A common topic of discussion at creative agencies is how we can make creative reviews more effective, such that we can swiftly trim the fat and strengthen the weaknesses of a given concept. But creative reviews aren’t just about editing the work. Reviews are where designers and writers first find (or lose) their footing. It’s where they see glimpses of other’s processes, and find new techniques. It’s also a vulnerable, delicate thing, to present fresh ideas. And the best CDs know how to thread the needle of constructive feedback, create a safe place, etc. But given the incubative nature of the war room, perhaps the question we should be asking isn’t how can we create better work, but how can we create better creatives?

When it comes to developing creative talent, there are two archetypes that creative departments tend to create — that of the truck driver and that of the astronaut.

Truck drivers are practical, deadline-conscious, students of the industry. They prioritize efficiency and are grounded in best practices. They have a destination in mind before they ever put the key in the ignition. Dependable craftsmen.

Astronauts are not concerned with destinations. Ok, maybe IRL they’re extremely concerned with destinations, but this is a metaphor based on a romanticized ideal. And in this metaphor, the destination an astronaut aims for is somewhere exciting, somewhere new, somewhere nobody’s ever been before. They're less worried about breaking the budget as they are breaking the sound barrier.

The former is created in an environment of strict processes and an ever-present pressure to optimize. The latter is borne of high standards and higher ambitions, with a safety net large enough to handle the occasional crash landing. They both have their value. A truck driver can confidently and consistently get you from point A to point B, but they’ll never take you to the moon.

The best creatives I’ve ever worked with exist somewhere in between. Operating in a culture inspired by excellence rather than a process that directs it. Hands on the wheel, head in the clouds — map locked away in the glove compartment.

A couple of times a year, at every agency I know of, the magic words “a culture of creativity” get tossed around. Every CCO or ECD has at one time or another thought to themselves, “If we can build a culture that is creative enough, then the quality of our work will improve to such a degree that we can raise our rates, and I can finally buy that diamond flat-brim hat I’ve had my eye on.” But what even is culture? Why does creative culture, to so many creatives, sound like such bullshit?

Despite the repeated meetings, emails, and meetings that should’ve been emails about its importance, creative culture is seldom actively pursued, defined, or invested in by creative leads. It’s sprayed around the agency like an air freshener, fresh linen and eucalyptus, but in a couple of hours, everything is back to smelling like bullshit.

Culture is a set of beliefs, taboos, and motivations that require real effort and belief to work. It’s like a religion. Creative culture guides the group and keeps everyone working toward the same creative goals, even when our tasks and responsibilities are wildly different. And like a religion, it needs tenets.

Many agencies never articulate their culture past the most basic of principles. Make something great, get promoted. Make something bad, get fired. This is a poor foundation — one that creates an environment where most creatives are more concerned with staying employed than they are getting promoted. Risk aversion permeates. So the number one priority at an agency like this, as directed by their own ill-defined culture, isn’t to make something great, but to make something not bad. And in an industry where standing out is paramount, not bad is in reality worse than actually bad. At least bad work might get noticed for how bad it is. This isn’t a religion. It’s a death cult.

A strong culture requires clear priorities and motivations, literally written down and discussed at regular intervals, interrogated, debated, and ritually reinforced. It gives junior creatives a north star to follow when they’re unsure and senior creatives the structure they need to take big swings and make impactful work.

The Ten Commandments, the Seven Deadly Sins, call it what you may, but you need rules. Just like with creative work, you can’t explore every idea in every direction. Focus is what creates real progress. Resources are finite and the gods demand a sacrifice.