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Amy Swift Crosby

the story is in the telling

Traps.

July 20, 2019 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Can you stay with me long enough to tolerate a low-hanging metaphor?
I promise not to stay here long.

I was laying ant traps the other day due to an infestation in my master bathroom. After placing each plastic death square in key pathways, I took a moment to observe. Would they be like bees to honey (or ants to insecticide in this case) or… remain undeterred? My hope was that they’d eat the bait, take it back to their friends, and ideally make painless transitions to more appreciated reincarnations.

Only about half of them took it. The rest went around it.
What is it that causes an ant to know how to avoid his own demise?

And so, my metaphor begins.

How good are any of us at spotting what I can only describe as irresistible yet emotionally costly situations? Are we all susceptible to repeating what, in the end, amounts to the death-of-my-better-self trap?

These ‘traps’ I’m describing are circumstances that trigger behaviors or internal conversations that we know bring out the worst in us — or that further embed a toxic pattern — but that we can’t resist repeating.

In my role as a copy writer, I stop brands from falling into expected messaging traps all the time. But as a human, I’m batting more like the ants.

Being misunderstood, ignored or overlooked.
Coming home to a messy kitchen (guilty).
The internal dialogue that may churn when peer success shines a light on one’s own (seemingly) slower pace.

Certain conditions spike our emotional insulin in just the right way — taking us from calm and optimistic, to cynical and accusing. We give them attention and credibility in a way that hijacks our most rationale, generous attributes. And without a professional to prevent the derailment, it’s up to us to be the disruption we need to thwart such emotional stick-ups.

Couples experience this frequently by virtue of repetition — he does this, so I say that. The relationship rarely improves by repeating that same song and dance (yet again), but impulse control can be weak in version 10,000; tapping into reserves to create a new pattern isn’t always possible. We get tired. And if we’re not paying attention, falling for the poisonous bait of habitual dynamics can quickly go from outlier to the status quo. Chronic discord can lead to distance… and the equivalent of swallowing psychological Raid. Ultimately, it represents more than disagreement, and grows into disengagement. That’s a pretty fatal trap.

Few of our traps are big surprises (childhood dynamics with parents, anyone? Getting cut off in traffic?). While we usually can’t stand how much our reactions keep us from who we want to be and the kinds of relationships we hope to attract, we’re drawn in, and sometimes even addicted, to scratching an emotional itch.

But… no sooner are we full of regret, remorse and a desire to revise immediate history.

While most of us won’t meet our literal death from our own B.S., the cost is still real when it comes to our perception that life is getting better, not worse; that we’re gaining ground, not losing it; that we aren’t alienating people who matter.

Freud called this phenomena Repetitive Compulsion, and without unpacking the full meaning and implication of this term, it basically means we can’t help but repeat dynamics that are hard-wired over time, no matter how icky these perfect storms of familiar dialogues, arguments or triggers make us feel.

I like to think we can, actually, overcome predisposition or long-held defense mechanisms. But as anyone who has tried to disrupt a knee jerk response in some intense personal scenario knows, it ain’t easy. Valuable practices and retreats  (designed to repattern these pathways) support transformation, but they’re not insurance policies. Which is to say, it’s hard to change what may be natural, even when it sucks.

But rising a few thousand feet above the day-to-day trip wires, to a more metaphysical plane, traps don’t just enable lesser present selves – they sabotage future ones. Think of the hard work you’ve done to overcome limiting beliefs, or trauma, or stories that don’t support what you really want. These traps are distractions that build walls and block intimacy. They stop movement, figuratively and literally.

For me, falling for a known trap makes me feel bad for days. I admonish myself for knowing better but doing worse. So the ants got me thinking. Why not use words, a currency I often curl up with, to reframe these situational landmines?

Could “traps”…instead be viewed as “tests”?

Instead of heading directly for the bait (because it’s a familiar toxin), we could identify traps as opportunities to foresee the feeling of being cornered by our own beliefs and reactions, and then — with all our mental muscle – twist our own plot. I know I could better anticipate what has kept me down in the past — or as recently as yesterday – and view it as an opportunity to demonstrate something different…to myself, or whoever may be watching. Witnessing myself…not be (my historical) self…could be a very powerful disruptor.

Cognitive dissonance is rarely intentional…

Good people have toxic communication patterns.
Lifelong meditators fly off the handle.
The confident and talented undervalue and underestimate themselves.

