weekend, I found myself on the receiving end of a client termination email. And not just with me, this start-up had also ended its agreements with a dozen independent contractor team members, roughly ¾ of its day 1 working group, in order to re-org. Despite two years of working together, hours spent caring, crafting, cajoling (sometimes on Sundays), the mechanism (email) was perfunctory; the language cold and antiseptic. Each letter was identical.

It reminded me of the real estate developer who renovates, and then hikes rents, without providing any notice. Or the partner who critiques the deal, before supporting it, in order to demonstrate value.

While at first glance dissimilar, in all of these situations, the right thing to do isn’t what is in question: Companies need to reorganize or close, buildings need to be updated and rents (incrementally) raised, and ideas call for critical thinking before deployment. But there is almost always more than one way to do anything.

How we say no, give difficult news or cut ties often says more about who we are than the action itself.

Assuming most sane humans don’t fire people via Twitter or national news (!), the medium – phone, email, in-person, text – matters. As does the substance, tone and timing.

HR recommendations aside, having a human interaction with someone, even for a minute or two, goes a long way to preserving whatever goodwill exists. Yet some people fear opening a door into another person’s feelings or experience, because they won’t know how to shut it in a compassionate way.

But this reduces us to assets, talents and contractors, not teammates and people …who, among other sacrifices, missed putting their kids to bed or going out to dinner in order to help fulfill a last minute request.

My dad always said, as I was getting out of the car to go to school, “Goodbye sweetheart. Be nice to everyone.” Turns out, that’s not the collective rule of thumb out there.

But it’s really not such a reach when you try.

Waiting.

December 5, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

David Hockney at SFMOMA What is she thinking?

Almost everyone has waited on test results, a response to a big proposal, a return text from an important person. The mental wheels that begin to turn in these moments of vulnerability – the instant the wait seems too long – are often the lingering byproducts of insecurity, doubt and worth (Brené Brown has established an entire niche on this topic).

These days, I’m trying to see these moments as opportunities – as yardsticks – to gauge how I am doing. Maybe they could offer me a chance to check in.

I recently exchanged emails with a CEO about rates and scopes of work, not unlike other emails asking about “what would XYZ look like, and how much will it cost?” There was some surprise at the cost, and then a long pause. It was in this silence that I went inside for a minute, and checked myself: How comfortable could I be, standing in my value? How do resist reverting to doubt?

It’s an interesting test. I toggle between forgetting about it, remembering it, worrying for a minute, and then justifying myself. But in the moment, the mental gymnastics can be exhausting.

In this case, the value of the work the company does interests me more than the financial compensation. It wouldn’t be hard to work out a number of scenarios to work with them, because I believe in what they do.

Then why do voices still emerge in the quiet? Even after years of successful projects, happy clients, consistent work flow, things that should build confidence and establish a certain security, there’s occasionally fear that I’m not as good as I was, or think I am. That basically, my talents don’t merit what I think.

Maybe there’s humility in this interior dialogue. Perhaps it keeps my ego in check. In this way, maybe it’s valuable… to question our value… now and then.

Maybe it’s okay… not to feel okay… 100% of the time.

Or maybe that’s just being human.

Artificial Deadlines.

November 28, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Some finish lines are self-made.

In work and life, when we think of limitations, we tend to think of them as a bad thing. At the same time, constraints also serve a purpose – and can be the impetus for actually getting something done.

More often than not, creative types appreciate knowing what’s not possible, so they can create within known parameters. Just as kids don’t ask for boundaries, but thrive within them, projects – in my experience – succeed when the walls, whether they be budget, audience or format, are known at the outset.

I recently attended a talk and book signing by the amusing, fantastic, handsome and eternally witty John Hodgman (Vacationland). During the Q&A, someone in the audience asked for advice on how to keep writing now that he was out of college and working in a bank (adorable). All the writers in the room of course knew the answer before he finished his sentence, but John said what we were all thinking:

“Create an artificial deadline. And then keep it.”

I find my own writing to be best served by a deadline because I know what I’m pushing up against. Even this blog has a self-imposed hard stop. My fantasy is that readers will be up in arms if it doesn’t show up in their inbox with regularity. But riot aside, I know that if I don’t publish once a week, I feel adrift. Writing helps me know what I think. So without it, I feel a loss. The fake deadline benefits from knowing how these stakes affect you.

The open road – as you may have discovered if you’ve ever tried to create/write/build something from scratch – can be a paralyzing place. While I think it’s worth exploring, even a few decisions about what that thing is not going to be is immeasurably helpful in shaping what it is going to be.

It may come as a surprise, but I actually love responding to a creative brief; writing someone else’s speech, taking over a brand’s Instagram feed, channeling a founder’s voice, or even helping to craft an application to kindergarten as a favor to a nervous, non-writer parent. Why? Because it’s responsive. I know the job ahead of me. Copy writers are pro’s at becoming other people and in some ways, are professional channeler’s.

But there’s a sweet spot.

When the writing assignment looms too large, I do nothing.
When it seems too small, it feels transactional, constricting, and less sexy.

The perfect (personal) project has a wide enough berth for me to be expressive and brave, but enough of a guard rail to keep me from going off the road.

Manufacturing this magical highway, when it’s not mandated, is the work.

Regular.

November 21, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

One of mine.

When we hear the word “regular” most of us have the same idea of what that word means; it’s the normal, typical, consistent and most common. It also signals the kind of customer most people want to have.

But at Dunkin’ Donuts, it has an additional meaning – which is, coffee prepared in the way that is most often ordered. It’s not on a sign or menu anywhere, but serves as short-hand for ordering coffee “with cream.”

Good Taste Committee (and nutrition) aside, Dunkin’ Donuts is an unexpected case study in belonging. No matter what you may think of it, it is easy to recognize a Dunkin’ insider and understand what is important to them.

Dunkin’ Donuts opens at 5am, which tells you a lot about who needs coffee before the sun comes up (fisherman, students, landscapers, construction personnel, farmers, housekeepers, Wall Street traders).

Regardless of your order – egg sandwich or combo-pack – nothing takes more than 2 minutes to assemble. Which is about how much time regulars devote to breakfast. They usually eat it on the run, and Dunkin’ makes that possible.

Most franchises have a combination lock on the bathroom door, memorized by anyone who frequents that location. It rarely changes, so if you have to ask…you’ve identified yourself as a guest.

All locations brew a stronger-than-expected drip coffee that has surprised many of us who frequent non-franchised, more expensive, beaker-wielding establishments. The Dunkin’ customer wants a legitimate coffee, a consistent experience, and is more than happy to skip the baristas / bells and whistles.

Dunkin’ Donuts isn’t in my usual rotation, but when I find myself inside one (a reality of New England life), it’s pretty obvious who’s a visitor, and who belongs. I love how there’s always a couple of retirees in the corner, shooting the shizzle, or a postman standing next to a CEO; or a college student with her immigrant mother. The brand isn’t positioned around a socioeconomic group. Rather, it’s targeting a tribe with a shared affinity, despite its differences.

When I am there, I always kind of wish I was a regular.

I’d like to think that this desire to belong is a refreshing measure of a brand’s success. Whatever you may think of a place, and demographics aside, it’s interesting to notice that what unites our fans and followers can sometimes be surprising, and more revealing than any hard data.

Recognizing belonging – where you yourself are a regular – feels like a worthy step toward creating those places for others.

Equal.

November 14, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

@jodiepatterson

Will this boy, Penelope, have a say?

A long one today, friends.
Stay with me.

I’m worried about…
“The future is female.”

We saw this on handmade signs, bumper stickers and in many of the optics surrounding the women’s march and post-election speech. Now, it’s grown into an active hashtag across social media, whenever anyone wants to promote a women’s issue/business/perspective or vibe. It has become shorthand for “this is a woman thing.”

It gave me pause then… and still does.

I remember the moment I saw it on the t-shirt worn by a little boy. His mom was holding him and I wondered if and how she explained that message to him, and…what might he think when he’s old enough to know what it means?

I’m pretty sure I know what we/they are trying to say, which is, “the future includes more womens’ voices – at the top – and everywhere.” Yes! But words are a big part of my world, and the world, and a slogan such as this isn’t actually saying what it needs to say.

It reminds me of a typical advertising device. Marketers will often go with a tagline or message because its alliterative, more than it is effective, because it sounds good. It might seem like it works, but upon closer examination…it doesn’t actually say much.

Sure “The future is female” has a good ring to it.

But do any of us want to live in a world dominated by one gender? Isn’t that what we have now?

Ironically, I think this future female rallying cry reflects a relevant blind spot.

For movements to create impact and change, they often have to swing much further into one direction, only to be able to land somewhere in the middle. I would never diminish the bravery and hard work of the activists who led us to where we are in 2017. But I wonder, with all that is in the news cycle right now, if the narrative is inadvertently creating a similarly binary conversation – and vilifying men – while ceremoniously vindicating (all) women.

The future is (hopefully) a safe place for everyone – a girl who wants to be a boy, a boy who doesn’t identify with either male or female, a girl who has to summon the courage to say “stop, this isn’t right” and a boy who wants to tell his dad that something happened – but he’s too ashamed to say it.

Could it be that what we really mean is that the future is a place where all voices are represented?

As long as we continue to create dynamics that pit one group over another, where one matters more, gets more air time, dominates an industry… we will have the oppressed and the oppressors.

Historically, we’ve accepted two options, which is why it’s hard to see past this right now:

Black / white.
Republican / democrat.
Up / down.
Male / female.
Rich / poor.

If we discount men, we undermine our ability to build a better future with men (and anyone who doesn’t identify with female). Men (news flash) are an essential part of our world.

Some men have created great pain and suffering.

Some women have been the victims, and will be forever changed by their experience.

And even more people have been silenced for their inconvenient truths.

