'If one person says it's a donkey, get a second opinion. If three people say it's a donkey, it's a donkey!'
A colourful and gloriously blunt truth bomb.
A friend of mine said it years ago while giving feedback on a student portfolio. It’s lived rent-free in my head ever since.
It speaks to a deeper truth. Because putting your portfolio in front of a creative director isn’t just brave. It’s borderline masochistic.
We all remember the rite of passage. That younger version of ourselves, fresh out of college, lugging an A2 (or the cooler A3) portfolio around town in search of a coveted placement. Your soul sealed in PVC sleeves within.
Like some wide-eyed pilgrim on a quest, schlepping from Saatchi’s to GGT, BBH to Howell Henry to DDB, in search of wisdom from the high priests of advertising, whose words could make or break your fragile hopes.
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In a crit, you’re completely exposed. Psychologically naked, offering up bite-sized pieces of yourself: your taste, your instincts, your creative judgement. Hoping they hold up to scrutiny.
And then, you invite someone with a row of Cannes Lions on the shelf to quietly (or loudly) dismantle your work.
I still remember one crit while doing the rounds. My partner and I sitting, freshly caffeinated and slightly terrified, across from a senior team. Their office was like a noir film set. Dimly lit, littered with layout pads and U-matic reels, and faintly smelling of stress, sarcasm and N50s.
We placed our lovingly curated portfolio on the desk. The writer didn't touch it, like it was something unclean. Without a word, he picked up a flick knife, and 'CLICK!'. The blade snapped open like the punctuation of a threat. Then, 'THWACK!', he stabbed it into the desk, next to our book.
For a moment, we sat blinking.
Relishing the power, he let the silence hang, then slowly prised the knife free. Only then did he flip open the first page.
As we gabbled on, over-explaining our thinking, he offered a grunt here, a smirk there, and the occasional raised eyebrow as he continued with his intimidating act.
Eventually, I found the balls to tell him to stop with the knife. He closed the book, flicked the blade closed and said, 'Well, you're not terrible, and that’s not a bad start.'
Although we could have done without the theatrics, we came away with something valuable - knowledge!
So, to the young creatives currently sweating through their first critiques - hear this!
It takes guts to ask for feedback. To listen when it's uncomfortable. To not flinch when a concept gets torn down or dismissed with a shrug. But that’s how you grow. From friction, not flattery
Keep listening. Keep learning. Keep pushing. Every 'not quite' gets you closer to a 'that’s the one.'
You won’t agree with every comment. It's your work. Just don’t let ego do the thinking for you.
When someone tells you it’s a donkey - take it!
And next time, use it to ride in on a unicorn.
