It’s time to find our swagger.
Fair warning: this is likely a narrow view of a nuanced and not very original topic. However, as a Scot returning to Scotland after a decade in London, Toronto, and Vancouver, people keep asking me how it feels to be back working in advertising up north. The main things that have struck me are that the talent is just as good, the brands we get to work on are just as interesting, the budgets are lower but so are the costs, and we have access to some of the most innovative people on the planet. There is, however, a bit of a ‘but’—not one that makes the positives irrelevant, but certainly one that, I think, means we don’t always realise our potential. And that’s our humility.
Clearly, we are a nation that has a complex relationship with our identity. In Trainspotting, Mark Renton delivers a famous monologue about Scottish identity, expressing a mix of frustration, self-loathing, and bleak humour:
"It’s shite being Scottish! We’re the lowest of the low. The scum of the f’ing Earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilisation. .... We can’t even find a decent culture to be colonised by. We’re ruled by effete arseholes. It’s a shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy, and all the fresh air in the world won’t make any f’ing difference."
This monologue reflects anger and cynicism, capturing a sense of disillusionment that some associate with the Scottish experience. This is, of course, an extreme view, used for dramatic effect by Irvine Welsh, but it does capture an underlying frustration with how we feel about our place in the world and hints at some of the political, theological, and economic realities that underlie it. I’m not smart enough to unpack the complexity of our social fabric so we will self indulgently focus on the bit that interests me.
Scotland is a nation of innovation and creativity. The Scottish Enlightenment, for instance, was a period marked by intellectual and scientific advancements that had a profound global impact. It’s an era that exemplifies the nation's ambition to push boundaries and foster progress. And it’s not just rosy retrospection. In many ways, the past can’t hold a torch to the present (despite the media narrative), and exciting innovation and creativity abound. However, one thing that connects the past and present is that many Scottish inventors, scientists, and thinkers—despite their significant achievements—remain understated about their accomplishments.
The reluctance to stand out or claim public success is deeply rooted in the culture, a phenomenon sometimes referred to as 'Tall Poppy Syndrome.' It’s not a unique social phenomenon. New Zealand shares a similar ethos, where societal values often discourage standing out or appearing 'too big for one's boots.' A well-known example is the All Blacks rugby team, who, despite their global success, maintain a low-profile, team-oriented approach rather than one centred on individual stars. Working with Canon, I discovered that in Japan a similar idea is captured by a phrase which roughly translates to 'The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.' This expression reflects Japan's emphasis on social harmony, conformity, and prioritising the group over the individual. Clearly, there is something going on with society’s relationship with individualism. On a human level, this attitude often manifests as pragmatism and self-deprecation. Ambition is often accompanied by modesty, and overt displays of success are met with wariness. We sometimes view self-promotion or bragging as distasteful or even arrogant. As a result, ambitious individuals choose to present themselves with humility to avoid backlash or jealousy.
I’m not going to argue that humility isn’t a positive quality. I remember the bitter taste of being repeatedly told that I needed to advocate for myself during my first couple of years as a strategist in London—my social programming was that if you do a good job, people will see that and reward it. And just as I’d acclimatised and become comfortable owning my accomplishments, I moved across the pond, and the jump up in self-promotion was once again a culture shock. I think I could spend the rest of my life in North America and never fully feel comfortable with this aspect of the culture. However, I’ve certainly come to respect certain characteristics that I once found distasteful. It’s probably obvious when you think about it, but the relentless optimism, unashamed ambition, and willingness to take personal accountability with the kind of confidence that inspires confidence often get results.
Perhaps we overly suffer from the spotlight effect - overestimating how much other people notice our success and failure. We know that in reality nobody is really paying much attention. Some might argue that’s because we’re all too self-interested, most of the time we all just have so much going on. So next time you are worrying about that embarrassing comment you made - console yourself with the idea that nobody but you is still thinking about it. And next time you achieve something great, put aside a little humility and proudly celebrate your success in a manner that makes sure that nobody misses it.
Professionally, I think we face a much greater problem. As social animals, it makes sense for us to stick with the herd at times. And the limitations of a society that has got too close to the sun with pure individualism are clear to see. However, when it comes to advertising, fitting in is almost never a good thing—shock, horror. Who would have thunk it? But no matter how aware we are of the rational arguments for creativity - you don’t need me to regurgitate, with less elegance, what Les Binet, Peter Field, Orlando Wood, or any number of extremely smart marketing professionals have already proved: that we need to stand out to be more effective - the comfort of the familiar seems to be an irresistible vice.
Unless you’re spending tens of millions of pounds to get your message in front of your audience in a way that triggers the mere-exposure effect, the reality of not standing out is being ignored. Don’t get me wrong—it takes courage to innovate and open ourselves up to feedback. We live in a world where the media landscape provides immediate and unsolicited commentary on both our personal lives and professional work. In that context, it can be intimidating to make a mistake. However, the beauty for both us and the brands we work on is that in our fragmented and incredibly busy media world, it’s incredibly difficult to truly alienate an audience. Yes, the feedback might be negative, loud, and hard to hear, but if we allow that to create a work culture where mistakes are not allowed, the work we do will be limited by fear and result in ineffective mediocrity.
The other benefit of the continuous feedback loop that we now exist in is that we can objectively measure both long- and short-term success. (Our destructive shift towards short-termism is another topic covered in detail but often ignored.) But this measurement consistently demonstrates that effective advertising thrives on confidence, audacity, and the willingness to challenge norms—all of which can feel at odds with the cultural tendency to 'play it safe.'
So what if humility can get in the way of personal and professional ambition? It might even be one of the defining features of our national character. What good is the perspective of a strategist who’s spent a bit of time cultivating a little ostentation abroad? I’m aware this article isn’t going to change a history of resilience, community, and pragmatism. But, hopefully, it can remind us that this reluctance to self-promote—our aversion to 'getting above ourselves'—can be a barrier, hindering our ability to embrace the boldness and ambition necessary to craft campaigns that stand out in an increasingly crowded marketplace.
My plea is that we set our ambition on the global stage: brands that succeed aren't just good; they're unmissable. Like Nike, we need to be willing for a noisy minority to burn our shoes to inspire a larger, more profitable, group to wear them. Brené Brown would encourage us to choose courage over comfort, but my rallying cry is far less inspirational. In my experience the steps we take to encourage stepping out of our comfort zone don’t need to be grand. It can be as simple as creating space for recognising and sharing achievements, reframing risk as opportunity so that we start to view minor setbacks as stepping stones towards success, working collaboratively with people who help us challenge norms ( it’s much easier to push boundaries when we do it together), and finally, measuring the effectiveness of our work. At the end of the day, we will only truly shift focus from crafting 'safe' campaigns that blend into the background noise to those that truly resonate, surprise, and provoke when we track metrics that validate the success of an incremental approach that builds our collective confidence in our discipline.
