Mr. Edutainment (Adam Fairhead) writes daily notes (since 2017) about making and marketing your ideas, creativity, storytelling, and leading a creative-led business for over 20 years. Artist and family man at heart.
We want to see the backstory behind your brand.
We want to see what you stand for, and what you stand against.
We want to know what you’ll always do, and never do.
We want to know what annoys you about your industry.
We want to know what you’re working on, that you know could be better.
These things all matter, when we consider buying from you.
It tells us more about your product, and endears us to your brand, more than you realize.
If machines write your copy,
and machines design your pages,
and machines write your code,
and machines generate your images,
adn machines build your products,
and machines answer your phone,
and machines handle your emails,
and machines have your ideas,
and machines run your reports,
and machines run support,
and machines plan your future,
and you sit watching them do it,
Remind us why we should pay you?
Teenage Engineering, a company that makes synths, announced they’re no longer making synths.
They said the products aren’t the company.
“Then what IS the company?!” cried many.
A company is a group of people.
A brand is a story with a host.
A product is an expression of that story, by that group of people.
When a company says the products aren’t the company… they’re right.
A company doesn’t even need products to be profitable (though they certainly help).
Great example of how the rules aren’t set in stone, it’ll be interesting to watch what they do next.
Think about all of your competitors.
Now factor in…
Most don’t care like you do.
Most won’t reach out for new business.
Most aren’t practicing very much.
Most don’t get back to leads very fast.
Most don’t have great people skills.
Most aren’t actually good at what they do.
Most have no process nor structure, and it shows.
Most bail at the first sign of trouble.
How many competitors are left?
Not that many.
The world’s smaller than you think.
There’s plenty of room for you. Plenty.
Stop worrying about how much your tools cost.
Worry about what you can make with them.
From what I see in many creatives and how they spend their time: If they spent half the time they spent evaluating tech and other tooling, and instead poured that time back into their craft, they may find the tools they have will have earned their keep twice over, and their output would increase dramatically.
Less shopping. More shipping.
Agonizing over details gets a bad reputation.
Unduly so, I think.
I agonize over details all the time.
Once keys systems are operational…
Once everyone’s unblocked and moving…
Once the priorities are clearly understood…
I agonize.
I agonize over key art, so it looks exactly right.
I agonize over words, so they sound and feel right.
I agonize over characters and their personalities.
I agonize over layouts, type, and brand voice.
Why agonize, when good is usually good enough?
Because it matters. Because I care. And that’s rare these days.
Skipping out of care is skipping out on a rarity that makes your work special… providing you keep shipping.
Care is usually only found among the excellent, and those who never ship anything.
Just be careful to end up in the right camp.
I write a lot of recaps.
Recaps for teams to run a project forward based on my vision.
Recaps for stakeholders to see how far we’ve come.
Recaps for partnerships to see what’s on the horizon.
AI’s good at recaps. But when I use AI to help with recaps, doing recaps on my own becomes slower. I don’t subconsiously hold onto the same details I otherwise would. I don’t feel the shape of the work in my mind. I don’t remember the things that happened. Because if a machine is doing it for me, the brain says, “why bother, then?”
The problem worsens. Now, I don’t see the details. I don’t guide the work well because I don’t see the shape anymore. I forget things.
Ick.
This is why I continue to write my own recaps.
Not because the machine can’t.
Because I can’t, when it can.
I’d prefer to know the shape of my work and guide it to great places, and have to write things up periodically, than save a few minutes at the expense of my best work.
Several Photoshop and Lightroom clones are circulating online at the moment.
They recreate most of what those apps do, for free, offline.
Some are downloading and using them.
Others see it and think, “No, I’d rather pay.”
Why is this?
Because some people don’t just want a free alternative to the monthly grind of Adobe’s Creative Cloud.
They want a viable, long-term alternative.
One that has humans that will stand by the product for a long time, stewarding the project, fixing the bugs, and ensuring it remains a reliable, responsible choice both now and long into the future.
It turns out, software isn’t going to zero… because the software itself wasn’t the whole product.
The software plus the commitment from people who care… that’s the product. And care is still rare.
When you’re at your desk, and you’re about to pick up your phone…
Stop.
What is the thing you were about to do, that led you to reach for the magic box?
There’s friction there.
You’re either about to do something you’re afraid of, tired of, too tired for, or shouldn’t be doing.
Be brave. Get a glass of water. Decide if it’s your work or not. If it is, proceed.
This is the work.
If AI can generate a video of your exact likeness, lip syncing to your exact audio track, why bother getting a camera out and doing it “for real”?
Some argue: no reason at all. It slows you down, looks less polished, costs more money, for no obvious benefit.
Others argue: Because we feel the difference. When we notice, we move on, feeling cheated. That “hoping people don’t notice” is precisely the type of thing that dissolves brand equity.
Most agree it’s an argument about whether AI is good or bad.
It’s not, at all. It’s actually an argument about whether telling the truth is good or bad.
That’s an argument that should be much easier to pick a side on.
Some brands are built for everyone. To service everyone, appeal to everyone, to be “a household name”.
Others ask who they’re building for, servicing, appealing to, “whose household?”
