Most of my adult life he has been there, on the television screen–horn-rimmed glasses, thick German accent, steely eyes– opining on the sweep of human events: war, plague, genocide, coups, peace and detente.

Most of my adult life I have not understood a thing he says.

I recall the early days of his public discourse, immediately after leaving the White House. As crises would flare up around globe, the call would go out for Henry The K to put it all in perspective for the nightly news audience. I would look forward to his appearances, seeking the insight I knew I lacked on the why’s and wherefore’s of this or that international incident.

And each time I would be left thinking:

“What the hell did he say?”

I have come to realize that Kissinger is a figment of a marketing machine: identified as a “wise” Harvard academic by Nelson Rockefeller, brought to full Technicolor fame by President Nixon, Kissinger was identified as a diplomatic genius due to where he worked, who he worked with, and the way he spoke. A virtual Chance, the character in the classic Peter Sellers film, where a dunce of a gardener is perceived through a weird set of circumstances to be a wealthy captain of industry, whose every word is doted on.

Henry Kissinger has had the mystique of a marketing machine–a mystique he diminishes every time he opens his mouth.

There is a wider marketing rule here: when a product, a company or a leader manages to develop a mystique, don’t let it speak. Mick Jagger could be on Letterman and Oprah once a month if he wanted to. When is the last time you saw an interview with Mick? It’s not that he doesn’t adore fame. He just knows when to shut up and let the machine do its work.

Throughout their careers, a treasure of world-class personalities have created god-like personas in part because they allow their fame to grow cult like, knowing that every time they would appear on Leno or Meet The Press would interfere with that viral magic. They know instinctively that cults grow best organically.

Think of Dylan, Lennon, Salinger, Jobs, Gandhi. Every time these icons would sit down for a Charlie Rose interview, we would see them as human. And humans don’t make for good icons.

We all fall victim, and happily so, for products that make a BIG promise but never explain HOW they will:

* Make us bone thin

* Make our minds wiser

* Make our teeth snow white

* Teach us Russian in a week

The more they say, the less we would believe. Great politicians know this all so well. The ones who win high office do so on the basis of a slogan. All of their commercials are slogans. All of their debates are simply another venue to toss out the same slogans. Ask them a question, and they answer in a slogan.

So often, clients want MSCO to say everything about their product or service. But we know, and advise, that so often, that less is more. The devil is in the details:so put them in the fine print.

Once you start talking to hear yourself speak, it’s always Kissinger redux.

Mark Stevens
CEO

Images Courtesy: 1, 2.

We are all in search of rewards and awards. Money, fame, power, honor, recognition.

Some admit it more readily than others. Some find the need to camouflage it.

But the quest is universal.

All that changes are the goals. And whatever they are — money, fame, power, honor, recognition– they contribute directly to our personal happiness.

Some admit it more readily than others. Some find the need to camouflage it. But its impact on happiness is universal.

We wake in the morning and we greet the day, prowling for the goals. When we lose to others, we pretend to be happy for them but the truth is, we wish we were in their place. A ‘good loser” is really just a talented actor.

I have been watching the US open tennis this week, seeing the fire in the eyes of the champions, Nadal, Federer, the Williams sisters. On the court, in the heat of the matches, they want it all– the money, fame, power, honor, recognition–

And when they see the up and comers driving themselves to beat the odds and win, the champions double down and find a way to prevail, denying the challengers.

They cannot win enough trophies. They cannot collect enough checks. They cannot accumulate enough adulation. This is all part of human nature. It is what drives human achievement. It is what raises the bar. All who are out of the spotlight, are just as much in “the search” as those who command the headlines.

It all seems inevitable: the quest, the lust to have it all, the impact on personal happiness.

And then a wonderful anomaly strikes out of left field. This summer, Canadian author Alice Munro, was about to have the honor of having her new book, Too Much Happiness, nominated for the prestigious Giller Prize for literature.

Given that Munro has won the award twice before, this would be a crowning achievement placing her in that Pantheon of greatness every writer, athlete, businessperson, scientist would, admit it or not, revel in and use to stroke their personal joy.

But Munro broke convention, defied human behavior, did what virtually none of us would do, and asked that her book be withdrawn from consideration for The Prize.

Why? Precisely because she has won twice before and wants young writers, other writers, to have the opportunity to win.

I know that I don’t have the generosity to act this way. And I have actually never seen it before. And I believe there is a powerful lesson here. I just don’t know what it is yet. I don’t know how to incorporate it into my life. I don’t know how or if to defy “the quest.”

Perhaps the answer lies in the title of the book, denied The Prize by its author.

Perhaps it is Alice Munro who has Too Much Happiness.

Perhaps she is teaching us something.

Mark Stevens

CEO

Images courtesy: 1, 2.