When we talk about empowerment, and bringing more women into positions of leadership, across every industry and governmental branch, let’s also remember that most men (who were once someone’s little boy) can hear us – and must hear us. So let’s say something that shows them what our experience and leadership looks like.

It’s not binary.
It’s inclusive.
It’s not me over you.
It’s us.

Maybe a better slogan would be “the future is equal.”

As a copywriter, I can’t say it’s as viral.

But as a person, I think it says more about our shared vision.

To see Jodie Patterson’s TedX Talk about raising her transgender child Penelope, click here.

Knowing.

November 7, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

@theleahforester

A very dear friend recently revealed an inappropriate encounter she had with a well-known Hollywood agent in a New York Times article. In the piece, she recounted that after the “incident” itself, she attended a party at the offender’s home the next day. This fact alone, the agent’s lawyer argued, implied that the encounter was “consensual.”

This conclusion misses The. Entire. Point (conveniently.)

What our culture has yet to understand is the length that women go to, to make others feel at ease, to reassure… to convince ourselves (as much as the other) that there’s “no problem here.” We sacrifice our own integrity, our voices and even our safety to avoid confrontation or cause upset. We protect the reputations or feelings of those who may have a lot to lose by hearing our truth.

These revelations of predatory, offensive behavior and work environments that condoned it are just the beginning. And my prediction is that we will soon hear from many women in many industries with similar experiences of sexual harassment. But there is something else I hope this consciousness shift will accomplish, even beyond the current (and much needed), sexual nature of the conversation.

It’s time to stop worrying that we’ll make someone uncomfortable.

We accommodate, so often, because it too disruptive or embarrassing to do or say the thing that needs to be said. We take one for the team, because maybe that’s just easier. We’re strong. We can live with it. It’s not that bad. “I’ll go to his party/return the call/nod and smile… so they don’t think I’m upset. I’ll just make it okay.” Or with other women, “She has it worse than I do. I won’t rock the boat. If she does it again, I’ll say something.”

But at what cost? It does cost something.

The truth is disruptive. It’s not cozy, safe or comforting.

The author Liz Gilbert recently told me (and 200 other women), to “start knowing.” It was in the context of asking permission, and resisting what we know we already know – but refuse to own.

It’s a big ask, because knowing can also mean taking on more responsibility, having to take action, or exposing what scares us.

A few days ago, standing in line for ice cream, a very large man stepped in front of three of us – my young daughter, a teenage girl who was in front of us, and me. As he stood there for a few minutes, I realized that he had cut the line – perhaps without realizing – although it couldn’t have been more obvious. The teenager looked uncomfortable, and my daughter questioned how he could do that.

“Excuse me, sir. The line starts back there,” I said.

He shuffled behind us, mumbling something under his breath, but the teenage girl looked at me and said, “thank you for saying something.” It was at that moment that I experienced a shift. The smallest acts of knowing, of using our voices, of encouraging others to speak up over even the smallest, most transactional infraction is worthwhile. What so many of us might think of as inconsequential – just an everyday exchange – is actually the practice it takes for those watching to prepare for what lies ahead.

We have to show ourselves, and our children, what it looks like…to know.

Frequent Finish Lines.

October 31, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

There’s a big difference between…
Writing a book and publishing a blog post.
Running a 5k and finishing a marathon.
Climbing Kilimanjaro and taking a day trip up Mt. Washington.

Our world has become ever more crowded with ambitions of every sort, with social feeds detailing the enviable evidence of our friends’ (and their friends’) milestone feats – that it can sometimes have a defeating effect. “I’d have to train for months…to have a big idea…to quit my job…I’ll do it next year…I’d need a partner.”

In an evolutionary world, it only makes sense that people are doing more and bigger stuff all the time, right? The minute one person does anything – much less better, faster, or longer – 20 more succeed in breaking those barriers.

But big accomplishments are few and far between. They’re promises worth keeping to ourselves, without question – but to overlook smaller dreams – or dismiss them as a distraction, unimportant or trivial – is to miss accessible opportunities to make meaningful dreams come true.

Indulge me on this one.

I recently set my sights on learning Michael Jackson’s Thriller dance in two weeks. This was not without sacrifice. Over the course of my 14-day mission, I set aside some important work, made less interesting dinners, commuted in rush hour traffic, and dropped one ball in the form of a missed meeting. But…it was a short-term goal that felt semi-realistic, and that meant I finally (kind of) felt like a legendary pop star who I must have watched on MTV 100-plus times as a kid. Looking at my life, which admittedly doesn’t have a lot of room for “more”, this actually seemed do-able.

And it was… So. Much. Fun.
The learning.
The practice.
The performance.
All of it.

Grand finish lines are wonderful, but they aren’t the only goals worth having.
Of course you should write a book, renovate a house, get a degree, pitch the show, launch the podcast and sell the business. But you could also take the class, do the gig, submit the work or enter a smaller, local race.

More frequent finish lines are everywhere.

They aren’t without effort, intention, and logistics. But they’re within reach.

And what they might deliver is a reunion with the kid inside who still wants to feel giddy, nervous and beside herself with excitement. This kind of glee can’t be manufactured. But it can be cultivated.

Look around.
Decide on your “yes” thing.
Punctuate the finish with a date, a registration, an unveiling, or by pressing send…

And then…do it.

Mama-say-mama-sa-mama-coosa!

Copycats Part Deux.

October 24, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Could I get that recipe... please?

Last week’s post acknowledging the frustration of seemingly being imitated in the marketplace spawned an unusual amount of mail in my inbox. People have a lot of feelings about this topic. I think it actually goes even deeper than my original conclusion.

Here’s the thing.

Often in life, people ask …

Who does your hair?
What’s that recipe?
Where was that vacation?
Who designed your house?
Where did you buy that?

And most of us are only too happy to share our good finds with friends. But all of that changes when you suddenly run into those friends during Spring break at your secret little spot, or when they make a habit of bringing your signature chocolate chip cookies to Book Club, or they suddenly have your wardrobe. It’s just awkward. And weird. Not because they acted on your recommendation, but because they missed a critical element in the currency exchange of shared resources: acknowledgment.

How about checking the vacation dates?
Or citing the source?
And running it by… if it’s gonna be exactly the same?

It’s funny how a simple nod or inclusion in the process changes the dynamic entirely. It’s also interesting that when it doesn’t happen, you get a lot of insight about someone’s level of (or lack of) awareness.

It’s easy to diminish this stuff as unimportant or trite, but at the heart of any sharing of information is a sense of pride in having discovered/perfected/cracked the code of said thing.

Is it worth deep introspection? Probably not. But, it is nice to get a little credit when a personal rec has clearly been applied and deployed. But what’s even more valuable is to notice who gives a high-five (publicly or otherwise), and who does not. It can inform future decisions, and open the door to what else this person overlooks/presumes/takes for granted.

I don’t think any of us aims not to be generous or to see the worst in friends, but there’s something to be said about the art of selective reveals.

A simple “Oh, I don’t use a recipe – it’s an ad hoc salad,” should do the trick.

Copycats.

October 17, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

I recently came across a newsletter style blog, similar to what I publish here, penned by someone I worked with in the not so distant past. There was a strange similarity to it – with some of the tics, cadence, and themes, that I recognize in my own musings.

At first, I was shocked.
Then, annoyed.
And after that, I am pretty sure there was some eye rolling and judging on my part.

Feeling copied does not bring out the best of me, or anyone, really.

At around this same time, a ceramicist friend whose work has a recognizable color, shape, and stripe, had a similar observation. He questioned whether his signature style had been channeled by a much more famous studio mate.

Another former colleague discovered the entrepreneurial network she founded being duplicated by a former member.

And for anyone who makes and distributes products, you’re used to getting knocked off. But it doesn’t change how deeply irritating it is when it happens.

When words, ideas, a product or style feel co-opted – used by someone else for profit – it burns in the belly. Those on the receiving end want justice and credit. Our desire to right the wrong can produce feelings of preparing for battle or at the very least a child-like tantrum, though neither deliver a very satisfying resolution.

So assuming legal issues are not at stake, and the knocker-offer didn’t violate a patent, what can we really do when we see a version of our work, authored by someone else, in the marketplace?

One option is to quietly seethe, become resentful, grow-chip-on -shoulder, blame your failures on other people, and otherwise shrink into a person you wouldn’t be friends with…much less want to become.

The other is to get curious. Why was I inspiring to them? Why does it feel like me or mine…and could it simply be that he or she is tapping into the zeitgeist? A coincidence? What is this triggering in me… my ego, image, fear of losing customers… or is something else at stake?

A different option comes courtesy of Marcus Buckingham who, in response to discord, says:

“Assign the most generous possible explanation, and then believe it.”

It’s possible that copying you was the closest this person could get to creating something worthwhile. It’s also possible you’re wrong about any number of theories.

It’s hard to trace the lineage of an idea, and even when we do, there’s often not much we can do about owning it. But what we can do is shine like the crazy diamond we each are, and decide that there’s enough to go around. And then believe it.

Karma will likely take care of the rest.

Contact High.

October 10, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Airplane metaphors abound, but basically, don't get stuck up here.

At a time when being acknowledged feels like the exception rather than the norm, opportunities to connect with your people are everywhere. Giving attention, in the right way, is like sending an emotional gift certificate.

Most of us reading (and writing) this blog grew up on autoresponders.

They were invented solely to help businesses stay in touch, without all the heavy lifting of customer service and marketing spend. But decades later, these messages have lost any sense of real connection. At this point, they feel pretty canned. So while as owners, we appreciate their efficiencies, as consumers on the receiving end, our reaction is to hit delete.

Which is why, in 2017, it is (almost) extraordinary to hear directly from a small business owner. When an owner reaches out, herself, not in response to a complaint or as part of a PR strategy, but just because, it delivers a contact high – for both customer and owner. Sure it could be argued that an owner’s time would be better spent at the 30,000ft level, but the reality is that direct contact actually moves the dial.

