MIKE REED, JUDGING D&AD 2011

Posted by Mike Rigby

Award winning writer and D&AD judge Mike Reed gives TDOD an exclusive insight into his day of judging the ‘writing for design’ category. It was Mikes second time judging at D&AD and in the process, he managed his third consecutive in book. An interesting read as I’m sure you’ll agree. Take it away Mike… (and thanks!).

‘I don’t even understand why this is in. There’s no copywriting on it.’ (That was me, getting shirty.)

‘Of course there is. It’s a message conveyed in words. And how fantastic to have copywriting on a coin!’ (Someone else.)

‘No, it’s just captions on a diagram. It says Elizabeth II on the back as well, but that’s not copywriting.’

Further along the table, responding to some expressions of indifference, Neil Taylor (of writing consultancy The Writer) sifts some papers and holds one up. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘This is a really good joke. Look – that’s a great joke!’

‘It’s okay. It’s not great.’ That was me again, I’m afraid. I wasn’t always so negative.

‘I wish I’d written this one.’ That’s what you listen for, of course: the ultimate creative’s compliment. That potent mixture of delight and envy – and the undercurrent of anxiety that, presented with the same brief, one wouldn’t have come up with anything like as powerful a solution. (Or perhaps that’s just me.)

I heard this sentiment maybe once or twice during the day. The pieces that truly inspire such a strong response are few and far between, and they tend to create an instant consensus. Last time I judged, the two pieces that ended up with pencils were unanimously loved from the word go: there was never a doubt they’d do well. There were a couple of pieces here that did the same thing, and that’s a huge achievement, given how uncompromising the judging was.

Baby talk.
‘It just upsets me when corporations talk to people as if they’re morons, in this patronising childish language’. Tim Rich said something along these lines two or three times during the day. And there’s definitely a strong theme in corporate writing where the desire to be informal, friendly, human and conversational (viz. The last 25 tone of voice guideline documents you read) ends up producing copy that sounds more like Toddler TV.

Some would perhaps want to pin some of the blame for that on our foreman, the inimitable bearded wonder Dan Germain, who created the voice of Innocent Drinks. But that would be wrong. Innocent’s tone is fun, but it’s not infantile. Like much that breaks new ground, its success was misunderstood by a lot of people, who decided (a) they needed to have a similar tone, and (b) thought the key to it was writing in something like baby-talk.

‘Oh,’ says Sarah McCartney in response to one of Tim’s outbursts. ‘I really liked it. I must be a moron!’ Sarah’s very much not a moron. But one of the most impressive aspects of the day’s judging was how willing people were to speak up about what they thought, even when the tide seemed against them.

Nothing ever felt personal, and the atmosphere of mutual respect and camaraderie gave us all the freedom to say exactly what we thought. It was a delight, not an ‘issue’, to be vehemently disagreed with. Partly because, likely as not, your most fervent adversary on one piece became your staunchest ally over another.

The arguments worked, too. Strong opinions, strongly held, were examined and often overturned. Tim said this was his favourite part: having his mind changed.

There’s always that temptation, once you’ve planted your flag firmly in one territory, to keep it there – even if secretly you realise you’re wrong. But once again, the friendliness of the group gave us all the liberty to change positions.

For example, I argued passionately for quite a while that a particular piece should be in the book, but found the arguments against becoming increasingly compelling. Ultimately, I had to admit defeat. But not just because I was outnumbered: because they were right.

This meant a lot of work hovered nervously for quite some time at the borders of the Annual, getting halfway under the wire before being chased out again by half the patrol on duty. Then, just as all seemed lost, the pros would convince enough of the cons to allow the work safe passage between the pages. (Or vice versa: the work would be sent packing, with two or three of the guards gazing after it with crestfallen expressions.)

We were lucky to have Dan, a gentle and thoughtful Foreman, who kept official interventions to a minimum but reined us in when required, and created pauses for thought at useful stages.

Katie and Aneeka from D&AD also deserve special mentions – not just for keeping the judges topped up with caffeine (and, latterly, the odd beer), but also for managing the shift from iPod Touch voting tools to plain old pencils and paper, when the D&AD wi-fi crumbled under the demands of what I was told were around 500 separate devices.

The judging was hard work (I know people don’t believe that, but it’s true), but entertaining, inspiring and fun. I couldn’t have asked for more generous or stimulating companions. And being around at the end of the day for the announcement of the genuinely thrilling new white pencil was the icing on the cake.

Sorry to ramble on. Hope it was vaguely interesting! I’ll be at the Awards Ceremony in June, so if anyone feels like saying hi, please do. (And if you’re coming alone, and want a friendly table to sit with, I’m cobbling together a table of waifs and strays like myself. Let me know: mike[at]reedwords.co.uk

Posted on Monday, April 18th, 2011 at 4:43 am by Mike Rigby. Filed under 1ST YEAR DESIGN, 2ND YEAR DESIGN, 3RD YEAR DESIGN, AWARDS, COPYWRITING, CREATIVE THINKING, DESIGN, THOUGHTS, WORDS. Follow responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.