Come witness my new blog. Same cast, new location. I will no longer be updating this one. See you at my new place, Planner at Large.

UNICEF China gave Saatchi & Saatchi a brief to increase awareness and financial support for their programs, which helped provide education and support for children growing in poor, rural areas of the country. This was a tough ask – especially considering that the support needed to come from affluent families in Tier 1 cities like Shanghai and Guangzhou, where the one child policy meant that every dollar earnt was spent on each family’s Little Prince/Princess. When Dean would talk to affluent urban parents, he realised that they saw little reason in giving money away to another child when they could invest properly in their own. Urban parents simply didn’t see the ‘value’ in helping someone else’s child. Dejected, Dean and a creative director went in search of a different view by talking to the rural poor. It was here that Dean made the connection. He spoke with a rural Chinese mother who said she would donate money immediately. She reasoned that the people she relied on – her doctor, the police – were, in effect, someone else’s child. Suddenly, the brief became clear. This wasn’t about a handout or malnourished children. It was a simple story: help someone else’s child, for some day, they may just help you. Dean and his CD worked up a script overnight, the ad was shot and the resulting campaign became one of the most successful drives in UNICEF China’s history.

I’ve had the privilege to learn and work with some great planners. And one of the things I’ve learnt is that their ability doesn’t lie in how well they tell the story, but instead in how they listen for a story.

3.30am - My Primetime

The favourite part of my job is when I conduct ethnographic research, or as Saatchi calls, “Xploring”. One of my most memorable assignments was in New York City where I spent an evening in a stretch Hummer limousine ferrying about several groups of friends around Manhattan. We would drop them off at a bar and would act like a town car – all for the privilege of helping us (and the potential alcohol client we were pitching) understand what it was like for young professionals to ‘have a big night out’. This shot was taken at 3.30am in the morning where Heather (on the left, me on the right) was fielding a phone call from one of our (now very drunken) research subjects. We were in some horrible Turkish restaurant serving even more horrible filtered coffee, but it was enough caffeine for us to keep filming and observing as we pulled together a funny documentary on the nightlife of twentysomethings in Manhattan.

As usual, we had little budget and little time to do the project, but thanks to Craigslist we pulled together a great bunch of people and thanks to Dunkin’ Donuts, we later pulled together a strategy and territory that blew the client away. We ended up winning the pitch.

What will they think of next, ay?

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Summer Hill, NSW: A new Ground Zero

New ghettoes are forming in urban Australia, but they’re not what you think. Far from the crime and drugs of inner-cities, these are instead middle-class ghettoes where there’s no hardship, but there’s certainly a spirit that defines whether you belong or not. I’ve found in my research over the years that the epidemic has spread out of the Balmain district of inner-west Sydney and into other areas of Australia, as Gen Xers claim their stake and renovate their nests as they welcome in Australia’s new Baby Boom.

Australia, unlike other major Western countries, experienced somewhat of a baby boom in the  late 60s and 70s – such that we have a larger cohort of thirtysomethings (aka ‘Generation X’)  than we do of our young 1980s babies, the Gen-Ys. (For the numbers nerds, there are 4.4m    Gen X-ers vs. 4.2m Gen Ys, and both pale in comparison to the 5.3m Boomers who are soon to  retire…)  

Gen X in Australia copped the worst of it: the ‘recession we had to have’ and the introduction of university fees for courses. But the late 90s and Australia’s explosive growth over the past  few years have been more than kind to a population cohort who are now (largely) settling into  early  parenthood. 2007 saw the peak of a recent ‘baby boomlet‘ as more professional  thirtysomething women took the plunge and became mothers for the first-time. 

And so the rush began, as little Siennas and Jacks around Australia trundled about polished  floorboards, ate organic baby food and watched their favourite CBeebies programs on Sony  Bravia HD sets.

As I look upon the offspring of this new Boomlet, I wonder if they’ll become a 21st century version of the Gen Y brats before them. Before I make my conclusions, however, I’m always told by any Xer I talk to that this will never be the case – that their kids will grow up to be worldly, to be wise and to be humble. Over the years I’ve been profiling Australia’s Gen X crowd, I’ve seen places like Gladesville (NSW), Williamstown (VIC) and New Farm (QLD) explode with Fairtrade cafes, mummy-and-me yoga centres and art galleries. These once-sleepy suburbs have been converted into new villages where each family and their Bug-A-Boo know each other by name. 

In a demographic version of America’s “white flight”, I see new ghettoes forming around Australia’s major cities: safe havens for the professional Xers and their Subarus. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Xers: they’re progressive and they’re smart – and they know it. They’ve waited and saved and offer the best possible set of circumstances for the bouncing babies that come their way. Like any parent, they’ll work hard to make sure that their child gets the ‘best start in life’ (thus its no surprise why there are so many parenting books and websites that are raking it in as we speak) and, being Gen X, they’ll work extra hard to make sure their kids don’t pick up the self-indulgent habits of the Gen Y group before them. 

More of these babies are being born in equal measure to married and de-facto parents, to gay and straight couples and to parents of mixed racial heritage. So maybe its appropriate that these new babies are born without a pre-existing marketing label like ‘Gen Z’.