Automation makes a lot of sense in a lot of cases. But unlike their bigger competitors, small business owners have the opportunity to cultivate real human connection with a customer or client. Of course you can program your CMS or email marketing campaign to regurgitate what you’re saying to every new customer or every transaction, even go as far as customizing communications with their first names – duh. But when people get a sincere/curious/thoughtful note from the face of a business, it goes a long way to plant the seeds for a lifelong relationship, one that will grow and deepen year after year, and a customer who will sing your praises to their tribe who trust her recommendations.

The cost is relatively small – minutes.
The win is proportionately big – years.

I’m not saying automation isn’t great and useful, but it creates a false reassurance that we’re connected to the people who buy our stuff.

Richard Branson once wrote me a personal note after I gave him a detailed (ahem!) review of his Virgin Atlantic first class service. They became a client, and I became a loyal customer.

If Branson can do it – so can we.

Here’s to saying hello for no reason. We can almost always learn something new by talking to the people who buy/read/follow or otherwise make it possible for us to be in business.

Intentional Tension.

October 3, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

The other afternoon, I struck up a conversation with a fifth grader, a friend of the family, about how school was going this year. She described something her teacher was doing prior to a test, that to me felt stressful. It doesn’t matter what it was as it relates to this story, but when I pressed her for an explanation, here’s what she said:

“Oh, she does it on purpose,” she told me as a matter of fact. “To create intentional tension.”

!!!

Of course, I lost my (metaphysical) marbles. Teaching fifth graders, who haven’t yet hit the apex of anxiety, how to practice being anxious, seemed nothing short of genius. And it got me thinking.

What if at an early age we set up a controlled environment, with skilled oversight, expressly designed to teach us how to speak up for ourselves (or others)? To express needs?

Put a different way, it would be a space in which to learn restraint and then reward, deliberately; to exist between discernment and persuasion and to experience different ways of managing and resolving a conflict. What if we practiced…having a “practice”… in preschool?

Rather than promoting kindness because it’s the right thing to do, which most schools (understandably) embrace, what if we designed highly controlled uncomfortable situations, to help kids navigate them – and make more informed choices – from the start?

If we can do a mock U.N. at school, why can’t we apply that to training for our most challenging emotions?

Practicing worst-case scenario may not replicate the exact experience a stressful event creates, but kids become adults. And adults have the power to create or destroy.

Tools don’t give us wiggle room… as much as options.
And we should have options… from the get go.

Practice, in this case, is a double entendre (my favorite happy accident):
It’s both the rehearsal we do in preparation for a future event, and the thing that grounds us in the here and now.

We know events will happen.
And we also know, all we have is now.

Fanship.

September 19, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Like some of you, I operate in the feedback space, constantly and methodically evaluating what is working and what isn’t. But this post is about an entirely different sensation; being a goofy, unrestrained, unadulterated fan; being swept away in the perfection of a thing, and seeing it for all the good that it is.

As consumers, we need unapologetic fan moments more than ever. Having posted about being a Downseller (and wow there are a lot of you), this one is a confession about the value of falling in love – as a fan, follower or customer.

My own fan moment came recently at a party in Malibu, with the performance artist duo The Bumbys. Incognito in their red white and blue gear, behind electric typewriters, wearing noise-cancelling headphones, accompanied by their handler, they silently deploy “fair and honest appraisals” of party-goer’s appearances. Their astute, aspirational index-card write-ups are printed on the spot, and handed over after about two minutes of focused typing and hand proofing (and presumably observation, which you can’t really see from behind their sun glasses.)

I fell hard for Gill and Jill Bumby.

Conceptually, I want to be a Bumby. Giving prophetic, colorful, reassuring feedback to complete strangers, while in costume, describes my dream job.

But as a participant, standing there – vulnerable – staring down the barrel of someone else’s opinion, was initially unnerving. You’d think the appraisals would lean toward “honest” in a possibly snarky direction – but it was the opposite. Throughout the evening as we (guests) exchanged index cards, comparing our write-ups, the universal sentiment was heartening – each felt poetic, personal, and even better, strangely true! Imagine all the people they’ve assessed, walking around with these insightful, deftly nuanced self-approval ratings. #genius.

Being a fan means losing your suspension of disbelief, and letting a person, product or concept, steal you away from the expected. In its unique resonance, these experiences reassure us that something is very right in the world; A signpost, however infrequent, we all need.

As business owners, most of us aim for amazing, but acknowledge that it takes a lot of hard work/time/attention to elicit that effect. Which is why, when someone or something moves us intellectually, emotionally, spiritually (or all three,) we gotta lose the pretense of “mature” and “professional” and just bow down, and give it up, if we feel it.

I restrained myself from asking The Bumbys for an autograph, but did work up my courage for a photo. Couldn’t help it, and didn’t care. Losing our cool factor in exchange for earnest fanship is one of the last vestiges of our innocence.

Go ahead, write a love letter. It feels really good.

Respect to The Bumbys!

Clive.

September 12, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Recent (very cheeky) work with Clive and a|c.

I’ve talked about singularity in this blog, as well as belonging, long-term relationships and the difference between good and great. I’ve obsessed over design (or the lack thereof) and extolled the power of words. All of these themes thundered through my chest as I learned that one of my longtime collaborators, Clive Piercy, the creative director of LA-based design shop Air Conditioned (a|c), had died after a year-long illness.

I met Clive, and his incredible team, about 13 years ago. He was sharp, dry, irreverent – utterly British, and in every way. In those early days, I was intimidated and, admittedly, completely out of my league. I quietly watched his design presentations, hoping my words would make it into his world, onto his radar – that I might matter to him someday. When they did, I saw how important the relationship between design and words is; and how this love affair can create fireworks for brands, stories and messaging. I’ve never looked back.

His idea-driven design introduced me to a new level of work – one I could never unsee, actually. He had a sharp tongue and critiqued my submissions more than praised them – but of course made them better. Clive had instincts that were rarely off base. a|c and his design leadership shaped my own filter and perspective. So much of what I know about this work comes from projects with Clive, Hilary, John and the team.

I’m good…because he was great.
We’ve lost one of the best.

I don’t think any of us (and there are so many) who count Clive among the most influential creatives in their lives, will soon walk into any meeting or read any brief without hearing Clive’s missives over their shoulder.

Count your teachers as your blessings, because they don’t always appear as such until they are no longer there to remind you that one of the reasons you do what you do, is to please them.

For more on Clive, a|c and the value of exceptional teams, read this post.

Pause.

September 5, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

@chrisbenidt

If I stop writing, will people forget about me? Or unsubscribe?
Will my ideas still be there when I return to them?
And (quietly), have I’ve wasted this opportunity by “taking a break”?
Or alternately, does is not matter…enough?

Isn’t it interesting to see what the mind does to sabotage an otherwise great idea.

These were a few of the fears swirling through me in late July as I contemplated ‘pressing pause’ on the blog – and work in general. As I pushed back clients to September in order to take an August hiatus, I also made space in my schedule by setting aside the blog for five weeks. But with that decision came much angst about the consequences of a pause.

So many of us are unknowingly enslaved by ‘the machine.’ Beyond just social media feeds, it’s the fear that if we pull back from our public identities, we may find ourselves adrift, unable to get back on course. It takes hard work to stay in the public conversation, whatever yours may be, and it takes an equal measure of confidence to step out of it now and then – and gaze upon the horizon – to go dark.

What I learned during this self-imposed break was that I didn’t suddenly lose my ability to have quality thoughts or publish meaningful words. Publishing a weekly blog forces me to take a point of view, and commit to ideas and questions that might otherwise slip through my fingers – unresolved. That’s it. Of course I love the endorphins that spark a domino effect of likes, forwards or replies. I’m as vulnerable as anyone to digital flattery. But just as it’s hard for a CEO to shut down email for two weeks, or for a pop star to give up Instagram for a month, or for a founder to get perspective via traveling sabbatical, so is it for each of us to pull back from what we do to make sure we know who we are – without those validations.

Is reinvention, or perspective, so daunting that we’d rather keep up the status quo – replying, submitting, authorizing and showing up – because stepping away may reveal a truth? And maybe that truth will involve change?

Intentional breaks have a purpose and a place, but so often when we don’t know what to do, it’s easier to be in action, than (what feels like) stillness. Maybe questioning the thing we think makes us “us” is the best way to disrupt what is at best an illusion, and at worst, a crutch that limits our real potential.

You are not your company.
You are not your book.
You are not your blog
You are not your feed.

Freedom = reclaiming the lever that has you believing that you are the sum of your marketing, persona, asset or deliverable.

Millennialmania.

July 25, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Parades, fanfare and applause. #calmdown

I can’t tell. Is the entire universe enamored with, or terrified of, millennials? Without question, they have emerged as the demographic most often mentioned in an initial phone call with a prospective client, and the last thing raised during a marketing meeting. It usually goes something like: “Make sure millennials will like it,” or “Let me run it by my daughter… she is a millennial.”

But what many of my collaborators and I actually hear, is the subtext of this conversation, which is: “OMG we are NOTHING without millennials! If this doesn’t appeal to millennials, we are doomed. Insignificant. Done.”

First, let’s calm down. Millennials represent about one-quarter of the buying power according to retail analysts who are tracking these things (by the minute, it seems.) That leaves 75% of the rest of us who also have money and (actually) buy things.

Second, millennials may not be as exotic, omniscient, and powerful as we’ve made them out to be. Yes, they think differently and shop differently than a 60-year old consumer, but what they may really represent is a more honest and efficient approach to selling products or consuming content.