These aren’t mutually exclusive scenarios, and our best qualities don’t necessarily save us from our worst ones.

It’s funny how you can just be getting to know yourself, half-way through this life.
It’s also amusing that the traps that most rob us of the good emotional hygiene we hope to nurture aren’t usually high voltage negotiations or even major life events — but rather the daily transactions that come with being alive, being in a relationship, taking risks, being loved.

No one’s trying to kill me (or you) on the plus side.
Yet…I can save my own life (and so can you) at any time.

Replication.

September 18, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

There’s nothing quite like a winning streak to cast doubts on one’s ability to perform the same trick again and again.

Ironic as it may seem, especially from someone with such strong opinions about being thoughtful in messaging, it’s surprising to find myself in an almost constant dialogue about the detriment of too much communication.

But over-writing, as anyone who has written and re-written an important email or text can attest, can be a self-sabotaging sinkhole. I discovered this recently when tasked with replicating memorable work.

Maybe something similar has happened to you.

After a series of successful collaborations (Blue Chip, portfolio projects) with a relatively new agency partner, I found myself in cerebral overdrive when they asked me back for another high-profile campaign. The gig was to write multiple scripts for a prominent tech company in Silicon Valley. The stakes were high, but no higher than other similarly positioned products or brands — which is to say — it wasn’t new territory. But on this day, on this job, I found myself listening to an inner whisper: “those others were so good… but can I really do it again?”

This is a particularly universal theme that many performers, athletes and creative’s have encountered — either after solid gold hits, sell-out shows, wow-factor work product or best-selling anything.

I remember the writer Elizabeth Gilbert doing an entire TedTalk about the burden of expectation following her internationally beloved Eat, Pray, Love memoir. Sports fans refer to it as Steve Blass syndrome because of the infamous all-star pitcher who, one day, couldn’t do the one thing he was famous for doing; pitching. He never got it back, and it ended his field career. His case is living proof of the ultimate fear.

Success Replication Pressure (my term) is a thing, and it was happening to me. I started the project with low-grade anxiety but looking back was in complete denial, reassuring myself how not stressed about it I was. But the work couldn’t hide behind anything, and it presented in a painful first draft over-write.

While the ideas themselves were viable, the totality was closer to something I might have submitted in my 20’s. I over-explained, over-justified and over-defended the concepts to the point of incomprehension. Remember Jon Favreau leaving 18 voicemails for his love interest in Swingers?

I wish I could have told myself to JUST STOP. But of course, it’s nearly impossible to have that perspective when you’re deep in the weeds. The clock was ticking…people were waiting… expectations remained high. I was failing – and fast.

This story has an unexpectedly happy ending because a principal partner in the agency, whose confidence I’d won (thanks to our other successful jobs together) swooped in to save me…which is to say he did what few others would do, and said what few others would say.

“Come to New York. This work is a mess — but come to New York anyway. Let’s figure it out in person.”

He could see I was anxious, and because of this, had lost the plot. But I hadn’t lost his vote — which was the booster I needed to call in my copywriting superpowers and get the job done. Together, we slashed and burned until the voice and narrative found its way out of my mental maze.

And it taught me a valuable lesson.
It’s easy to feel like we’re falling into quicksand when we think our previous successes were flukes.

The biggest hurdle in the aforementioned disaster was my ego. I wanted to prove that I could keep “being great,” that they wouldn’t regret giving this sizable project to me, a girl from Eugene, Oregon who accidentally impressed a few people and somehow found her way into the big leagues of advertising. Everyone has his or her own dumb story, that’s just mine.

In the end, I had the answer, and so do you. The fans that loved it/you/your last great work… may think they want to see it again, but they don’t really know what they want. They just want you to be the one doing it.

Replication is a fool’s errand. What you did before is over. Whether you teach an epic class, post something funny/relevant/beautiful, deliver a mic-dropping pitch or hand in bulls-eye copy…experience sets the stage, but I think we each start over every time.

Narrow.

May 22, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Credit: @sanddiary

Here is a case of being willing to help, if only the “ask” considered how much the process informs the outcome.

Like you, I am sometimes on the receiving end of a résumé emailed from a recent college grad, usually following an introduction by the sender’s parent. Along comes the résumé with a closing line that says, “let me know if you hear of anything!”

Let the eye roll begin (I’ve tried to control it with no success.)