For now, this new cohort are a work-in-progress. And it’ll be a fascinating journey to watch.

HiLux TRD. Enough Said.

The best thing about working on an account like Toyota Australia is getting behind the wheels of some of the cars, especially ones like the supercharged HiLux TRD we helped to launch last year. We raced the HiLuxes on a track about an hour out of Melbourne, near some town where we enjoyed ‘tiddly oggies’ (aka cornish pasties). In the shot, you can see the back of Pete Buckley, one of Australia’s best creatives who has gone onto do bigger and better things with his new agency, Disciple.

For the last couple of years, Scotsman Craig Ferguson has hosted the Late Late Show, a latenight variety program that follows the venerable David Letterman on the American CBS network. Whilst rival NBC fumbles around with its trio of Jay Leno, Conan O’Brien and newcomer Jimmy Fallon, CBS has built a loyal audience for Craig’s unique brand of storytelling, wit and candour. The above clip is one of the best examples of Craig’s style, a moving eulogy he made to his late father when he passed in 2006. Instead of the usual comedy monologue that is par for the course in the latenight format, Craig usually opens the show with a 20-minute set on his thoughts for the day. The whole set is not designed to be full of jokes, but Craig will find a way to blend in sly jokes and references to keep the mood light when the need calls for it.

There’s something I find intriguing when it comes to how comedians deal with tragedy (also take a look at Jon Stewart’s first show after 9/11 or Kathy Griffin’s first set just days after her own father passed). There’s a definite skill when it comes to blending humour with the gravity of loss and death. I think it has to do with the fact that the best comedians also have the best insight into people and culture, as its their job to identify the truths that are common to both them and their intended audience. The feeling of loss and despair is universal, but so too are optimism and positivity. The best comedians are able to walk directly into the darkness of a situation and usher the audience towards a positive place.

People certainly don’t tune in to comedies or stand-up shows to cry, but I don’t think people realise that sometimes our need for comedy is actually just our need to hear some truth for once.

The Azns love their Pancakes!

One of my most interesting clients at work are Australia Network, a division of ABC International Projects. They operate three satellite feeds that reach 44 countries, all the way from India through Singapore, up to South Korea and then southward (and east?) towards Fiji and the Cook Islands. Working for them requires an intricate understanding of the cultural nuances of the different countries in which they operate – no easy task when you consider the ramifications of showing daytime staples like ‘Home & Away’ in countries like Malaysia and Indonesia (the world’s most populous Muslim country). 

On the other hand, you learn some interesting things along the way, especially when it comes to what young South-East Asians, for example, think of Australia.

In our research with hundreds of young travellers in the SE Asia region, we found that the third most-recalled tourist destination in Australia (I kid you not), was Pancakes on the Rocks, a novelty 24-hour restaurant located in Sydney’s touristy Rocks district. This non-descript pancake parlour outranked Uluru for recall and desirability in a survey of 450 across Malaysia and HK. There was some interesting learnings here: we found that for some urban affluent Asians, the key priority when visiting Australia is primarily as an ethnography tour if anything else, casting dispersions on the tourism industry’s perception that Asian travellers are only here to create “photo trails” of common landmarks. We found the opposite. One young woman in Kuala Lumpur mentioned in her native Bahasa that she wanted to “eat as Australians ate, drive the same cars that they drove, socialise where they socialise”. And where better to bring these three things together than a quick drive from the hotel to Pancakes?

Its no secret to anyone who’s been to Pancakes to discover that there is a heavy contingent of young Asian tourists who will visit at the most unimaginable hours to sample their range of sundaes and pancakes. Seems that The Rocks and establishments like Pancakes allow the cushioned interests of Asia’s Gen-Y to feel as if they’re sampling an authentic slice of Australian life without having to necessarily trek out to the beach (swimming/tanning ranked very low on intended activities for Australia). 

Who would’ve thought that a 24-hour restaurant would provide the sanctity, variety and experience that young Asians are looking for – over and above the natural splendour of somewhere like Uluru? Certainly some food for thought!

Stephen Hodges (left), one of Sydney's best seafood chefs and part inspiration for my blog.

The inspiration for writing this blog came a few weeks ago when I was asked to cover for one of our other planners on a job for a food client of ours. The job was simple: visit Fish Face, one of Eastern Sydney’s most popular fish restaurants and follow Stephen Hodges, the owner, for an afternoon. The idea was that the afternoon would be spent learning about the secret behind the success of the restaurant: which, in itself, was a cosy space for about thirty in Darlinghurst, a two-minute walk from nearby Kings Cross.

Here I was, sweating profusely after breaking six road rules just to get to the restaurant on time (meant to be there at 4.30pm, rushed in at exactly 4.55pm), where I’m met by a young British blonde who cheerfully informs me that ‘Steve won’t be in for a ‘novver ‘firty minutes’. My relief turns to delight as she brings over a Pellegrino and asks if I’d like to anyone to eat.