They don’t respond well to hype, over-selling or noise – neither do you.
They want to “buy from” not be “sold to.” So do you.
They want to know what their friends think. So do we, but we share over a conversation in-person as opposed to sharing online.
They buy from their devices, rather than their desktop. That’s becoming truer for all of us.
They want all of the information in a single sentence, or better yet – a hashtag. Secretly, you sort of agree.

See where I’m going? It may be that when it comes to being consumers, we really aren’t all that different. Yes, there are differences (I’m not discounting my retail people and their lengthy discourse on the subject) but millennials, and their short attention spans, have also contributed to creating efficiencies that are representative of most attention spans, not just theirs. After all is said and done, the result of our current obsession with them may actually end up being better, more transparent marketing.

See, when brands make big shifts in their businesses and make key marketing decisions in service to one demographic or trend, it has a limiting effect. It restricts quality thinking about how those people or topics will grow, change and evolve. Millennials will mature like all generations before them (we sincerely hope) and along with better work ethics and less entitled attitudes, will grow into people who think for themselves, rely less on peer input, and use the same devices the rest of us use to buy the stuff they want, at the right price, through the most efficient platforms, from the brands they trust. At that point we will welcome them to the 75% who feel the same way and do the same thing.

Does Gen Y matter? Sure.

But I caution us to stop glorifying their thinking to be more rarefied than it is. It may not look so different from what you also appreciate from the worlds’ marketing departments.

Funny, disarming, short-form, real, inspired, truthful, provocative – or – just on sale. Not so different.

#millenialsecretsrevealed

Colette.

July 18, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Courtesy, Colette.

Gallery/Bookstore/Runway/Water Bar. A key member of the Good Taste Committee retires.

Following a trip to Paris earlier this summer, I learned that one of my favorite reasons for going to this great city would be closing by year’s end. For as long as I can remember, the Parisian concept store Colette has been the retail embodiment of global style and experimental design – possibly even the birthplace of cool. On a busy corner on Rue St. Honore, this four-story retailer regularly unveiled provocative window designs, unexpected collaborations and undiscovered talent, attracting critical recognition and insider credibility. You could always count on Colette to deliver something surprisingly imaginative, original, and brave. If this store were a person, she would be as direct and disarming as she was enigmatic; a beautiful contradiction that always made sense.

It is hard to see a good thing come to an end, but my heart also breaks for what the closing of Colette might mean, in the broader sense.

Can the deeply original, but (intentionally) un- scalable, survive anymore?
Is the mass-market becoming the only sustainable market?
Do beloved spots like Louis Boston (Boston), Le Deux Gamin (New York City), Zenon (Eugene, Oregon), Dutton’s (Los Angeles) have finite life spans and is this what makes us fall in love with them?

Does the nature of true chemistry need to be fleeting…for us to embrace and appreciate it?

When a place, person or idea yields to whatever unknown market forces may be at work, I get a pang of existential angst. Why is it, with so many expendable options, that it is the rare and un-replicable that leave us?

Whether we know it or not, I think we crave these provocateurs, their discerning eyes, playful spirits and indelible points of view. We need these risk takers to continue to experiment, to connect dots between disciplines and industries the rest of us can’t even see. I know I look forward to seeing how design, art, commerce, pop culture, fashion, literature, music, and food cross-pollinate and amplify one another. Beyond the aesthetics, these visionaries make sense of things we didn’t know we were trying to solve. Their creativity opens doors and creates ripples, and ultimately raises the average.

I don’t actually think originality is getting diluted or disappearing, but do think that we, as consumers, may need to be bolder in recognizing and supporting these valuable outposts.

Thank you, Colette, for building an altar for our imaginations. Long live the many places, like you, around the world, who continue to take chances, and who unearth ideas that resonate, provoke and inspire us.

Let’s continue to celebrate you, with our attention and patronage, wherever we find you.

Downsellers.

July 10, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

It’s what you see; not who you are.

Most of us fall into one of two camps: Upsellers or Downsellers.

Upsellers are always going to give you the bright side – the pitch on why you should do x, y, or z. They are perceived by many as positive.

Downsellers, on the other hand, are always going to offer up both the strengths and weaknesses of doing that same x, y, or z. They may or may not be invested in enrolling you in the experience. Still, they – or shall I say we – are often perceived as being critical.

Our “spiritually” over-saturated culture has done much to create an unwritten code of positivity. An allegiance to being “positive” throughout every interaction has become ubiquitous. Upsellers are rewarded for their limitless positivity, while Downsellers are thought to be “downers.”

Clearly, it triggers something in me because as a life long Downseller, I think it’s disingenuous to put a positive spin on experiences or products simply to avoid being thought of as “negative.“ When did critical thinking translate to bad mojo? I see it less as a view on someone’s disposition and more a difference in filters.

But here’s the problem.

A Downseller can’t unsee what she sees (I’ve tried.) I can walk into a freshly cleaned kitchen and see tomato sauce on a floorboard before I acknowledge the sparkling counters. It also means I can open a design presentation or read a headline and identify why it doesn’t (yet) work. I don’t particularly like the burden of the ‘gift’ at times, but an engaged and critical mind serves me well at work and adds a lens to how I see the world that creates value for my clients.

The reason Downsellers make great consultants is that they have a very high “negativity bias,” which in simple terms means, they see what’s missing naturally and quickly. Whether creatively, operationally, or managerially, this ability acts like X-Ray vision, and is precisely what allows them to improve what others may think is finished – unearthing blind spots that can be game-changing for a business.

Downsellers may appear to see the glass half empty, but the reality is, we just see the glass for what it is; clean, dirty, soap spots, lipstick rims. The thoughts presented by a Downseller may be harder to swallow, but in certain circumstances, could prove to be more potent.

But if I’m being really honest, we sometimes come off as continuously unsatisfied, with standards that can’t be met. And that’s not really useful, for any reason.

So…

A challenge to Downsellers: We need to use our powers for good, and position whatever feedback we have with a solution in mind. We can present our ‘truth’ with enthusiasm, support and genuine intention. And there is no harm in turning off the filter when it no longer serves the mission.

And to Upsellers: Please know that we do what we do because we care. We may have an opinion about everything, which admittedly gets tiring, but know that because of us, there is probably less mediocrity in the world. #yourewelcome

Hood Ornaments.

July 3, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Warhol called it.

For those of you who feel ambivalent about placing yourselves at the center of your brand’s marketing efforts, this commentary is for you.

Years ago, as the creator of monthly SMARTY events, I was moderating panels of extraordinary women helming press-worthy businesses. This visibility placed me on the receiving end of some considerable attention and unexpected brand opportunities. While it was all very positive, it forced me to think carefully about how to respond to it—and how to leverage it. You’ve probably had to consider similar choices.

The prevailing advice I heard at that time was to “Make it about me.” Smart, well-meaning people tried to convince me to lead by example, which would have required me to build a digital platform and take pictures of myself on vacation or enjoying the fruits of my labor, all while espousing tips on “how you, too, can become…bigger/better/richer.” Or basically, more like me.

Although this approach may be profitable, at the time, it gave me the moral stomach flu.

It makes me question where we want to live when it comes to self-promotion – and where do we start to get a little nauseated by it? Is there anything wrong with sharing talents, achievements and deluxe vistas as a brand strategy? Not inherently. After all, this is at the heart of social media.

Yet, as the chief promotional officers of our own brands, many of us feel simultaneously that we are the best hood ornament for what we sell while being keenly aware of the tension it produces.

One script does not fit all – and I think everyone has to answer this for herself. I moved 3,000 miles away from me-as-a-brand-opportunity due, in part, to ambition fatigue. Not because I was exhausting myself with my own, but because being around so much ambition, and the resulting self-promotion, was exhausting me. That’s my own tolerance showing, not a judgment against what anyone else’s may be.

But….in a world where professional narcissism is at an all time high, there should be some self-imposed guardrails. My own requirement is that I not embarrass myself (to myself). That, I cannot live with, no matter the applause that may be generated “out there.”

Here’s a thought that may be relevant for anyone – whether flexing abs in a bikini or doling out champagne dreams from Rome: Even if you are your own brand, and you are the thing you’re selling—whether it be expertise, wisdom or flip flops—consider that there’s a lot more longevity in standing for something bigger than yourself.

The spotlight may be required to stay on you, for whatever reason, but my advice (did I just contradict myself?) is to make yourself a representative of the mission. Not the mission itself.

Singular.

June 26, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Trymbakeshwar, India

The bucket shower = a product worth iteration.

I recently read about new bar concept in Los Angeles. To be more specific, the concept was “a bar within a bar” – surely a watering hole for the coolest of the cool. This is an idea curated for those among us who can no longer be bothered with a cool standalone bar, cool hotel lobby bar or even a cool restaurant bar. This bar (within an existing bar) has no visible sign (of course), and earnestly offers only six drinks – all of which, upon reviewing the menu- you could get at an airport. It would be one thing if they were importing Turkish cherries or growing their own sage. But their big idea was to merely tuck a tinier, more exclusive bar, behind a bigger more public one – and take that to market. Hmmm.

Private clubs, password protected back rooms and speakeasy ‘underground’ concepts aren’t new, but I have to laugh at these new attempts at manufactured secrecy/hip factor. They can only find an audience when good has gotten so good, that it’s not good enough.

We see this in a lot of categories.

Should Audi be featuring terroir-sourced tea as part of their new perks program?
Do men need a 3-step facial hair regimen: beard oil, beard balm, and beard wash?
Do our water bottles need charged gemstones… to be truly hydrating?
Does a Snickers bar really need to be fried? (Okay, sometimes.)
Does a VIP room…need a VIP room?

I don’t begrudge anyone’s creativity nor would I want to dampen any entrepreneurial spirits – ever. But…I am going to laugh, in a loving way, at the machine responsible for it.

When we take ideas that work, but then feel compelled to make them more mysterious, exciting or “authentic,” are they potentially having the opposite effect? At what point do we gild the lily? When does a product or service go from inventive…to contrived? When is enough, enough, or too much…too much?