This kind of open-ended request leaves me wondering if I should be honest, and tell them how fruitless this approach really is, or just smile and respond, “Will do!”

Asking favors of friends, or even strangers for that matter, is best met by being as specific as possible about what is needed, wanted or required. We’ll forgive our youth for not yet knowing this, but I have a hard time extending this same slack toward legit grown-ups.

Recently, an email was forwarded to me that kindly requested “design and messaging feedback” on a handful of packaging layouts. In this instance, the final sentence asked recipients to vote for their favorites. While I understand the desire to assemble an impromptu focus group, what surprised me was how willing the creator of the product was to hand over her creative offspring to the collective whim of a disparate, and clueless (I’m referring to myself) group. So rather than enlisting qualified help from someone with specific experience or any understanding of the product/audience, this author chose to outsource these essential skills to her “list” — of how many, I don’t know, but it’s safe to say — a whole lotta opinions.

The point of having expert eyes slash and burn your work is to bring a specific perspective you can’t see to a mission that unites message with the end user, and product with the customer. I say “slash and burn” because that’s sort of how it feels (as a creative) to have something redlined. But it’s essential. The best editors rely on discipline and objectivity (not personal preference) and are able to spot and remove anything that dilutes the narrative. To ask dozens of people to do this simultaneously, and without sufficient context, misunderstands both the task and endgame. Why generate a variety of different opinions that do nothing to move the needle closer to a more refined, focused end product? What does one even do with all of the ‘feedback’ that comes from an indiscriminate inquiry?

The term “email blast” really rings true in situations like these. We can no more connect a graduate with the appropriate gig based on a few data points than help a new author get more clarity on her target audience and message by casting such wide, unqualified nets.

This is true in so many cases; from circulating possible brand names or logo design to friends, to running new business ideas by strangers on airplanes, or my favorite, posting taglines to chat groups for votes. Without context, feedback loses its value.

If you really want to kill your darlings, enlist a qualified assassin. Most people are happy to help if you give them a target.

Just.

March 13, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

@smnyc

This typography took about 6 minutes. And 23 years.

Funny thing about this word…

We use it to imply “merely” when what we really mean is just the opposite.

“Can you just tweak this design?”
“Can you just re-write this page?”
“Can you just tell us what’s missing?”

Here’s how I see it. If you are the one doing the asking, then it’s not “just” something. It’s actually “the” something that is most important to you; it’s the one thing you want me/us/them to do fix/consult/improve… because it matters and because you want it done by someone who knows how best.

If you are the one being asked, you may recognize the dynamic and share this perspective. To “just” offer digital strategy, or “just” eyeball the numbers or “just” whip up the design is only possible because of hard-earned experience. In our world, “just” ignores the hours in the trenches it took to get here. This word also may also trigger the alarm bells of someone who wants to justify asking for lower fees or who expects a quicker turnaround. This could be true for an artist, instructor, writer, creative director, contractor, service provider- -or anyone who does something you can’t do, and who makes it look easy because it’s their 1,000th rodeo.

I’m not saying I don’t make this mistake on the regular — I forget or overlook the minimizing effects this can produce, too. But I try to stop myself from using “just” in front of a favor or project I need someone to do for me knowing the effect it can have on me. Assuming to know how long something really takes relies on guesswork. And even if I’m right and it takes them less than 10 minutes, the only reason that’s true is because they’re really good and very experienced at doing what they do.

Not trying to nitpick. But a little awareness to an oft-misguided presumption that shows up in what are otherwise earnest communications will hopefully allow more good deeds to be done. Language that implies appreciation for the importance of a service goes a lot farther than unwittingly minimizing (and thus diminishing) another person’s talent at it.

I have found that the best requests express the assumption that we actually have no idea what goes into making “it” happen for someone else…and our best shot and getting what we need is acknowledging that.

Just sayin’.

Demonstrate.

January 30, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Market Restaurant, Annesquam, MA

The details do the talking.

One of the most powerful things one can do to sell anything, or even to persuade anyone about anything, is to demonstrate. It’s an easily overlooked attribute to marketing because it requires thought, sincerity and is (almost) always more work than slapping a logo on a promotion, or adding exclamation points for emphasis.

It can actually mean less — not more.
It could mean asking the right questions (and listening to the answers.)
Or even sharing best practices as a means of building trust.

