Great Expectations

No changes in the expectations of those better off can improve the situation of those worst off.

— John Rawls

Political “talking points” are preventing us from seeing that the GOP’s tax proposals are thoroughly undemocratic. We should consider the bills in more basic terms.

For those, I’d turn to A Theory of Justice, the best-known work of the late philosopher John Rawls.

From a moral viewpoint, Rawls says, accidents of birth—inherited wealth, social advantage, and inborn talent—are unjust. Society’s winners and losers are chosen by a “natural lottery,” not by divine decree. Almost everyone accepts the fact. But how to correct the injustice?

Aristocrats think the way to correct the injustice is to increase their own wealth. The more they have, they greater their opportunities to practice noblesse oblige. Hell, it worked in feudal times, right?

Liberals try to correct the injustice with education, which in theory gives a fair shake to people of equal talent. But there’s still a problem, even then, because education favors only the talented; incompetent people—and talented people raised in dysfunctional families—remain stuck with lousy lottery numbers. So, some forms of income redistribution must come into play. Once we’re troubled by the effects of chance on people’s lives, Rawls says, it’s inevitable we insist that the social order doesn’t exist to secure greater expectations for those better off “unless doing so is to the advantage of those less fortunate.”

Conservatives—would-be aristocrats—put their faith in piggy schemes to increase the expectations of the already wealthy. If the schemes are enacted, some of that wealth, they believe, will “trickle down” to the rest of society; so, they’re quite willing to live with rampant inequality—and injustice. That injustice grows, the more piggy the schemes become. “A scheme is unjust when the higher expectations are excessive,” Rawls says. “If these expectations are decreased, the situation of the least favored would be improved. How unjust an arrangement is depends on how excessive the higher expectations are and to what extent they depend upon the violation of other principles of justice, for example, fair equality of opportunity.”

Avoiding injustice is why we embrace democracy, Rawls says. And in a democracy, those who are best off should not have a veto over the benefits available to the worst off.

Work of Art

You probably know that, for 25 years, Absolut used the commissioned work of renowned artists to sell vodka through "the best print campaign in the history of advertising."

But did you know many renowned artists first worked in advertising?

Rene Magritte left studies at the Académie Royale des Beaux-Arts in Brussels in 1918 to work as a graphic artist in a wallpaper factory, and as a freelance designer of posters, ads, brochures and store catalogs. One day he spotted a painting by Italian artist Giorgio de Chirico and decided surrealistic painting was for him.

Charles Burchfield, after graduating from the Cleveland School of Art, worked as a wallpaper designer for M. H. Birge & Sons Company, in Buffalo. He married and raised five children on his salary. When he was discovered by Edward Hopper and picked up by a New York gallery in 1929, he resigned the job to paint full time.

Willem de Kooning quit school at age 12 to work in merchandising, studying at night at the Rotterdam Academy of Fine Arts and Techniques. At 16, he became the assistant art director for a department store. He continued working in the field to help pay for painting classes at the Académie Royale des Beaux-Arts. After stowing away on the SS Shelly, bound for the US, he found odd jobs around New York as a sign painter, carpenter and window dresser. In 1928, he began to paint figures in the style of  Picasso.

Andy Warhol graduated from Carnegie Mellon University in 1945 with a degree in fine arts. He moved to New York to work for Glamour and quickly became known for his "blotted line" drawings. He also produced over 300 ads for I. Miller Shoes that would run on Sundays in The New York Times. In 1962, Warhol caused a national stir when he debuted his paintings of Campbell's soup cans.

Wayne Thiebaud became a cartoonist as a teenager, working briefly as a Disney animator and a freelance designer of posters and ads. He studied art at California State University in Sacramento, then moved to New York in 1956, where he fell under the spell of Abstract Expressionists like de Kooning. But he soon returned to California and begin to paint pictures of pies, cakes, sandwiches, ice cream sundaes and gumball machines.

Gene Davis worked as a journalist for 35 years (including 6 as editor of the American Automobile Association's monthly magazine), before turning to art full time in 1968. His paintings of brightly colored stripes made him the leader overnight of the Washington Color School; but it was never beneath Davis to take freelance commercial assignments. He created book and magazine covers for DC-area ad agencies until his death in 1985 (he did magazine illustrations for the agency where I worked during the 1980s).

“I hate the decorative arts and advertising,” Magritte said in 1946. 