Iteration is a buzzword, and many feel pressure to make it the status quo. But lately, I lean toward forgoing novel and newsworthy in favor of effective and singular. Maybe we just need permission to get better at the (one) thing we do best.

Quite often, that is original enough.

Half Me.

June 20, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

@lshawbardsley

Gray areas are familiar territory, but not when it comes to letting people down.

To accept or decline.
To engage or pass.

It’s hard to predict when saying “yes” to something has the unintended consequence of disappointing people who hold you in high esteem. A recent situation had me questioning whether showing up at half-strength… was worse than canceling all together.

Like many of us, I’ve lived in different cities for meaningful periods of time. So when I find myself in my former stomping grounds, I often suffer from “never enough time to…” There’s rarely time to see everyone I want to see, do everything I want to do or be everywhere I want to be – because I’m there for work – which is the priority.

Recently, while on one such over-scheduled trip, I accepted an invitation to attend an intimate gathering organized by a friend; someone who, in kind, supports professional events/gatherings that I sponsor. But when the time came, my eyes were glazed over with fatigue, my voice was raw from talking all day, my brain was drained from problem-solving since 6am (to accommodate east coast time)…and all I wanted to do was turn off my phone and decompress. At the same time, I have always had an almost visceral reaction to flakiness, to a broken word – to disappointing anyone. I didn’t feel I could cancel, especially when I knew my presence was important to my friend.

In the end, I’m not sure that attending was the right decision because the version of me who did show up – kind of sucked. It was a “half me” – with energy more like a wilted flower than an additive contributor.

You have to wonder – who wins in that scenario? I kept a promise – but showed up on fumes. For those of you with an amazing game-face – you can pull this off far better than I can…. as I tend to wear my feelings, for better or worse, right on my face. At a big event, I can get away with it – but among just a few people – it doesn’t go unnoticed. Clearly (I mean I’m writing this, right?) it’s still pulling on my conscience in some way.

I find myself torn between wanting to apologize for lackluster presence – and – wanting a pat on the back for showing up at all.

Is the only option to prequalify a RSVP with, “Maybe, but I’ll be coming off a long day”?

This, and others like it, sound so (very) lame to me, as I judge them all as a half-yes – in other words – an insurance policy on a future copout.

But I can’t think of a better way to demonstrate support and make room for the possibility of yes, but insulate myself from the chagrin of canceling at the last hour and becoming one of “those” people.

This post requires suggestions.

What is your strategy for conundrums like these? Weigh in here. Inquiring minds need your wisdom.

Metaphor.

June 12, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Unknowing what we know is a lot like herding cats.

You really remind me of…
This project is a lot like…
That situation is very similar to…

Metaphors help us make sense of things. When we compare ‘this’ to ‘that’ it gives us the ability to experience something new, as familiar. But the moment we look for sameness, might also be the moment we lose our ability to experience something new in its purest expression. It seems like the act of searching for relatedness – in a relationship, project or circumstance – might unknowingly steal its potential. As a person conditioned to finding a pattern and connecting dots, there may be real value in doing the opposite. Could a tabula rasa state-of-being be more conducive to creativity, growth or depth? Is that even possible?

When I traveled to India earlier this year, our teacher asked us to resist making comparisons when tasting a new food or making cultural observations. This doesn’t seem revolutionary, but it takes conscientious restraint. When goats meandered through a chaotic urban thoroughfare, we made an effort to see that juxtaposition through new eyes, rather than revisit past trips and locales in our minds. We resisted the urge to compare monastic Ashrams in India to their cushy American counterparts, even though instant comparisons would have been easy to draw. It would also be natural to compare daily staples like chapatti, chai or Kanda Poha to other cultures’ quotidian equivalents. It takes discipline not to do this, surprisingly, especially in every day (non-exotic) settings.

I brought home an important lesson in this teaching.

Our instinct is to make meaning when faced with something new or foreign – to tie it to something we do know and understand. In fact running a successful business depends on it and signals our level of experience. Practically speaking, it creates efficiencies for others who need to understand our vision more immediately – and there’s obviously a place for this.

But maybe there’s also room to abstain from it, too. Assigning something we know, to something we don’t yet know, may have the unintended effect of removing whatever may be idiosyncratic or defining or purest about the new experience. Knee-jerk ‘labeling’ may actually limit our potential to see/grow or feel something more fully for what it really is.

Lately, I’m trying to clear this particular cache, if you will.
When a circumstance arises that makes me uncomfortable, or that I don’t immediately understand, I’m resisting the urge to narrate it – to put the expected punctuation around it as a salve to comfort or soothe what unsettles me about it.

Sometimes our own certainty is the very barrier we need to break through. Expansion – or a different kind of knowledge – could be waiting on the other side.

Reins.

June 5, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

@jenniferromans

If you haven’t moved in a while, it might be time.

A friend of mine, one of the most capable, talented, effective entrepreneurs I know, recently handed over his daily meal prep to a nutritionist. Twice a week, perfectly portioned, custom-created breakfasts, lunches and dinners are delivered to his apartment. Why? So that he doesn’t have to plan/chop/decide what to eat, or how much. Why else? To lose weight.

But here’s the twist: he’s a chef.

How often do we abdicate control over something we’re really good at, to someone else who (deep breath) might actually know better? Usually, it is only when we find ourselves powerless to make the changes we know, deep down, are imperative; When we see that what we do that works so well for others, doesn’t produce the same results for our own practices/habits/ambitions.

It’s hard…
…to be a relationships expert who needs a dating coach.
…to be a CEO in need of outside management and leadership counsel.
…to be chef who helps clients combine food for optimal health, hire someone to do this very same thing, for him.

When owners or founders lose (or forget) their ability to say, “maybe I don’t know best,” they silo themselves and prevent others with the right perspective and appropriate training, to do right by the business. But what if real strength and leadership means knowing how (and when) to ask for help? Not at delegating to those who fulfill deficits – that’s easier – but in areas where progress is slow despite your own experience and wisdom?

What I tell myself is that support – even when it may seem duplicative and in my own lane – doesn’t mean completely letting go of the reins. Experience has shown, though, that there’s some real benefit, and maybe even relief, in loosening them…trusting another source…when I’ve been standing in one spot for too long.

Itches.

May 30, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

If you want to know more about someone, participate in a naming exercise. You’ll learn a lot, and fast.

Whereas in many other business interactions it is hard to decode individual and organizational motivation, the process of naming a company, product or brand is an easy tell about the stakeholders.

One of my primary jobs is to name things. In the past few weeks, I’ve found myself around the conference room table with multiple teams in different cities, trying to name companies. Some yearn for clever names that sound like rock bands or production companies, while others want more neutral, confident references that speak to DNA or methodology. Certain generations are solving for Instagram hashtagability, while others are measuring against the seriousness of an investor deck.

One of my favorite aspects of this process is that you can start to see who needs to be creative (maybe they’ve been handcuffed by a suit), or who wants to leverage lowest common denominator (franchise owners). Need is worn right on the sleeve when it comes to names.

Taken further and applied elsewhere, it’s easy to see a hidden agenda unearthed when someone dominates a conversation (control) or mentions their accolades at any opportunity (acknowledgment). It’s all there if you’re paying attention.

All of us have a creative/emotional/professional itch we need to scratch. Sometimes it’s more obvious than others. But certain habitats reveal them in such a poignant way.

It’s so fascinating to watch these unintended confessions revealed. Naming discussions just happen to be an easy place to hear them. But they’re actually everywhere, if you listen.

Blinders.

May 22, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

It’s okay to narrow your focus, just until you can see the light.

This is a story about the benefit of intentionally limiting peripheral vision – for a finite period of time.

A few years back, I was in the hospital with a contagious and (at the time) unknown condition that posed a public health issue (thanks to modern medicine, Victorian diseases are now curable.) I was quarantined in a negative pressure room with two heavy glass doors – one to the outside hospital floor, and one to my room. I half expected the nurses to wear Hasmat suits, their fitted masks always covering half of their faces. I found myself alone with my thoughts – big, scary, unthinkable thoughts. For anyone who has spent time in a hospital, you know that all you want to do is get out. Not knowing how long you have to stay is a particular kind of torture. My early days were filled with doing whatever it took to not fall apart. What’s wrong with falling apart? Nothing at all. But when you know you have to keep it together for an indefinite length of time, keeping emotional mayhem at arms length seems perfectly justifiable.

Not being able to see my little girls, my husband, my friends, and knowing that it might be a while before I could see them, was a harsh realization. Strangely, it was at this time that something unexpected and fierce kicked in, almost involuntarily. In an isolation unit, I made the choice to stay present, as acutely as possible, to my immediate surroundings, doctor visits, and the times my husband could be in the room by my side. In my mind, the future was either infinitely hopeful, or unnervingly bleak – and because I didn’t know what the future held – I had to make a conscious effort to tune out either extreme. I distinctly remember forcing myself away from the rabbit hole lurking nearby.

I’ve heard extreme athletes talk about how they manage pain and distance in this way. North Pole explorer Ben Saunders talks about only putting one foot in front of the other, in the course of a 900-mile journey, as one way to manage the journey still ahead. By blocking out their immediate future – which is just too big to endure at times – they find relief in presence.

Recognizing that sobbing and losing my mind was not going to make anything better, I began a disciplined practice of not indulging in anything outside of “here and now.” This allowed me to conserve my energy – for whatever was in store. Some people later called this brave or resilient – but I recognize it for what it is, and for me, it was survival.

I’ll bring this back to intense periods of work or life cycles – and here’s why. Sometimes, when the work / people / deadlines / expectations / inner dialogue are unusually heavy or loud, I find that these same blinders function as a curtain on what can’t be immediately solved. They pull focus – just for a period of time, especially in a crisis.

