Just Do What, Exactly?

I recently had a sitdown with Dan Wieden of Wieden & Kennedy, the ad agency that is so amazing you can’t request to work there, they find you Men in Black style, basically an eyeball pops up in your Cheerios and blinks then scans your retinas and all of a sudden you live in Portland and out of nowhere you have 17 more comments on every status update.

He admitted to me he was growing fatigued with Nike, and would I mind taking it off his hands? He wanted to get back to tilling the earth, or some such hobby, he had recently purchased a monastery because that “fucker Bogusky” had purchased some “woodsy cabin foundation” and he wasn’t to be outdone.

Now I’ve known Dan for several years, he’s a big fan of Fortune Bananas and he knew that my imaginary ad agency would be the perfect fit for the famous shoe peddlers. It’s not like I needed the billings but I agreed. “What are you going to do with them?” he wanted to know. “Well the first thing I’m going to do is find that poor design student who’s probably 75 by now and pay her some decent money for that swoosh. Not that a three year old couldn’t make a lazy check mark but still.” “Fair enough…” he said, pouring me two fingers of Glenlivet, “Tell me more.” “Well, I have to be honest, Daniel, I’ve forgotten what Nike is all about. Am I supposed to be a rugby player, a 5am jogger, a World Cup striker, a cancer surviving cyclist?” He set the bottle down harder than perhaps he meant. “All of them.” He looked me dead in the eyes and said “You’re supposed to be all of them. You ARE all of them.”  “No, D, I’m not.” I sighed. “Look. I’m a pudgy Jew who likes comfortable shoes. You’re overselling me. You’re the new salesguy at Nordstrom’s promising me the Perry Ellis handkerchief is going to up my pussy quotient. All I want to know is that it’s got a decent thread count for occasional nose blowing.”

At that point his shoulders slumped a bit. “I’m an ad man. I, I- “

I put my arm around his shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. “Shhhh… you don’t have to try anymore. Who’s my soldier?”

He remained immobile. I asked again.

“Who’s my soldier?”

He lifted his arm up just the tiniest bit.

“That’s right, you’re my soldier. Dan Wieden is my soldier, my very best man. The front lines have been rough, but you’ve done so well. It’s time to let go, and let me, your very best friend in the world, take over Nike.”

We hugged then, a short, staccato burst of machismo, and just like that, the torch was passed. I realized then holy crap now I have to advertise for Nike.

Well at least it’s a start.

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