Thursday, November 12, 2026

George Lois and the Bronx Band-Aid Hustle

Famous ad man George Lois wasn’t from Madison Avenue.

He was from the Bronx. A place where if you didn’t learn to talk fast, you learned to punch faster. And if you couldn’t do either, you didn’t last long enough to worry about advertising.


George Lois (1931-2022)

Let’s go back with George to the early 1960s: Renault dealers are sitting on a pile of last year’s cars. Nobody wants ‘em. Shiny, clean, and obsolete … which is about the worst word you can slap on a car, or a man, for that matter.

The standard response? Knock five hundred bucks off and pray someone bites.

But George Lois wasn’t the praying type. He was the make it happen type.

And he gets an idea. A nasty, beautiful Bronx idea.

He grabs a tin of Band-Aids and a penknife and drives around to all the Renault lots and gives each car a little love tap. Just a nick. A scratch. The tiniest imperfection you could hide under a Band-Aid.

Then he runs this ad:

If you can spot the imperfection on one of our Renaults, we’ll give you $500 off.

That’s it. No jingles, no pretty models leaning on hoods, no “Act Now!”

The people came running.

Because suddenly it wasn’t about buying last year’s car. It was about the hunt. It was about beating the system.

And, in that Bronx-bred, streetwise way, George knew that everyone wants to feel like they’re smarter than the guy selling them something.

By noon the next day, every single car was gone. Not because people wanted Renaults. But because they wanted to feel like they’d won.

That’s the magic of George Lois.

He didn’t sell cars. He sold stories. And the sweet thrill of gaming the game.


Wednesday, November 11, 2026

Writers are having their “Craftsman Movement Moment”


Writers' Craftsman Movement Moment

In the late 19th century, the Craftsman Movement emerged as a reaction to industrialization and the growing flood of machine-made goods. Suddenly, everything could be produced faster, cheaper, and in greater quantities. What had once required skill, patience, and a human hand could now roll off an assembly line by the thousands.

Figures like William Morris and Gustav Stickely believed that something was being lost when handmade objects gave way to factory-made goods. Machines could produce things faster and cheaper, but where was the individuality? The skill? The human connection between maker and object?

Writers are having a similar moment.

AI can produce an article, a poem, a press release, or a thousand words about the importance of authenticity before I've finished brewing my first cup of coffee. And just as the Craftsman Movement questioned whether mass production was making better things, writers are beginning to question whether automated content is making better writing.

AI can assemble sentences, organize arguments, imitate voices, and produce something that looks suspiciously like a finished thought. It can even sound thoughtful, which is perhaps its most impressive trick. But sounding thoughtful and having something worth thinking about are two different activities.

Writing isn't simply arranging words into sentences that sound intelligent. It's observation, experience, and judgment. It's the unexpected connection, the odd detail, the opinion that takes time to develop. A machine can imitate the finished product, but that doesn't mean it understands the journey.

Back to the comparison with the Craftsman Movement. Both movements push back against the assumption that greater production automatically means greater progress. Both defend the value of the person behind the product. Both recognize that the process matters, not just the finished object. Both movements are really about resisting the idea that efficiency is the ultimate measure of value ... just because something can be produced faster doesn't mean it's worth more.

The challenge for writers isn't to compete with AI at producing words. That's a race to the bottom and the machines have more stamina. It's to remember why we write in the first place. To notice things. To question things. To make connections. To say something in a way that sounds unmistakably human.

Me? I’ll use the tools, but I refuse to outsource my thinking. I still want to wrestle with a sentence, change my mind halfway through a paragraph, and discover what I think by trying to explain it. And I want everybody to remember that the person behind the work still matters.



Tuesday, November 10, 2026

Digging for Strategy



When I work with a new copy or content client, I half-listen to the polished pitch. I’m waiting for the moment they stop reciting what they do… and tell me why people actually show up at their door reaching for their wallets.

That moment is gold. Because that’s where strategy lives.

Most businesses bury it under brand-speak: “quality solutions,” “customer-focused excellence,” or whatever other beige language they picked up from a mission-statement generator. I let them get through that, then ask them to complete one simple sentence: “People come to us when…”

Often they freeze and then they deliver the safest, dullest possible answer.

So, I pull out the exercise: Ten minutes: Pen. Paper. No editing. No corporate varnish. As many times as you can, complete the sentence: “People come to us when…”

Somewhere in that 10 minutes they start writing the real answers … and everything opens up.

Suddenly, we’re talking about the actual moments customers rely on them: the 11 p.m. emergency call, the founder who still picks up the phone, the tiny human details that make the business matter. That raw material is what we build the strategy from:

  • messaging that sounds like a real company
  • content that points customers in the right direction
  • a voice that isn’t made of drywall
  • positioning rooted in reality, not wishful thinking

Clients think hiring a writer means “fix our words.” But the work is deeper. We’re not decorating. We’re excavating. And an effective way to begin the dig is with that one exercise of completing the sentence "People come to us when…"


 

Monday, November 9, 2026

Fortune Cookies for Copywriters

After snapping the fortune cookie in half, I was disappointed with the generic fortune: "You will find great success in your endeavors". Which got me thinking about fortunes I would have preferred to have found ... 

Fortune Cookies for Copywriters

Your Fortune: One day your work will go viral. It will not be the work you are proud of.

Your Fortune: The Oxford comma will start a war in your office. Pick a side. Defend it with your life.

Your Fortune: Data will tell you what happened. It will never tell you why humans are the way they are.

Your Fortune: The brief was two pages. The feedback will be twelve.

Your Fortune: Emotion opens the door. Logic lets the reader feel okay about walking through it.

Your Fortune: The stock photo you chose was also chosen by your competitor. And their competitor. And a dental office in Tulsa.

Your Fortune: The headline you called "too weird" was the one they would have remembered.

Your Fortune: A/B test everything. Even this fortune.


Fortune Cookies for Copywriters


Your Fortune: You will craft the perfect headline at 11:47pm. You will not write it down.

Your Fortune: Clarity is a superpower. Jargon is its kryptonite. Leverage your core competencies accordingly.

Your Fortune: "Just a small tweak" -- ancient proverb meaning: "Start over"

Your Fortune: Features tell. Benefits sell. Neither matters if no one reads past the headline.

Your Fortune: You will spend three hours writing. They will spend three seconds reading. Make peace with this.

Your Fortune: Authenticity cannot be workshopped into existence. And yet, the workshop has been scheduled.

Your Fortune: You are not selling a product. You are handing someone a mirror and saying: this is who you could be.

Your Fortune: The revision that "shouldn't take long" will take all day. Clear your afternoon.


Fortune Cookies for Copywriters

Your Fortune: Somewhere, a competitor is outspending you. Outthink them instead.

Your Fortune: A story well told is a price tag forgotten.

Your Fortune: Your gut is a data point too. It has been right before. It will be right again. It will also be wrong. Trust it anyway.

Your Fortune: "We want it to feel premium but also approachable, edgy but also safe, bold but also timeless." Your next brief, verbatim.

Your Fortune: The whitespace is not empty. It is breathing room. Let the reader exhale.

Your Fortune: No one shares content that makes them feel average.

Your Fortune: You have approximately 2.3 seconds to earn the next 2.3 seconds. Then again. Then again. Forever.


Your Fortune: The brand guidelines will be 74 pages long. Three people have read them. You are one of them.




George Lois and the Bronx Band-Aid Hustle

Famous ad man George Lois wasn’t from Madison Avenue. He was from the Bronx. A place where if you didn’t learn to talk fast, you learned to ...