Busting the Brahman Bubble

Lord Chuckles McSpanky is on to something here. Most foreign agencies in the ‘creative capital’ of Amsterdam tend towards the most splendid of isolations. They fly their creative Brahmans in from all over the world but ignore the local talents. So, here we are, living with a whole caste of latte sipping Anglo-Saxons that has descended upon Amsterdam - the picturesque canals and bridges a mere backdrop for their brilliant ideas.

Seated safely within their self-contained creative Bubble, the Brahmans cherry-pick big budgets and top international clients, while the Dutchies - eyes fixed on the provinces - are totally content scouring for the ample bread crumbs left by local clients. It’s Metropolis versus Madurodam. And never the twain shall meet. Let’s face it, such is life under creative apartheid - Dutchies are second class in their own land.

Sure, the talented Philip and Hugo (ex CCCP) are now working as a creative team at Weekend + Kennedy, but honorary Brahmans are a rare exception. Dutchies generally lack the natural work ethic, so the only way to convince the creative directors of the Anglo-Saxon enclaves is by working twice as hard. Only then can Dutchies rise to such privileged positions. Do not forget this.
Now, dear reader, the time has come for me to make a shameful confession that could permanently destroy my reputation. I won’t beat about the bush any longer - as a Dutchie, I actually once tried to puncture the Brahman Bubble... I wrote an email to a guy called Keith White, a creative recruiter at Weekend + Kennedy, offering my services as a freelance creative and including some samples of my work. I was put on to him by Neil Henry - at that time a producer at W+K - and Kerrie Finch (now that I mentioned your name twice, please don’t forget to drop mine in your column!). So I mentioned both their names in my email, hoping that my international connections would somehow convince this guardian of the Bubble.

I never received a reply. Assuming that he plausibly overlooked my humble writing, I decided to write him again. This was a few weeks later - I didn’t want to come across as too pushy. I also made sure that any possible sign of irritation or impatience would be carefully concealed. The tone of my second mail was actually honed to the soul of an American advertising agency - merry, bright, positive, incurably optimistic.

However, Keith never replied... I didn’t even receive a standard reply! Needless to say my ego was shattered. ‘WTF! How can this guy ignore me!? He gets payed for this, it’s his bloody job, he should answer!’, I ranted. If only he’d written ‘I received your mail. From now on I’ll ignore you’! But none of that. Keith remained that remote guardian of the Bubble, like a sphinx, shrouded in mystery.

After a few days my bursts of hurt and indignation became less and less frequent and I finally managed to regain my calm. I was a creative asylum seeker in my own land. Once this realization dawned upon me, acceptance came. Finally I understood that Keith was too busy sipping latte.