I believe the children are our future.
No, for real — notwithstanding the likelihood of us ever being able to retire, we will, at least, definitely die, and the stuff we do will need to be handled by other people. Senior creatives start as baby creatives — students, new professionals, and even aspiring creatives pivoting from other industries — and they’re not going to grow and progress all on their own.
As self-important as it might sound, a lot of the fundamentals of our job can’t be taught — even for baby creatives who have a formal education in it, getting out into the ad world and trying out skills and working with seasoned professionals is important for experience and osmosis. Making those opportunities available to them, and putting actual effort into sustaining them, is part of our responsibility as industry professionals.
I’m not gonna lie: Working with baby creatives is extra work. Whether you’re taking time outside of work to mentor a student, putting the energy into supporting a substantive, non-coffee-fetching-focused internship program, or helping out a junior while still getting your own projects done, it’s extra work that might not be rewarded with anything more than a warm, fuzzy feeling.
But that feeling isn’t without value. Knowing there’s going to be another generation of creatives coming up behind us as we age out of the industry at, like, age 45 isn’t without value. And these things I’m about to talk about are, in fact, loaded with value. They are, arguably, kind of selfish, and who doesn’t like selfish things?
I love helping.
I guess that’s mostly a personal preference that I can’t insist anyone else have, but I think wanting to be helpful is a good thing. And my bucket gets particularly filled by helping college students, interns, and juniors advance in their career. I really like it.
Why? Probably because I remember how much I needed and appreciated help at that point in my career, and the help I got, and the help I wished I’d gotten, and I love being able to offer that to someone else.
Plus, in a world full of chaos, there’s something to be said for at least doing something that helps someone. And I might not have a ton of value to offer, but this is one thing I do know I have.
They keep me sharp.
Juniors want to know why they’re expected to do stuff they’re expected to do — and even if they don’t specifically ask to know, they need to know, because the “why” helps them internalize and apply the process or whatever moving forward. And to teach them that, I have to know the “why.” I have to think about the reasons I do things — and, on occasion, rethink the way I do things, because if I don’t have a good reason to do something some way, maybe there’s a better, more logical way to be doing the thing.
When I’m looking at a baby copywriter’s work, early on, I’ll do something one of my former editors did with me — I’ll sit down with the copywriter, edit the copy in front of them, and explain what I’m doing as I go along. (It felt kind of brutal at the time, but that’s the stage in your career when you’re expected to not be entirely good at things and can become better with time and guidance.) Those explanations give them a foundation to improve all their other work moving forward, and having to give those explanations requires me to be conscious of the choices I make and why I make them. That’s a good thing.
They teach me things.
I’d never be so arrogant as to say my “why” might not potentially be out-“why”ed, even by (especially by) a relative newcomer to the industry. Baby creatives frequently come in with their own ways of doing things, their own approaches to creativity, their own methods for problem-solving, and I love to hear them. As much as I try to stay informed and exposed to The Newest Things, I will always be seeing things through the lens of decades on the job, and these baby creatives have been soaking in it. For every “why,” there’s a corresponding, “Well, why not?” and I’m here for it.
There’s something to be said for the perspectives of creatives who haven’t had the spirit pounded out of them by decades in an unforgiving industry.
I mean, creatives who haven’t been relentlessly indoctrinated by whatever seniors have managed to withstand the pressures necessary to advance in the industry.
Shit. I mean…
Kids, y’know?
They allow me to insidiously impose my will upon the industry.
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Rise, my minions.
No, for real, though, I see things about our industry that can be improved upon — our processes, our approaches to working, our ways of thinking. When I do things, I do them for a reason (see above in re: understanding my own “why.”) — “Because it’s always been done that way,” or “because I said so,” gives me hives. If I can pass along (what I consider to be) good processes, and effective techniques, and valuable ways of thinking, that (in my mind) improve the industry, I want to do that.
They’re techniques and perspectives and whatnot that hopefully will make working life easier for these baby creatives throughout their career, and that ideally they’ll be able to pass along to others whose working life will also be easier, and hopefully share those better ways throughout the industry.
Blah blah blah ripples in a pond blah blah.
They allow me to leave a legacy.
Brace for what’s possibly the top-level cheesiness I allow myself to share with the world.
I’ve never really cared that much about leaving a legacy in the traditional sense. If my name isn’t spoken for generations, what do I care? I’m not going to be around to appreciate it anyway. But I still can’t help wanting to leave some kind of enduring mark on the world. And this is that. If a baby creative I’ve supported has a successful career that makes them happy and fulfilled, that’s something I helped with. If they go on to help their agency succeed or improve the industry or (yay!) help other baby creatives achieve those same things, that’s something I helped with, too.
And if those baby creatives forget I exist the moment they leave my presence, I mean, ouch, but also okay. As long as they remember the things they learned and the skills they developed with my help, that’s the legacy.
Blah blah touching lives, blah blah living forever, blah blah blah making my mark blah.
(Aww. Yeah, I know. Get over it.)
If you don’t have your own reasons, you can borrow mine.
I totally don’t mind. The important thing is that you find some motivation to direct energy into helping develop these aspiring creatives — our next generation, our future colleagues, the brains that will bring new ideas to an idea-fueled industry. Whether you have the authority and resources to offer a formal internship program or you just have the bandwidth and motivation to mentor a student or industry newbie on your own time, giving what you have to help them grow isn’t just worthwhile but important for their, and your, future.
(And, I mean, warm and fuzzy, right?)
One last, extremely timely note: Between tariff chaos, layoffs, hiring freezes, funding freezes, and generalized economic uncertainty, a lot of employers are cutting internship programs and even rescinding invitations to students who were counting on a position for the summer. If you can afford to take on a summer intern, or several of them, it would mean a lot to students who need the credits to graduate and the experience to get hired. Talk to colleges and universities in your area, and if you’re welcoming to interns from farther afield, Handshake is, I’m told, a great way to reach job/internship seekers of the Gen Z persuasion.
We’re in a position to do stuff, so let’s do it.