Steve, Not Stephen.
Half an hour later and Stephen (‘call me Steve, mate’) arrives, slightly dishevelled as he launches out of his late-model Porsche. He orders himself two coffees and barks at one of the Bangladeshi kitchenhands to fetch me another Pellegrino. I watch as he summons the British Blonde and another staffer to check on why the rubbish bins belonging to a neighbour have been mistakenly parked in front of the restaurant. I sip the water as he dashes around the restaurant, ducking in to the kitchen, circling the tables, his eyes – and attention – frantically pacing around. Fish Face opens within the hour, so he’s at maximum alertness. He finally takes a seat next to me outside the restaurant and pulls out what would prove to be one of many cigarettes during our conversation.

When it comes to these research things, I usually spend some time explaining some context around my research to help the person understand what I’m trying to achieve. In this case, I didn’t need to. There was this immediate and surprising level of honesty that took me aback. Before I know it, Steve is explaining the number of ‘covers’ (paying tables) his restaurant does, his weekly turnovers, his profitability. I learn about his earlier projects (he previously ran Pier, in Sydney’s Double Bay) and the eventual parting with his business partners. He tells me about his first marriage and starts ruing the cost of the new MacBook he just bought for his teenage son. His delivery is very erratic and very loud, but this doesn’t rob any of the meaning he’s trying to convey. I know that he’s wildly off-topic, but there’s something that prevents me from interrupting him.

As I calibrate to his style of conversation, I’m able to pinpoint the nanosecond breaks in his monologue where I can quickly shoot a question. And soon, I’m able to wrestle the conversation back.

The background to Fish Face
I start asking him about seafood and why he – as a chef – liked working with fish. He replied that Sydney was bereft of a ‘real’ option for seafood, in that the options historically were either really low-end or decadently expensive. Fish Face was opened in 2006 as a ‘casual fine-dining’ restaurant that would cater to the thirty-something professionals who lived in the area. The restaurant would quickly establish a name for itself as a purveyor of Sydney’s freshest fish in an atmosphere that was slightly more upscale than your regular fish ‘n’ chip joint. It’s a BYO restaurant in a part of Sydney that you wouldn’t expect to feel so village-y. 

Steve explained that he created Fish Face with a vision to ‘make quality seafood an everyday experience for everyday Australians’. Having moved on from Pier (where mains cost upwards of $40AU), Steve was keen to serve a new market need from professionals who wanted to eat out more regularly but not feel stung by ‘fine dining bills’. His vision is largely reality in the restaurant space, earning rave reviews from the critics and a loyal set of customers – some of whom would pat Steve’s back as they walked past or wave out of their Range Rovers as they drove past on busy Victoria St. 

The “Balmain Battler”
It was his vision that really struck me. Here you had a self-described “Balmain battler” who was able to find a trade he actually liked and turn an obsession with food (fish in particular) into a 20-year career that’s seen him open several of Sydney’s best restaurants and earn kudos from his local and international peers.

He’s a successful man and he’s successful because he was determined that his vision become the reality of his business – he would throw out product if it didn’t meet his exacting demands, he would demand only sustainably-farmed fish and he guessed correctly when he assumed his customers would pay a premium for his standards. As I followed him into his kitchen, he quietly rued the demands of his career: long, exhausting, unsociable hours. While he enjoys the success his restaurant brings, he’s well aware of its toll: he hasn’t had a proper day off in the five years he’s been planning and running the restaurant. He shrugs it off, but we both know its a cost that will only continue to grow.

But there’s no time for that as the diners begin to flock in. I record him selecting the fish and pulling together the final menu and specials for the evening. His new Japanese sous-chef starts plying away at some fresh salmon as Steve peruses the ruby chunks of tuna on the bench. I turn the camcorder off and ask him one final question – “you’ve mentioned that this is a stressful business that takes its toll, so why don’t you just hang it all up and be a brand name instead of a chef?”. 

Steve smiles. “Because I had a dream to run a restaurant like this. I could just run away and make money off this, but I like being the head chef because it gives me purpose. I give a shit about fresh fish and I want to make sure my customers get value for their hard-earned”. 

Standing for Something
I shake his hand and I trudge away with my camcorder and a notebook that is more empty than it should be. I didn’t feel like taking any notes because I understood exactly what he was going on about: restaurants like Fish Face outperform because they actually stand for something. Any restaurant can sell fish and any restaurant can have fancy appointments, but very few restaurants have the energy of owners who give a shit. In Steve’s case, he wasn’t just the owner, but he’s the chef on duty virtually every other day.

In a roundabout way, Steve stands for anyone who’s truly passionate about what they do in life – whether it be in hospitality, the law or (heaven forbid) advertising. Something struck a chord in me during the afternoon I spent with him. Like him, I suffer from the long, exhausting, unsociable hours of an industry that is as consuming as any other. People find it weird when I tell people that I ‘love my job’, but its true in my case. Yes, I may not be able to see my friends a lot, but I’ve made a lot of new ones along the way and my days are filled with interesting encounters like my afternoon with Stephen Hodges. 

One day I hope to be able to start a business – hopefully to do with something I love – but for now, I’m content to be another ‘battler’, looking to turn my vision into a reality.