This is a real message in my LinkedIn inbox.
The subject line is famous.
It’s Hemingway’s remarkably concise and evocative, six-word story:
I click the thing. It opens:
illustriously palpable imagery?
insidious inciting quips?
quench interests beyond satiety?
obvious assonance?
What is happening?
engender intelligence?
precocious exuberance?
But no I don’t understand.
But yes you do have my complete attention, sir.
(In fact this is so fascinating I’m going to write about it later.)
You want my advice?
My honest take? Here it is:
Marketers and copywriters don’t get paid to make art. We’re hired to solve business problems.
So I don’t think you’ll be happy in marketing. I don’t think you’ll enjoy writing in a discipline that prioritizes clarity and brevity. I’m not sure you value these things.
I think you value expressing yourself. You value writing in a way you find beautiful, and meaningful. You value being an artist.
And I applaud this! (And I’m sure there are people other than yourself who appreciate your art.) But while making art is a noble and important pursuit, it has little to do with making ads.
Art and ads have a key difference:
Great art starts with the maker.
Great ads start with the market.
Let’s unpack this:
Rick Rubin was asked to give young artists some advice:
“Be the audience—” said one of our most prolific music producers, “you be the audience. Make the thing for yourself. And it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks. You can’t make art with someone else in mind. I don’t believe you can. I don’t believe it can be good.”
Art versus copy:
Art is self-indulgent: you can’t make art with someone else in mind.
Copywriting is the opposite: you can’t make an ad without someone else in mind.
Eugene Schwartz was asked to give young copywriters some advice:
“Look—” said one of our winningest direct marketers, “if you want to write poetry, if you want to write prose, if you want to write novels, and if you want to write literature, go outside of advertising,” he said.
“Because the words in advertising are like the windows in a store. You must be able to look right through them and see the product. If you see the window, it’s dirty — and you’re going to see yourself or you’re going to see the smear. You’re not going to see the product, and you’re going to lose.”
Of course, I hope you don’t lose.
Of course, I wish you the best. But you asked for my advice:
This brand of writing, unfortunately, is not good for business.