How the search for the ultimate career in creativity took one writer out of the advertising industry and into the church. By Tony Biaggne

Just a year and a half ago I was working as a creative at a prominent advertising agency. Things were good. The money was cash-tastic. I was living the dream career that dated back more than twenty years. Right now, I am typing this sentence from a small office at a church in the suburbs in St. Louis, where I now work full-time. You could say my career path has taken a slight detour, and I couldn’t be happier. Oh, and a little secret for you…the church has got more creativity going for it than any place around. 

To help you understand how this all went down I feel a little back-story is in order. I am a child of the ‘80’s. Actually, I was born in 1975, but I don’t remember too much about my first five years. I think God does this on purpose to prevent any unnecessary emotional baggage that will need to be unpacked in future therapy sessions. You see, the good times really begin at age six. As such, the bulk of my childhood memories come from this very bizarre decade known to some as the Reagan era.

Now I realize everyone feels like the decade of their life between the ages of 6 through 16 were magic, and woe to anyone who wasn’t born during that time, because they really were the good old days. But you gotta hear me on this one: The ‘80’s rocked all shades of awesome. From the toys to the cartoons, from videogames to cereals, the ‘80’s had more plastic and sugar-pop going for it than any other decade. It was the perfect storm between kid and commercialism.

And then there were the ads. This decade brought us some of the most memorable commercials in advertising, and I ate them up right alongside my second helping of C3PO’s. When elderly actress Clara Peller belted out “Where’s the beef?” for Wendy’s it created a catch phrase phenomenon that’s still making its rounds. For Fred the Baker, it was always “Time to make the donuts” over at Dunkin’ Donuts. Zack taught me to be a Lego maniac. And you can’t tell me you didn’t slightly tear up when Mean Joe Green tossed that kid his jersey after downing his Coke (in less than five seconds…how’d he do that?). Then there were the mascots. Energizer Bunny, Spuds McKenzie, Max Headroom, the California Raisins. Sometimes funny, sometimes cheesy, advertising in the 1980’s was un-PC, raw, often completely oblivious to reality, and totally narcissistic. Now that’s advertising.

The people who made these commercials not only convinced me to buy whatever carrot they dangled before my eyes, they gave me a passion for the art of advertising. I knew that was the business for me. I wanted to be the guy to write the next tagline, or give a dog a name that would live in infamy or write the next jingle that would stick in your head like peanut butter. For me, working in advertising was like being a film director or novelist; only your stories are just one page or roughly thirty seconds long. It was a chance to be an influencer. A significant cog in the great wheel of commerce. It also seemed like a boatload of fun.

I got my shot during my last year in college as a junior copywriter at a small agency in Chicago. Sure, I wasn’t going to work on the next multi-million dollar campaign, but I was in the biz. I was in advertising.

So what if I was working on a brochure for helium balloon weights? I had a foot in the door, and it felt good. I felt good. As a creative, I thoroughly enjoyed watching my ideas come to life off the print press in all its four-colored glory. I smiled humbly as clients championed my concepts with a pat on the back and a nice celebration dinner. These moments reaffirmed the dream I had as a child of the ‘80’s. I had found my place in the world at the mere age of 22.

A few years later I applied for and received an offer at a prominent agency in St. Louis. I had arrived. Here I was, working on the top national brands with some of the top creative minds in the biz. It was your typical “I can’t believe I work here” environment. People traveled from point A to point B on scooters, brought their dogs to work, and frequently comped lavish lunches and outings to Busch Stadium under “Creative Comprehension” time. Even the work was fun, not to mention incredibly fascinating. The entire premise of advertising is to figure out the psyche of a demographic and then exploit the heck out of it for the benefit of a brand. For me, figuring out what made a demographic tick was exhilarating. The palette is emotion; the canvas is whatever medium you want it to be. The result creates a new reality solely designed to bring a consumer one step closer to a purchase. Given, it’s a totally false reality, but for the most part it’s a harmless one, and if done right, a welcomed diversion to discuss around the water cooler.

You know the old saying about something sounding too good to be true? It took me about a year to find what that thing was in this situation. See, the process of selling a successful creative idea to a client is as follows:

Step one: Client expresses a need.
Step two: Agency cooks up an idea.
Step three: Agency pitches idea to client.
Step four: Client approves idea and agency delivers.
Step five: Client pays agency.
Step six: Client gives agency new job.

Fairly simple. The only problem was this formula played out in this manner about 2% of the time. The other 98% looked like this:

Step one: Client expresses a need.
Step two: Agency cooks up an idea.
Step three: Agency pitches idea to client.
Step four: Client approves idea, and agency goes to work.
Step five: Idea gets ground down to nothing more to a nub of its former self due to a number of hurdles including budget, focus change, market downturn, wind & barometer changes, paper vs. plastic, differentiating opinions of Rambo films, and the collapse of the boy band era circa 2001.
Step six: Client pays agency.
Step seven: Client gives agency new job. 