Which is your work aimed at?
Two paths, polar opposites, both viable:
Mine a lead list as quickly and forcefully as you can, extract as much as you can, until you need to move onto the next list.
Nourish a market as patiently and generously as you can, invest as much as you can, until they would buy from no one else.
Makes no sense to judge your path by the fruits of the other’s.
They’re completely incomparible.
When you choose one, don’t even think about the other. Their data, inputs and results aren’t for you.
How do you have an idea to share every single day and publish it?
Step 1: Think about your craft every day, enough that you can formulate the thought in words.
Step 2: Have a place you can push “Publish” easily.
There is no Step 3. It’s that simple.
I hope you’ll do it too. I’d love to read it.
Today, someone described my spending habits as “abundant creativity”.
And I learned “what is easy to spend” for yourself is an indicator of what you prioritize in yourself.
Thought that was interesting.
I’d rather pay artists to create, than Apple for a phone. I’d rather pay for 10 cheap notebooks I can hash idea through abundantly, than 1 fancy one that demands every page be a polished idea. I’d rather pay for an amazing screen tablet people sometimes deem ‘expensive’ only because they upgrade their smartphones so frequently (I’m spending less!) I’d rather pay for a NAS to store all of my ideas, than for subscription services to rent all of someone else’s. I’d rather have piles of creative journals, books, and magazines all over my office to peruse in free moments, than pick up a phone to doomscroll “for free”.
It was pointed out to me that these were all very coherent things. And it made me think… what a fascinating thought exercise that is.
What is “easy to spend” for you, and what does that tell you about yourself?
Is it “easy to spend” on your business, on avant garde ideas, on great creativity and customer experiences?
Is it “easy to spend” on your craft, on advancing your skills, on creating more than you thought you could?
Or is it “easy to spend” on consumption devices, to numb out from the world, or at least be forever tempted to do so?
Artists have long had a choice: content-factory production, or original, provenential creativity.
Some introduce the AI conversation as a destruction of art. And it’s true… for the first option.
But was that option “art” to begin with?
And given that, does that actually distinguish the difference even moreso than ever before, elevating the second option with even more meaning and connection? An opportunity to see those who commission such pieces as brands of culture, heart, reelvance, and depth?
Could the change actually be making the second option more desirable for those who understand what’s really going on, the role artwork has always played between people, or people and brands?
Could the change mean artists are spared those who didn’t take the time to understand, preferring to ignorantly marginalize themselves to save a few dollars, unaware of how they signal that to customers daily, and that such decisions don’t go unnoticed?
Artists have long had a choice. Many say there’s never been a worse time to create art. I’d argue there’s never been a better one.
If you want to create and spread your ideas, but most people don’t want what you want…
Then why do as they do?
If they all use a certain phone. Spend their evenings in a certain way. Go to certain places. Think certain things are cool while others are not. Wear certain styles. Listen to certain bands…
If all of their inputs equal an output you don’t want…
…Why worry, even for a second, about doing as they do, buying what they buy, listening to what they listen to, or thinking as they think?
Welcome to weirdtown. You’ll be happy here.
I’ve written before about making your six-year-old self proud.
And I (re)discovered another way to connect with him lately, that has been really engaging me.
Early-nineties toys.
When they arrive in the mail, and you see toys (sometimes with original packaging) that you loved when you were little, it brings back the same rush of emotions you felt back then, mixed with a little nostalgia and longing.
The emotions are the important part. They’re like bookmarks in your brain, tapping into parts of your mind you may not otherwise have stumbled upon.
I’ve been enjoying reconnecting with parts of little-me I’d forgotten all about.
If you liked who you were as a kid — before the weight of the world and its toil and trouble — consider picking up a few relics of the past. See if you don’t learn something along the way.
Which is faster?
Option 1: Taking decent-ish photos, importing them to your computer, and using some new-fangled whiz-bang frontier AI tech to hack it into looking great
Option 2: Learning how to frame a shot before you shoot, so you don’t need to crop. Learning how to adjust ISO, aperture, and shutter speed while you shoot, so you don’t need to recover and doctor so much detail in post. Learning your cameras configuration options ahead of time, setting how colour or contrast or white balance will look before you show up to shot.
Option 1 is pitched as the super-productive option. No need to learn anything. Just click a few buttons and away you go!
Option 2 is the actual super-productive option… if you’re prepared to learn a few things. Then you don’t even need to click those buttons, it’s already done, before you got home.
I understand that there’s a place for both of these things, and many other options, too.
But let’s not forget which is the best option… if we’re prepared to do a little tiny bit of studying and practice.
If we can choose how to feel (we can), maybe we should choose optimism.
Some may say, “That’s makes no sense, look at this data.”
But data is knowledge. Optimism is a feeling. Knowledge doesn’t get to unilaterally decide feelings.
Heck, knowledge doesn’t even get to unilaterally decide outcomes.
But feelings can.
So when in doubt, perhaps it’s better to set yourself up for success by choosing optimism regardless.
The artist often fears business, worrying about becoming marginalized or corrupted, along with their work.
The businessperson often fears art, worrying about the unpredictable and avant garde nature of new ideas.