Having the ability to shut a few things down that I can’t control, to power up for what I can, has proven to be a an invaluable skill.

It’s amazing to me that unprecedented strength can be born of such fragility. And how temporary blinders can serve as safe passage to whatever is next.

I like to think of this strategy less like a dam holding back rising waters and more like a sieve narrowing the flow; Its one way to manage feelings that would otherwise cause certain collapse.

Free.

May 15, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

The bare face goes far beyond #NoMakeup
Alicia Keys Image Courtesy: Fault Magazine
Christy Turlington Burns Image Courtesy: Valentino 2017 Spring Campaign

When Alicia Keys started her #NoMakeup movement, like many of you, I said finally, a famous woman standing up to false ideals of feminine beauty standards and the quest for eternal youth – someone in the limelight, unapologetically showing her un-made up face. Her message was unequivocal: “I’m not going to cover myself up anymore; not my face, not my feelings, not my dreams, not my pain. No more.”

YES. Could you high-five that woman any harder?

Lipstick, mascara, concealer – these are the enhancements that we think make us more valuable or wanted. It’s totally fun (I love make-up), but it’s also a crutch, something that let’s us obscure reality, or create an unhealthy hiding place. We’ve created lots of them:

Apologizing for no reason.
Deflecting compliments.
Being ashamed of our emotions.
Questioning our gut instincts.
Asking for less.
Botox.

When we get real with ourselves and others, by speaking or being the truth, drawing boundaries, trusting ourselves – confidence, and with it freedom – become real.

I love seeing advertisers like Valentino (Christy, above) celebrate a naked female face, because it’s really expressing much more than a fashionable aesthetic; it’s no handcuffs. No industry. No veil. No apologies.

Crutches aren’t the enemy.
It’s the false pretense that they determine our value, that is.

When we’re free, from whatever has us captive, it feels different. We can breathe, because we’re more fully expressed. We stand in our talents / scopes of work / leadership – not with indignation or self-righteousness, but with a quieter, more truthful strength that doesn’t need to be radicalized, to be real.

Chemistry.

May 8, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Asymmetry has its advantages.

Does it matter?

Is having a sense of familiarity or good vibe with a new colleague / client / customer a predictor of whether it will be a match made in (professional) heaven? We know working with people who finish our sentences, think we’re hilarious / brilliant / talented feels invigorating, at least at the outset of a working relationship. But what about less inspired collaborations? Is there anything to be learned from chemistry-free scenarios?

In new relationships, naturalness and ease are some of the first things that we all notice. When it’s good, we are quick to jump ahead in our minds, assuming that the work will flow and the results will deliver. When the vibe is not present, it’s easy to assume a lesser work product will be inevitable.

So if chemistry positively imbues the process, and process is directly connected to product, wouldn’t it make sense that outcomes are better with chemistry? Should we only seek out “our people” – and dismiss the rest?

I wonder. In equal measure I’ve had love-at-first-sight collaborations that didn’t end up producing the creative fireworks I imagined, and underwhelming first impressions that grew into future returns I assumed were improbable (impossible, if I’m honest.)

So I’ve been trying to decide if chemistry really matters when it comes to performance, because while it makes everything feel good, it doesn’t seem to be predictive of an optimal outcome. And conversely, when it’s lackluster, it doesn’t preclude exceptional thinking.

It’s always nice to have a warm room – but if there isn’t one, I have learned to find just as big an opportunity. You get to see how your talent stands alone, in colder temps, sans the natural serotonin that flows with the warm fuzzies.

It’s a worthwhile assessment.

Content.

May 2, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

It's not easy to make something that feels exactly like nothing else.

On a recent call with the global marketing director of a major fitness brand – someone responsible for managing messaging across all channels – she paused to ask me a more philosophical question: “What do you think the secret to creating compelling content is? These days, everyone seems to be in the ‘game.’ ”

It’s true, and admittedly, something that I often wonder about. It seems that anyone with a Mailchimp account wants to say something…or feels that they should be saying something (whether they really have something to say or not). With the rise of social media, email and web marketing, communication platforms are ubiquitous, which means that ads and campaigns – and in turn subjects, headlines and body copy – are earnestly written, edited, and sent, from anyone who can.

Some do it well – we click every time, because we feel disarmed or moved or paused by what they have to say.

Other campaigns remain unopened, invisible in the marketplace. No matter how much noise they make, if nobody cares…well, nobody cares.

Inner monologue aside, my answer to what makes good content is simple: if you can sink your teeth into an idea – go beyond the obvious, unveil a truth that’s on people’s minds but not yet on their lips – you have something worth broadcasting. Rich content can be everything from useful/everyday DIY, to big ideas, unpacked into smaller bites we can all understand. But compelling writing actually comes from thinking original thoughts, first. Writing is the last step in that process.

Here’s my personal litmus test:
Am I saying something new, and if not new, in a refreshing way?
Does this feel personal, persuasive, disarming, useful?
And most importantly – does anyone care?

And when I write for myself, I go one level deeper:
Does this feel truthful/vulnerable and connected?
Do I think that saying it will help at least one person feel less alone in their thoughts?

Anyone can contemplate, aggregate, pontificate. But to matter today, you have to relate.

Left Out.

April 24, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Remember the days of playgrounds, spiral notebooks and late bells, when a good day at school was feeling part of the group, and a terrible day was feeling like a third wheel, like everyone was “in” – except you? Not much has changed.

I was part of getting an idea off the ground not too long ago, and had to step away from it for a variety of reasons. When the project gathered momentum, and began to take flight, it was hard to watch. I was no longer its guardian, and although I can see why my attention needed to be elsewhere, I’d be lying to say I felt fine about it. I don’t totally (quite yet.)

Feeling “out” from any community, project or business can still feel the same, no matter your spiritual evolution or life experience. Unlike being a kid, as an adult you have perspective and other tools to lean on if it happens. But it’s amazing how quickly it can take you back to those formative years, and reignite old pathways you assumed were healed.

Just like there’s no other way to get over most things than to walk through them, when you sense you’re being left behind – or pro-actively need to shift your gaze – the fastest way through it is to say the thing you can’t imagine verbalizing to other people.

Why? Because the inner conflict of feeling bad about it, and telling yourself you don’t feel that bad about it, is kind of worse than the situation itself. It’s denial (and you know it). It’s inner-marketing, the most deceptive kind of sales pitch. It’s host on host, you vs. you. And the stories we tell ourselves, and pray that we can stand to believe, are far worse than the “spin” we might tell others.

Find your ally in the group, someone you trust, and who knows you. And then say it. Say the thing you don’t want anyone to know.

“I feel left out of this.”

Nothing may need to change (as in my case). Or something might. But you’ll free yourself from a half-truth that will eventually have an erosive, self-defeating effect.

The solution starts with you. Not them.

Deference.

April 17, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

At a certain point, the sheets don’t get cleaner. But they do get thinner.

Having just blogged about collaboration, the time felt right to look at the flip side of that coin, a no-man’s land I call dilution. This is when something is made weaker in direct relationship to the amount of collaboration and input. This could also be called, too-much-of-a-good-thing-becomes-a-no-thing.

When work product is presented to clients / co-workers / partners who are asked to reflect on it and provide feedback, most of us are accustomed to making modifications or even going back to the drawing board if we got it wrong. But what I’m seeing more is this compromised version that is somewhere in between tweaking and starting over. Besides being frustrating, it risks losing the big idea all together. It’s the never-ending editing, change-tracking, re-writing and feedback loop that in the end, amounts to something entirely different than the original concept.

You have to ask – when should we each stay on our own mat? Do we all have equal say in every matter? Are all votes equal? Does having an Instagram account make you an art director? Does a Cross-Fit membership make you a fitness expert? Does the ability to write – and know your own mind – make you a copywriter? Does picking a web template make you a graphic designer? Does your boyfriend-developer make you a UX pro?

The unfortunate result of over-collaboration is that ‘the work’ gets diluted. It becomes a different species, not a related family member. And, instead of an exuberant, optimistic team, you have an apathetic one who feels undermined and (really) frustrated with an ineffective, mediocre, unrecognizable thing.

Experts are hired or assembled for a reason. They can be utilized, or they can be overruled…but not at the same time.

De-fer-ence: To give humble submission and respect. A definition (and a request.)

Triggers.

April 10, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Natalie Massenet, founder of Net a Porter, with her new Farfetched partner.
Image Courtesy: Farfetched

I’m (so) not enough.

Why aren’t I achieving more?

Maybe I’m lazy.

Or… just not as smart / good / connected.

What the WHAT is this lovely (hideous) and supportive (diminishing) self-talk? Oh, it’s mine, actually. I found myself thinking this as I read through a WSJ profile on the founder of one of the biggest ecommerce / fashion platforms that ever was – and her new venture.

Is there someone who has this effect on you? Every time I read about the ever-inspiring Natalie Massenet, some kind of inadequacy alarm goes off inside me.

Maybe it’s because she was a writer/ editor / content maker, like me, but ascended it.

Maybe it’s because I knew her 15-years ago. She seemed smart and cool but not like the head of a fashion empire or a digital genius (which means it’s about hard work, nothing more or less.)

Or, maybe it’s because she was paid $150 million for her start-up. And that is depressingly awesome.

At the root of it is little to do with her and more to do with what she triggers for me, and what each of us needs to answer for ourselves:

Am I being true to what I want to do / build / offer to the world?

Triggers bring on existential angst, for so many reasons.

But hopefully you recognize yours, as I recognize (and hereby confess) mine, which is half of getting over them. But I’m thankful for her existence and frequent reminder of what I’ve done, not done, and still want to do.

Even though she really does get me every time.

The Ask.

April 4, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Some people really know how to ask for what they want. Courtesy Universal Pictures

No one really teaches us how to ask for things (I just realized.) When you’re a kid, you’re supposed to put a “please” in front of your questions, but that’s about all the training we get. Women, in particular, haven’t had a lot of conditioning in asking for what they want or even what they need. Many of us know what we want, but do not know how to ask for it.

