As part of the creative department at KG Partners, I’ve been charged with “doing great work.” I couldn’t be more impressed. Nothing could be more vital. I think an important step in doing great work is killing “Plan B.”
I hate “Plan B.” I wish it would die like it was in a Tarantino movie.
It’s the safe plan. The fallback plan.
In advertising, “Plan B” comes about when someone gets scared and wonders if it wouldn’t be a good idea to give the client what they are expecting – just to have it in their back pocket in case “Plan A” doesn’t go over well.
The problem with that is, why fight to make “Plan A” work if you’ve always got “Plan B” to fall back on?
In the past, I’ve watched as “Plan B” destroys morale, kills brands and eventually forces good agencies to board up their windows. Why? Because “Plan B” is based in fear rather than doing what’s right.
“Plan A” is the good stuff. It’s built on a strategy that has found an insight. An observation. It’s tied to an emotion. It crackles with a creative spark. It’s crafted with care. It speaks to people, not at them. It finds a place in the collective consciousness and stays there – long after the print has faded, or the last of its 30 seconds have run out. It becomes a part of us.
“Plan B” is the opposite. It’s completely sterile. It’s assembled not born - like Frankenstein’s monster. Someone grabs a bigger logo and sticks it over there. Then someone stitches on product attributes – the bigger the better. Then they graft on the copy – most likely from a client-supplied internal memo. Then with a flip of the switch, “It’s alive!”
But, just like the monster, the thing has no soul.
The Karloffian monster shuffles off to the client meeting – lurching, grasping and begging to be loved. And of course, since the “Plan B” monster is created from doing exactly what the client would have done if they had Photoshop, they love it.
But, the horror story doesn’t end there. On a dark and stormy night, someone looks at the shelves and not one unit is sold. The client blames the agency for the abomination they created. And the agency has no one to blame but themselves.
So, I say we grab the pitchforks and torches and chase “Plan B” into the abandoned windmill and burn it to the ground. Fight for “Plan A. Refuse to participate in “Plan B.” Educate the client to recognize the wonder and greatness of “A” and the grotesque, shallow, pale-skinned horror that is “B.”
Or, we could coddle “Plan B.” Blow it kisses and promise to use it at a later date.
See, “Plan Bs” suck. Let’s go with the windmill thing.