Yet each solve’s the other’s problem. Businesses struggle when they only follow the footprints of their peers, shying away from exciting new ideas and experiences. And artists struggle to make a bigger contribution when their platform is limited to the time left over.
They don’t need each other.
But what might happen if they got along?
Many creatives right now spend a lot of time…
Complaining about AI
Complaining about what a company is doing
Complaining about what other artists are doing
Complaining about the job market
Complaining about clients
Complaining about not having enough time
None of these things are unreasonable.
But I can’t help but wonder, if that time were reinvested into optimistically doing one’s best work, with the time, skill, resources and audience available to them today, in spite of the rest… revealing to the rest of the world what a focused deployment of original creativity looks like…
…Would that not silence so many of their concerns?
When we’re clear, we know what to do with that extra five minutes we found.
When we’re clear, we know what apps should be open on our machine right now.
When we’re clear, we know what projects are an immediate “No”, even when they sound good.
When we’re clear, we know how to feel calm even when everything is going on.
When we’re clear, team members know what the focus is, and contribute meaningfully.
When we’re clear.
First, get clear.
If a programmer can produce code that is approximately what you wanted…
Still has a few bugs for you to catch and describe for them to solve…
Still needs your direction to make it right but will solve it with your oversight…
…That’s why people are using AI to write code instead.
Because dealing with the programmer, and the LLM, is the same experience, to them.
If, however, the programmer can produce code that is right…
With enough care to remove the bugs before you see it…
With enough care to show up with the direction and commitment to see it through per your brief…
With enough care to let you delegate to competence in knowing it’ll be taken care of…
…That’s when people wouldn’t dream of rolling the dice on LLMs.
Like I’ve said before in my notes here:
First place goes to humans who care most.
Second place goes to the machines.
Third place goes to humans who don’t care enough.
I talked with a customer today.
He told me the StrategyComic he bought from my company had changed everything about his business, and one part in particular stood out for me:
When he’d gotten really, really clear about who his target audience is, what they wanted, and how they wanted it… they showed up. They matched the exact description the strategy had uncovered and described. And they were ready to go.
You attract what you put out. You just need to be specific.
Think you know your audience well enough?
Name their favourite Pokémon when they were younger.
Everyone had one, if they were into it, and they’ll have a reason for why they chose who they chose.
The reason will be more nuanced than you may think, and it’ll reveal things about them.
Naturally, you’re not going to weight “favourite Pokémon” over any other metric in a business strategy.
But the thought exercise is useful anyway: you don’t know them as well as you think you do. Never stop learning.
You can tell when tech people make art decisions (“just generate all the pictures, it’s faster and it looks the same!”)
You can tell when sales people make marketing decisions (“just put 20 ‘call now’ buttons on every page, that’ll get more calls!”)
You can tell when people without a heart for something, make a decision about that something. It leaves consumers feeling empty and short-changed, while the decision-maker remains oblivious.
It’s really quite simple to fix.
“Can’t you just generate more posts now there are 3,202 to train an LLM on?”
Probably. But then it wouldn’t be my notes, would it?
It’d just be a close approximation of my notes, based on past ideas.
It’d just be an echo of a daily exercise designed to keep me thinking and ideating.
What would be the point in that?
Slog is underrated.
That animated movie you loved as a child? It was made with love — it was a slog to produce.
That graphic novel that looks like someone bled onto every page? Someone did — it was a slog to produce.
That illustration that looks like it took a lifetime to learn the skills for? It did — it was a slog to produce.
The slog makes it rare, special, different. We can feel it when we see it.
We’ll probably notice this much more as the generative slop continues to grow.
I noticed today that I shoot photos in the same way I draw art.
As though there are a set of “rules” I adhere to, that reflect how I see the world.
Not sure exactly how to describe it, yet. Tell a story, capture a moment. Subdued colour, cosy melancholic. Let focus spring out in colour like creativity and life do, from anywhere, almost as if spotted by accident.
Anyway, since noticing it, I decided to share the “recipes” from my camera, in case you’d like to try them out too.
They’re for Ricoh GR cameras, and can be programmed into U1/U2/U3 for easy access.
Quiet Life is my everyday colour recipe: natural colour, earthy tones, softer highlights and enough richness for colour to stand out when the world offers it.
Quiet Mono is the black-and-white counterpart. Deeper blacks, lots of greys and a little more emphasis on shape, without turning everything into ultra-gritty street photography.
They’re on the My Ricoh GR Recipes page if you’d like to check out the settings.
“Rock music isn’t meant to be perfect” — Ozzy
If you make music, include the imperfections that let us feel like we can hear the instrument, not just the music.
If you make art, include the double strokes and black-outs that hide mistakes, that let us feel like we can see the ink, not just the lines.
If you make words, write like you talk, so we can hear your voice and your personality, not just Grammarly-perfect prose.
If you make software, ship with with your opinions, not an MBA’s take on what “right” is, so we can feel your hand guiding us, not another Jira-clone.
Perfection was never the goal.
I create a newsletter called GrowthCandy. Each issue shares one idea to help build and spread your work, delivered as a short comic. Fast to read. Easy to apply. Hard to forget!