This muscle was put to the test recently when I started a personal project that includes asking for something from a few women I really admire, who are really busy, and who don’t have time for much extra – to do something for me.

What if they say no?
Or worse, what if they want to say no, but don’t know how?
Or maybe the worstest – what if they just say nothing?

The art of asking comes down to being specific about why someone’s input / contribution / introduction – whatever – is so important to your process. The more you can shine the light on why her, why now, why for this – the more likely she’ll see her power in changing your life, and…say yes.

So that’s what I did. And yes, they said yes! #yassss

Now, can I ask you for a favor? You can help me with this project by following @smartypeopleblog on Instagram, because followership matters to the gatekeepers-that-be.

Since you are the ones who have made this blog popular and viral and known to women from Poland to Paris to the Palisades, I think you are also the ones who will help move it to the next iteration.

Thank. You. So. Much. !!!

Amy

Room.

March 28, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Spacious (actually) starts on the inside.

Actors have agents.
CEO’s have assistants and VP’s.
Celebrities have PR people.

But most of us don’t have these human filters that tell us what’s important, who needs a meeting, who doesn’t, what favors should we do or not do. So we have to prioritize them ourselves. Fair enough.

We know we have to say “no” when we want to make something big – to write a book, complete a project – we accept fewer invitations in order to focus on milestones. That obviously makes sense. But what I’m more interested in are the transitional moments that might seem unremarkable – but that are meaningful all the same – that you can’t plan.

I always notice that when my work schedule is back to back, I can’t even imagine new business ideas much less recognize them if they knock on my door. And I also miss tiny, unexpected moments; my kids’ sharing a story before bedtime or a concern expressed in the car on the way to ballet. When every minute is accounted for, there’s no room for unexpected loveliness.

It’s the same rationale that a swanky restaurant employs by (secretly) keeping a VIP table open. They want the ability to say “of course we have a table for you, Mr. Clooney,” (should he walk in). But that’s intentional. Planned. Anticipated. Some “no” had to happen for that table to be available.

There’s a difference between what you know you want, and the things you can’t predict you’d hate to miss. Could be a dream opportunity, or a bath instead of a shower.

Create space. Make some room.

Generous.

March 21, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

You don't have to be a sadhu to be surprisingly kind. Photo @Jenniferromans

This is a story about the (surprising) gestures of others, and their lasting impact.

When I first got out of college, I worked at CNN, as the assistant to a very visible VP. While he was away at a European bureau, my (new) used car caught fire while I was driving it, melting the gasket. I was new to Atlanta, to my job and company, with no real friends yet – working with a limited budget – and had to quickly solve how to get to and from work every day. In 1994, you bought a car through classified ads, so most of these negotiations took place on the phone.

One day, as I zigzagged between mechanics reports on the fax machine, printing insurance documents, my busy phone bank, and a mess of papers accumulating on my desk, a nearby manager – who also reported to my boss – came by my office. She admonished my use of work hours for “personal calls” and informed me that she’d be taking it up with the boss. I was distraught, embarrassed, and unsure of what side of “right” I was on. If I was out of line, I wanted to volunteer that information myself, rather than get reported by Lady Blah Blah.

When the VP called from London later that day – back when long distance calls sounded crackling and distant – I relayed what had happened (and was so nervous that I started to cry). The first thing he told me to do was go into his office and shut the door. Saving me from office humiliation with this gesture was my first surprise.

Next, after hearing me out, and having actually already gotten an email from the ambitious manager, he said, “I got her email, but I trust your judgment. Take care of your situation, do your best job, and let me know how I can help you when I get back.”

This guy – in the midst of the Gulf War news crises – could have fired me, or at least leveled me before moving onto more pressing tasks. But he gave me the benefit of the doubt – an unproven 22-year old, and definitely the least important person there. I’ll never forget how that felt, and how it changed how I trusted myself.

We likely don’t realize how our (re)actions or words impact people for years to come, and how impressions make a lifelong mark. I could have shared a negative story to illustrate this same point – because there are some (juicy ones) that stand out. But I wanted to share this one because we all have a choice when we react, and inside the hours of any given day, get unexpected opportunities to make one.

It doesn’t seem we can lose by choosing generosity.

Empathy.

March 14, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Try not to roll this mess into anyone’s inbox.

Of the many virtuous qualities in short supply over the past couple of months, one of the most publicly abandoned might be empathy. Besides just being part of good person-hood, it’s also a strategic skill in business. Recently elected presidents, well-meaning clients and beloved colleagues – take note.

Empathy at work looks specifically like a willingness to put yourself in different shoes and roles; For one, to better understand the process involved in what you’re asking of the people around you or who work for you– and two, in order to get what you need when you need it.

It doesn’t require you to actually know how to do those jobs, but it does demand that you imagine what it takes to do them – what data, timeliness or processes are deployed – for mission to get accomplished.

Copy Writers are famously at the end of long email chains, forwarded by (unaware or kinda lazy) colleagues or clients, who should probably understand that wading through what’s relevant – or not – only adds more hours (and mental haze) to their deadline. One of my favorite clients did the opposite recently – he drafted an imperfectly awesome sample of a letter he needed written, knowing that this rough draft was EXACTLY what we needed to help him with only two days notice. That’s forethought. That’s collaboration. That’s him being goal-oriented enough to say, “I know I have to have this. What will it take to get it?” As a result, we were overjoyed to move around other things to deliver it for him.

The days of handing off laundry baskets of disorganized tasks for the next person to sort, and then placing unreasonable deadlines on them, are symptomatic of a dated standard. No one really wants to work with people like that.

No clue? Then ask. It’s okay not to know. But it’s less okay not to know that asking is an option #helpmehelpyou.

Descriptions.

March 7, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

India, 2017. Superlatives abound, but that’s different than knowing what happened or what it meant.

We (you, me) are obliged to tell stories in the name of commerce. We are all telling one – and it’s our job to do it, like it or not.

But as people, I’m not sure we have the same responsibility. Often times, when a profound or still-unfolding experience happens, it’s hard to put punctuation around it. It can feel so big – with aspects known, and others still unknown, that it’s hard to know how to answer:

“How are you?”
“How was the trip?”
“How was your year?”

These seem like innocuous questions. But often they force us to prematurely disclose at the cost of an invaluable plot line: that which is…

How am I (really)?
What do I ( really) think?
What does this (really) mean for me?

Which leads to…what to do?
A short answer feels untrue.
A long (more real one) might cost you the much-needed conversation you’re having internally, by assigning a story to something you don’t know yet.

Here’s the thing. We don’t owe marketing, messaging or status updates to the general public of our personal lives, and maintaining the vital membrane that holds genuine reflection together can take a conscious act of restraint.

Sometimes saying less – even if it’s not super true – is the right-est thing you can do. It may be your only hope in knowing what you really think.

Teflon.

February 28, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Cashmere coated in Teflon. The brilliant collaboration of industrial designer Yves Behar and fashion brand Lutz & Patmos. One of Time Magazine’s best inventions in 2002.

There are times when your “surface” needs to be sealed, and other times when it needs to be porous. Often, it has to be at the same time to truly be useful.

When I first meet a client, they’ve developed “beliefs” about what can or can’t be done, either based on years of a certain strategy that no longer works, or a few traumatic experiences. These narratives may turn out to hold water, or they may be anomalies born of other factors they haven’t considered. Usually these (potentially) biased ideas have shaped what they think they’re hiring me / us to fix. But until we know more and ask more questions, we have to hold those “facts” in a suspension of disbelief. We have to treat them as wickable. If we accept them as absolute, our strategies will be as silo’d as the clients’. They need us not to believe them, as much as they need us to hear them.

“Facebook has never worked for us.”
“No one wants to read more emails.”
“People won’t buy things on the internet.”
“We’ve done it that way since day one.”
“Customers don’t want to share cars.”

True? False?

It’s often our job or role to press pause for others and drive a conversation that unpacks / disrupts / refutes / or (maybe) buys the reality of the perception. But how do you provide this valuable service to yourself?

It takes some fancy footwork to hold your own breath, stop your own film, pause your own song – long enough to see if you’ve inadvertently built a false narrative. You’re busy doing the work – so it’s not easy to also figure out what part of your belief system is being misshaped by actions as they happen in real time. Kudos if you can be that kind of ninja!

But bigger kudos if you can be open / humble enough to let someone else take a crack at it. They might challenge what you see as a certainty, or play Devil’s Advocate in a way that’s tiresome. But they’re offering you a non-stick surface, which is the only way to see blindspots – or better – unchartered territory.

You can be dual-materials to everyone else, and probably get paid to be, but the biggest favor you can do your own business is to put your precious cashmere in the hands of something more industrial, and see what happens. Could turn out to be genius.

Code.

February 21, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Even this half-beat public bus in Bombay has one.

Lucky are the doctors, therapists, lawyers and journalists – among others – when it comes to professional codes. Their days are governed by rules and laws – by an organized body of ethical standards that deems “yes we can” or “no we cannot.” It’s not that there aren’t gray areas, but at least they’re held to a baseline of collective agreement. For creative’s, consultants, entrepreneurs, marketers, in other words, most of us – we call our own shots. At a minimum, we aim for ethical, but there are hundreds of questions that live in a pretty gray area.

I heard Anthony Bourdain interviewed on NPR last weekend and he talked about his own code, mostly bleeped for national radio – that basically said he wouldn’t live his life or be part of anything he couldn’t stand behind. Nor would he work with people he “didn’t genuinely like.” He was more graphic (as expected), but in a nutshell, said – no bullsh$t. It’s easier to say that once you’re successful and in a place of power. But what about when you’re still in the hustle? Still building? Still pitching? Still perseverating over “yes I should” or “no I shouldn’t”?

