My first conversation with Simon Martin, Head of Copy at Wunderman Thompson, went like this:
Simon: How are you with sarcastic feedback?
Me: Fine with me.
From that moment onwards, Simon Martin, Head of Copy at Wunderman Thompson, proceeded to return my copy with sarcastic feedback – and I loved it. In between the hilarious observations and brutal reposts, there were nuggets of information I could learn from. Plus he was pretty funny.
Simon will be calling time on his incredible career at the end of this month, much to my great distress. However, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to interview Simon about the highlights (and low moments) of his career.
How did your affinity for copywriting first make itself known? Were you a child prodigy?
I didn’t know what a copywriter was for a long time. Certainly not at school or college. I was congenitally lazy, and when I heard about copywriting, it sounded like a great job, but a lot of work to get a book of ideas together. So being arrogant and overconfident, I thought I could get into it by the side door – work in marketing and then dazzle everyone with how good I was at writing. Which didn’t really happen – although they all said I had neat handwriting.
I then realised I had to self-brief and work and work and work on my writing. And while I could have used the contacts I knew in the industry, I was determined to do it myself. I applied for loads of jobs through Campaign and The Guardian, got down to the final few (from thousands) for some jobs, and finally got my first job – with not a huge amount in my portfolio, but a huge amount of enthusiasm (which wore off fairly soon).
(Image above: Simon’s work for Peugeot.)
Tell me about your career and all the places you’ve put your creative skills to work.
I’ve written a lot of words, in a lot of different media, for a lot of clients at a lot of agencies. It’s only in recent years that I’ve done nothing but writing (and overseeing).
I’ve done TV, radio, press, digital, outdoor, experiential and won shelf-loads of awards of various colours for it. I’ve worked with some of the best creative directors in the business – and alongside some of the cleverest, funniest, smartest people too.
Here’s a list. Probably not complete:
- Small above the line agency focussing on travel, tourism, booze and new tech.
- Used to be massive in loyalty marketing. Worked on everything from financial services to booze and British Airways (until 9/11)
- I can barely remember it – but know I worked on Yellow Pages, Baileys and Microsoft.
- EHS Brann. It had been Evans Hunt Scott. And is now Havas Helia or something. It was excellent. The Economist is a dream client for a writer.
- Kitcatt Nohr Alexander Shaw. In the early noughties, there were three agencies where every creative wanted to work. Partners Andrews Aldridge, Archibald Ingall Stretton and Kitcatt Nohr. I was lucky enough to work at one of them, and had friends in the others. I remember working on Lexus, Britannia, Waitrose, John Lewis, WWF.
- Twice. Now part of VCCP. Worked mostly on Sky and Sainsbury’s.
- Kitcatt Nohr again, but it was part of Digitas and was very different. Great people, some great work. Dog’s Trust, Macmillan, Sue Ryder, Sky (again), booze clients.
- Also spent a big chunk of time freelancing at some excellent agencies.
I was always more of a conceptual writer and the writing bits were secondary. But that way led me to some dark times. I struggled with anxiety. And for the only time in my career, I started losing confidence.
I’d been damaged by a shift in the way creative work is done and critiqued – a reliance on rigidly sticking to briefs and the pecking to death of ideas by everyone from account exec, account manager, account director, planners, senior planners, junior clients, planning directors, senior clients, legal, the MD and his wife, a bloke on the street. Everyone has an opinion worth listening to, so goes the claim. I debated it until it sapped me of strength. It’s creative by committee where everything ends up looking, sounding and reading the same.
But the worst thing was that, after all these meetings and sessions and feedback and a diluted creative idea being presented, it doesn’t stand out. It doesn’t win the new business pitch. Or win an award. And it’s at that point that it all becomes my fault (in the eyes of the board) – not the hundreds of other people making mini-decisions that they think their boss will like. They all disappear or collectively swing the finger of blame towards the creatives.
This sounds like exaggeration, but I worked in one place where the planning director would openly blame the creatives for lack of pitch success, saying it all went well until we shared the work. The same planning director who hammered us down and make it more like what they had in mind.
What brought you to London in 1993?
I’d worked in magazine publishing, pubs and record stores in the north west. I was paid about £6k a year. That sounds terrible now, and it sounded bad back then too. I finally got a job as a marketing executive in London (well, I thought it was London but it was on an industrial estate outside Croydon). I saw it as my springboard into the big leagues. My brother – five years older than me – was a young creative director and agency life looked like fun. So I focussed on getting that sort of job instead.
What are some of the standout moments of the last 30 years?
The industry was brilliant to and for me in the early days. We were all fairly young and either single or going out with people from the industry. Booze was a massive part of everything – and we often worked late because we wanted to, or we’d been in the pub all day and had to catch up. But it was always our own choices. When it started to become what management expected, then it loses a bit of the lustre. There are still creatives now who bemoan the fact that no-one works late anymore. To them, it’s a badge of honour. Maybe they wear the badge alongside the ‘I have 3 ex-wives/husbands’ badges.
We loved the industry and became defined by it. So when the job starts going a bit bad, our mental health can and will suffer too. Creatives pour their ‘self’ into each part of their work, so when the work gets picked apart, word by word, then bit by bit, so can the confidence.
What’s the funniest thing that ever happened to you in your career?
This is a list that could go on and on. Work at one point felt like it was all geared up around a new practical joke.
The most I laughed was at Carlson. There was a department of about 12 teams, all with our own offices. It was mayhem. The work was excellent, but the laughter was even better. We all got on really well and helped each other out. There was no competition between teams, just respect. We used to ask for help, give help, do stuff together. I much prefer it to the ‘everyone’s in it for themselves’ attitude that I see nearly everywhere else – it’s all about me and my career and not the idea and not the department. Even now, I will happily give ideas to people and don’t need to be recognised for doing it. I’m happy if it helps them do good work.
When did you start with Wunderman Thompson? And what was your first role there?
After I got to become a CD and an acting ECD in a couple of agencies, I realised that being a CD or ECD wasn’t for me. While I still wanted to be a creative, I didn’t want the trappings of a CD position (seriously, why would anyone who loves being creative want to sit in meetings about utilisation rates, billings and endless HR issues? You get good at what you do and then end up doing something else entirely. I suppose that’s the same in most jobs).
So I started looking for writer roles. I took off references to being a CD from my CV and never told anyone and sacrificed the salary expectations of that role. I got a freelance writing role at Wunderman before the merger with JWT working on BT. There were a couple of young CDs there who I worked into who were excellent and they liked my writing so they wanted to hire me. I became Head of Copy on BT and the CDs knew I didn’t want to do any conceptual stuff but they could trust me to get the copy into shape every time.
There’s no more a fitting place for me to call time on my career than at WT. Lester Wunderman invented direct marketing and a lot of my career has been about DM. I love a bangtail envelope.
Simon, thank you for all your help, witticisms and sarcasm. You’ve taught me so much, and, though we’ll never see eye to eye on exclamation marks, I’ll never be able to use one without a vision of you peering over my shoulder saying something rude about them. We’ll all miss you tremendously.
Leave a Reply