And there it was. It’s not that the ideas were bad. It was what happened after the idea was sold that started to wear me down. I noticed that for a number of reasons on both the client and agency side the pure essence of the idea, the very thing that made it a good idea in the first place, wasn’t making its way to the print press. And notice the formula. From ideation, to conceptualization, to presentation, to completion, everything was all spades. There was just that nagging little part known as Step Five where the idea suffered from deflation. And that’s not what we want as creatives, right? We want to see our babies grow up to these big, beautiful ideas that move and shake people. We don’t want them to be the embarrassing “could’ve beens” in our portfolio, like a family member who had so much potential but took up yarn collecting instead, and the best we can do is look at them with a tsk-tsk and think of what could’ve been. After a while, the free lunches didn’t taste as good. It didn’t matter that my boss loved my work, and that our clients bought the idea. What mattered was the beating the idea took in Step Five. This wore on me so much that I started to wonder if good ideas even mattered anymore.

How did the geniuses of the ‘80’s do it? How come their ideas didn’t lose steam? After talking with other co-workers who have created some of the industry’s most memorable work, I realized I wasn’t alone. Then, after reading a few books from industry leaders, I discovered many of my ad heroes faced the unfortunate reality which I call the 2% rule. About 98% of what we do as creatives in advertising will be avoided at all costs. It’s the 2% that makes us do what we do. The rest is torn out of magazines by annoyed readers, skipped over by Tivo, or simply forgotten because it had zero impact. That’s the worst thought as a creative; having zero impact on something we pour our entire selves into. And here I was, adding my share of junk mail to the pile. It was the first time I panicked about my career choice. What was I going to do? Would the 2% rule really be enough for me? Am I just thinking crazy?

If God gave me the gift of creativity, then that means He’s invested in me for His glory. If I were to invest in something and all I got was a 2% return, I would consider that a pretty poor excuse for an investment. I wanted my work to matter. Something that would maybe even change a life or two. I know, a dangerous thought. So I talked to the pastor at the church my wife and I attend and eventually we came up with a job description that allowed me to use my creativity in various ways throughout the building. So I packed up my writing materials and all those dangerous thoughts and took the leap. Not an easy decision, mind you. At the time, I was being offered another position at a different agency for a lot more money. And the ego in me really wanted to stay in what was such a cool industry. I was walking away from something I had always dreamed I would be a part of. It was the hardest career decision I’ve ever had to make.

And? Well? Was it worth it? As you know being a creative in a church has its drawbacks. For one, the almighty dollar has its way in holding you back with what you dream up and what you can actually do. And two, I don’t expect my work to be the next thing some dudes in New York are talking about during their next trip to the water cooler. But I can say the rule of 2% no longer exists. There’s real value in what I do, and I can see it first hand every weekend on the faces of those whose lives are being changed by the ultimate Creator. And Step Five no longer plays a role into whether or not my ideas make it to the print press. The people I work with are the decision makers, and we all share the core value of using creativity to draw people to the Father in ways never imagined. We do this because we know the stakes are a lot higher than a campaign’s effectiveness at selling cheese. I’m not saying a career in advertising is worthless. It’s incredibly fascinating, fun and, more importantly, it helps to put food on the table for many creatives. I’m also not saying you can’t fulfill your creative passion through volunteering. Quite the opposite. I work with many people who are more than satisfied in helping me out with different projects while maintaining their day job. But like any creative who values impact over anything else, I have found that the church can offer creatives, whether they are staff or volunteers, what they’ve always wanted: A place to realize their true potential as artists and be a part of something that is way bigger than all of us.

I’m realizing more and more each day why art was once such a vital part of the church, and why it’s making such a comeback. We are a faith made up of stories. These are some of the most beautiful, mysterious, violent, and redemptive stories that have ever been told. And we’re to tell them as best as we can. And, unlike the industry I loved so much, the potential we have to really move others is right in front of us. It’s immediately possible because it’s the same thing we want. To know we are not alone in our own messed up story. That we have a God who is longing to love us with grace if only we’d reach out a little more. The church needs more creatives to stand up and be bold with their stories.

Just the other day I got an email from a friend who works at an agency and has done some fantastic work. Throughout the course of his email he expressed to me how lucky I was that I found a place to really be creative, and that he wished he had the same. The church, a really creative place…imagine that! And he’s right. I am lucky. And so are you. So be bold with your work, and know that others are watching in awe. And who knows, maybe the work you do one day will inspire a young kid to work in a really creative place like the church.

Church shouldn't be boring. That simple philosophy has kept Tony Biaggne busy for more than two years as Director of Creative Communications at Windsor Crossing in St. Louis, Missouri. From overall church branding to experiential moments during its four weekend services, Tony caters to ideas that are deeply personal, profoundly relational, and totally un-boring. Prior to Windsor, Tony worked for seven years in advertising as a copywriter and creative strategist, producing campaigns for national brands including Miller Brewing, Sony Entertainment, Starbucks, and Energizer. Recently, Tony has been a contributor to Advent Conspiracy, an international movement designed to restore the scandal of Christmas by worshipping Jesus through compassion instead of consumption. He has also written a feature-length animated screenplay, www.stitchedmovie.com.  His world was just rocked by William P. Young's book The Shack, and he kicks it as much as possible with his two sons and wife, Kathee.