I had a great brand ask me to pitch work on spec recently, to write messaging as a means of interviewing for the (big) project. I wanted the work. I really like the client and brand. But I know better than to invest a day in tagline development without a complete brief, without feeling invested, and without an official engagement. Doing business development and client woo-ing may be part of the job, but all of us who work in undefined business landscapes have to recognize a fools errand when we see one. Submitting a half-baked idea in order to ‘seem’ the most clever / creative / smart isn’t the way I want to win an account. I have a website, a portfolio and a weekly blog… if they want to see the work. You likely do, too.

I can tell when my code has broken links pretty easily; I’m uncomfortable with the arrangement (at best), or annoyed with terms (trying to understand why I agreed) – at worst. It happens much less than it used to, but it still happens #stilllearning.

We all need codes. But when they’re on a case by case basis, when they’re too malleable, when we make exceptions and call it the rule, we break them without ceremony.

Have a standard. Make sure you can live with it and hold yourself to it. If not you, then who?

Force.

February 14, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Even a star, a plan and hard work are not (always) a marriage made. Image from Getty

It almost never works.

At the root of it is tunnel vision, with no room for other ideas or possibilities. Railroading, bullying, one person’s will over another – that kind of force is easy to spot.

But there’s another kind, a more insidious, subtle version – and I’m guilty of it too.

If you’ve ever tried to impose your (good) will on something or someone who doesn’t want it as much as you do, you’ll recognize this. It usually seems like a “no brainer” or a “win-win.” It might look like one person trying to put an idea or business together, and the other not responding with urgency or next steps. They might say one thing, but do another. Years ago, I tried to put together a partnership with a world-renowned architect and a luxury furniture retailer. He was willing. They were excited. Meeting after meeting seemed more promising than the next. But the middle partner (not pictured), the person who was critical to the deal itself coming together to ultimately oversee the marriage, made it so hard, so complex and so unappealing to everyone – that we all walked away. But I hung on, even when everyone had left the room, as it were. I made persuasive marketing decks and delivered the starchitect to their showroom, because my vision was crystal clear. But no amount of vision, if you aren’t listening (and adjusting) to what’s really going on, is going to make something happen. My blind attachment to the idea was essentially forcing a key through a hole that did not fit. I didn’t have the wisdom to balance perseverance with practical facts.

We can push so hard and work so hard and try so hard that even when we aren’t literally forcing ‘people’ to do something we want, we force ideas where they aren’t meant to bloom.

I see force happening all around us right now, most clearly at the highest levels of office. Let’s remember that it’s easy to see the rigid, unyielding, aggressive behavior of uneducated heads of state, but much harder to see it in our own good intentions.

Moves.

February 7, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Even he makes mistakes. But you won’t see any JV moves in his - or his team's - game. Photo from goliath.com

Sometimes I think our path to finding agreement – the way we fight, disagree, recover or come back – define us even more than the big issues themselves.

Conflict or differences in opinion happen all the time – in marriage, in business, between countries and between partners. Alec Baldwin recently interviewed the actor John Turturro and both shared that there are times during the making of certain, high stakes films, when each have wanted to walk off the set – where the disparate visions of key stakeholders (actor / director / producer / investor) don’t seem like they can be (peacefully) resolved. The only scenarios that worked allowed everyone to come back to the conversation with their self-respect in tact. We can all relate to that. You hope discord moves the conversation in a healthy way – with no black eyes – and that it pushes an idea / issue / team to its full potential. But does how you get there…also matter?

Our moves define us, ultimately. And that includes our passivity or inaction. We can (and will) make mistakes, throw bad passes, get sloppy, fail the people we most want to impress – but our course, words and gestures in finding our way back is what will be remembered.

It’s fun to win, and nice to be right, but hopefully not at the cost of anyone losing too much to recover.

Consider not just the stakes, but how it will feel to win what’s at stake. Make the moves you also want made. It’s the most generous thing you can do, and unlike the Super Bowl, where credit is obvious and comes with a ring, no one will likely know all that you did to change the game.

That’s okay. Do it anyway.

Rope.

January 31, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

When you come to the end of it, it’s only because warning fires were shot, conversations were had, ultimatums may even have been given…and things (still) haven’t changed. Ropes are long. They’re braided. They look simple, but they’re a complex weave that hold things together – really heavy things. They can take a lot, but they can’t withstand everything.

Knowing how close you are to the end of a rope is hard to measure, because you don’t know until you’re hanging by a thread typically. We find ourselves there when we haven’t been seen or heard, when too much goes unsaid, when a threshold is on the immediate horizon. And this is where it’s hard to not blame other people or situations, and instead, take one more shot at preserving the thing you’ve built or made together. It may be the final effort you make to save something that seems too painful/cumbersome/dysfunctional to save – it might be a role you’re in, a relationship, a job you do, the impact someone has on you – again and again. The thing is, it’s hard to resuscitate something that’s hanging by a thread. There’s just not enough material there.

If you’re thinking about rope, it’s time to communicate about it. If you haven’t communicated enough, and you’re at the end of it, it’s going to be even harder. So it’s worth knowing early on – am I in “rope” territory? And if so, where am I on it? Middle? Close to the end?

The bad news is that we only tend to think about rope when we’re looking at the end of one. The good news is, ropes are deceptively strong. Take one more step, if you can, to extend yours. You might be surprised by your own resilience, and by how much more there was that you couldn’t see.

Recovery.

January 24, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Intentional chilling. In case you need a visual.

Performance has infiltrated our lives. It seems like everyone I know, work with, hang with, partner with, is performing at such a high level, and in a multitude of applications. If you’re reading this, it’s also probably you.

They’re dope at their job.

They’re incredible parents.

They also give Ted Talks.

They’re developing an app.

They do the right thing, thanklessly, over and over.

They just ran an Ironman.

And even though deep down, we know it isn’t always about being great at stuff, it turns out, a lot of people just are above average, at lot’s of things. It’s not by accident. They work at it – and aim for it with gusto. Just keeping up with the number of communications that come through the door every day – with some thought and intelligence – could also be some level of performance. We apparently each send or receive at least 150 emails a day. What the what. All of us kind of have to perform at a higher level these days.

So if Performance (yes, capital P), has become not only our Plan A but also our Plan B – meaning, if we just cant’ help ourselves – how much have we scheduled in recovery? I recently spent an entire day doing restorative stuff. I just kept going deeper and deeper into a “rest” state – throughout the day – and by the end was ready to climb the Empire State Building. It had the opposite affect on me – rather than relaxing me into a state of subdued Zen, I was energized into a buzzing little bee. So it worked. I was no longer flattened but instead, emboldened.

Recovery takes discipline. But there’s something really amazing about people who aren’t frazzled, who have command over their lives and schedules, who aren’t in a total state of reaction throughout the day, who aren’t panting through calls and meetings – because the tail is wagging the dog.

Rest is productive. Do it like you mean it.

Out.

January 17, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Most of us (except the lawyers), think more about how to get “in” to something, than how to get out of it: How to break into a market or industry, how to get into a retailer/venue/distributor, how to get into the right partnership, relationship. How to “enter” is our predominant focus in life (because it’s usually fun), much more than how to “exit” (which is usually hard or at least less inspiring.)

But exits are just as important, and inevitable. Last week The Limited brand announced its plan to close of 250 Limited stores. You can be sure they had a deep, deliberate market penetration strategy decades ago, when they launched, and now are busy forming ways to get out of leases, liquidate merchandise, and disengage or relocate 4,000 employees. This month, some key relationships in my world are coming to a close, because the contract is over – or the reason for being has shifted. It’s strange, and hard sometimes. People and circumstances can leave their imprint on you – financially, philosophically – emotionally. But there’s so much to be learned from endings, if we allow it. The first being that other relationships may be just beginning, and in forming them, we all have to consider “what does the end look like…from ten different angles?” Because, it’s not just a contractual question – it’s a mindset that has to organize itself in a certain way – from day one.

Glory days feel never-ending. But all things change, evolve, morph – or die. Our honesty with that truth actually makes a thing better, for longer, with much more potential to repurpose – should that be possible.

It doesn’t have to be a bummer. It just has to be a plan.

Belonging.

January 10, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

A few of my band mates. Year 12. Air Conditioned LA.

I’ve always thought it really interesting that the same job or role can either be really fun, or painfully lame, according to the people you work with. I’ve done projects that were underpaid or tedious – but for really cool teams or brands– and almost forgot how much fun I wasn’t having on the work itself. You can probably recall a gig you might otherwise have bailed on – were it not for some worthy person (or group) who kept you tethered ‘till the end. It’s even true of where you live – the people (almost always) make the place.

At the heart of why we love – and stay somewhere – is belonging. For those of us who work from home or who are hired guns or talents who drop in, and then drop out, of a company’s ecosystem, it can be a little bit lonely. We don’t get that morning banter or smack talk like you get in an office experience. Our dispersed workforce has made being ‘part’ of something even more precious – as it’s easier than ever to feel silo’d and disconnected (and ironic in this age of hyper-connectivity.) I see people craving togetherness, but who also want autonomy.

As someone who works on-site with clients and/or agencies, as well as from my home office, with teams as new as 8 months and others as long as 15 years, I’ve realized that “belonging” isn’t created by one single thing, or even a constant physical presence.

It’s chemistry. It’s history. It’s having fun. It’s being good at what you (all) do, over and over, month after month, year after year – none of which is always easy. But being a reliable player is worth a lot. We all want those in our midst.

One-night stands are fun sometimes, and I still have them (professionally), but my favorite projects are with people I work with all the time, where there’s rhythm and respect – where we get to do what we do, but with new brands, new problems and different industries. We get to solve stuff… together.

Here’s to LTR’s. And may we do the work it takes to stay in them.