But many first-rate artists besides Magritte and the others above have worked in them, including N.C. Wyeth, Norman Rockwell, Salvador Dali, Helen Frankenthaler, Keith Haring and Damien Hirst.

Clients

Client comes from the Latin cliens, which denoted a plebeian under a patrician's thumb—a minion.

A client in Ancient Rome wasn't quite a slave, but he was close to it.

Etymologists believe the Latin cliens stemmed either from cluens, meaning "to obey," or from clinare, meaning "to bend."

Client in English originally denoted a lawyer's customer; by the the 17th century, the meaning of the word was extended to denote any professional's customer.

Clients in the 17th century were obedient. (Obey also comes from Latin: obedire meant "to serve" or "to listen to" a superior.) They obeyed professionals' advice.

We've come a long way, baby.

Clients—the vast majority, in any case—have flipped the script.

Clients have quit taking professionals' advice. 

I date that event to 2002, the year the dot-com bubble burst.

Call me spineless, but I cave when a client dismisses my marketing advice. Not immediately, but almost.

While experts say you should stick to your guns and "do what's right." I do neither.

I do neither because I know clients don't actually want advice. 

They want what Roman patricians had.

Minions.

I also know, as Dale Carnegie did, you can't win an argument:

You can’t because if you lose it, you lose it; and if you win it, you lose it. Why? Well, suppose you triumph over the other man and shoot his argument full of holes and prove that he is non compos mentis. Then what? You will feel fine. But what about him? You have made him feel inferior. You have hurt his pride. He will resent your triumph.

Content for All Seasons

Learning never exhausts the mind. 

— Leonardo da Vinci

In terms of traffic, evergreen content pays like an annuity. Smart marketers know that instinctively.

While I'm often psyched about my voguish ramblings, my all-time five most popular posts are anything but:

• Teardrops over Tarawa (May 2016)
• How to Get More from Marketing Automation (May 2011)
• You Ain't No Forrest Gump (April 2017)
• What Makes a Good Slogan? (May 2011)
• Purposeful Storytelling (March 2011)

Three are going on seven years old. None is newer than eight months old.

Besides staying power, what's nice about imperishable content? It generally takes no more effort to write than topical.

Blogger Aaron Orendorff says there are 20 kinds of evergreen content:

Original research. "Primary research is unique, exclusive, and—therefore—powerful," Orendorff says. He's right.

Stat pack. A collection of others' research. Adding commentary increases value.

Case study. A story, plain and simple. And proof of expertise.

Failure. A case study of a train wreck.

Shocking stat. The backstory behind a single statistic.

Beginners' how-to. "True beginner guides are few and far between," Orendorff says. That's why prospects like them.

Advanced how-to. High-level insights from thought leaders.

Checklist. Ideal for non-readers.

Long-term how-to. Strategic advice.

Product guide. Lessons in product selection. "Make your product tutorial about teaching: provide definitions, collect advice from industry experts, and present impartial reviews from third-party sites," Orendorff says.

Resources. A collection of how-to tips.

Best tools. A compendium of free and paid productivity tools for a niche. Including pros and cons and hacks increases value to readers.

Top influencers. A Who's Who in a niche.

Best books. A recommended reading list. Summaries add value. Asking influencers to name their picks adds even more.

Common mistakes. "Every industry has its seven deadly sins," Orendorff says. "Some have more like 10 or 20. Outlining these common mistakes—and providing tips on avoiding and overcoming them—is evergreen pay-dirt."

History of a topic. A timeline that answers, "How did we get here?" A great way to dispel myths.

Tip roundup. A collection of thought leaders' single-greatest tips.

Best—or worst—practices. A variation of the how-to guide: a procedural, but backed by examples. Worst practices can also grab readers' attention. "While best-practice lists are low-hanging evergreen fruit, worst-practice lists give you the opportunity to be just as valuable—and have a lot more fun," Orendorff says.

Glossary. A niche dictionary.

Everything you need to know. The “definitive” or “ultimate” guide to a topic. The encyclopedia entry.

Thankful

This Thanksgiving I'm grateful for Lauren O’Conner.

She's Harvey Weinstein's original accuser, a kind of Rosa Parks. 

Her 2015 memo, leaked to The New York Times, was the basis of the paper's revelations last month. They led within 72 hours to Weinstein's dismissal.

We're going to see many, many executives topple in the coming year, thanks to O'Conner's action. Caddishness frequently accompanies power. And there are many old grievances.

The Weinstein Effect will break the glass ceiling.