None of us likes to be sold to.
Yet, we all enjoy buying into things that speak to us.

Rather than plaster her image on bus stops, a savvy real estate agent differentiates herself with memorable touch points… a thoughtful business card, a tasteful open house sign, and something other than stale supermarket cookies.

A facialist sells by teaching technique, recommending beautification strategies or sharing how to choose a qualified technician. We want her because she doesn’t seem to want anything from us in a business where everyone’s chasing you with a needle.

Taken further, the person who really wants everyone to meditate or take the self-help course, will get everyone interested by being different, not telling us how much we should do it.

In my world, either as a hired creative or as part of a larger agency, we ‘tell’ future clients who we are by the questions we ask and the conversations we start. It is rarely about showing them what we do or how we do it — they can see that with a quick Google search. We need to demonstrate what it might be like to work with us. And how better to do that than to get to know who they are and what they care about? And while it’s not an intentional marketing tactic, it also isn’t pitching in the traditional sense. It is sincere and the right clients remember (and subscribe to it.)

Sure, there are countless outlets for you to pontificate, elaborate, articulate and otherwise proliferate your marketing efforts (thanks for letting me do that.)

But, none will be as effective in attracting the right audience as demonstrating — embodying your message in ways that are seen and felt.

It comes down to this… no one ever wants to be convinced to enroll themselves into anything — products, people, ideas — benevolent cults included.

Be the thing you want us to know. Make choices that reflect rather than project. It’s more of a whisper than a shout.

Resentment.

December 19, 2017 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Many years ago, early in my career, someone sent me a note that made me feel really bad about myself. I didn’t know what I had done to this person, someone who meant so much to me, but she was upset — and she felt wronged.

The note was vague and accusatory — with no specific incident cited — but it positioned me as “shameless” and “opportunistic.” I still remember how my stomach dropped, and truly, how my heart broke, mentally reviewing what I could have done to inspire these hurtful words.

I’m still thinking about it.

I don’t mean I’m actively still thinking about receiving the message itself, but the feeling it left, from a person I deeply respected and loved, still lingers in the corners of my mind, informing the decisions, feelings and interpretations going on in my life today. It’s in here …somewhere. I can feel it.

This is confounding. And, if I am honest, maybe even embarrassing, considering all the self-help experience I’ve accrued. But when I drill down to why it still feels so active in my psyche, I see that it’s because of a single feeling related to it that I can’t fully shake: I feel shame. I feel shame for being me — and in doing what was normal or natural — for committing a “crime,” in her mind.

Shame is the quietest emotion, and what it often turns into is resentment.

It’s the secret we keep about the wrongs we experience in private.
It’s the voice that says you deserved it, because whatever they said was true.
It’s the thing you might secretly think of yourself, that someone else just confirmed.

For me, it shows up as a grudge against self-promotion, success and ambition, because the contents of that note were about mine.

I don’t want to go backward, investigate, narrate or otherwise unearth the information. I don’t think that will resolve it. But I do want to stop asking for forgiveness, and permission…(from who, I don’t know).

None of us knows how we hurt people, unknowingly, over the course of a lifetime. But each of us likely does it. And it’s terrible to inflict pain, as much as it is to receive it. Ironically, shame can have a place in both roles.

What an insidious and malignant emotion.

And according to anyone who studies it — from Esther Perel to Cheryl Strayed to Eve Ensler –  it festers and grows when left in the dark.

Realizing it still existed, for me, has been healing in and of itself.
Writing this blog, and exposing it to the light of day, is a possible salve as well.

All I know is that I want to let the light in… on it…and anything like it.

Re-sent-ment (noun): Bitter indignation at having been treated unfairly.

I want to be free.

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About Me

photo of Amy Swift Crosby

I’m a brand strategist and copy writer. I mostly work with partner agencies or directly with the leadership or founding team at a brand. My primary mission is to connect design and messaging solutions to business missions. I work with start-ups and Fortune 500 companies, across beauty, hospitality, wellness/fitness, CPG and retail. This blog reflects my personal writing and explores our humanity – often as it relates to work, space, time and language. You can review my portfolio here or connect with me here.

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The Brandsmiths Podcast



Brand Strategists Hilary Laffer and Amy Swift Crosby tackle business questions with candid, (mostly) serious and definitely unscripted workshopping sessions. Guests – from small business owners to CEOs, executive directors and founders – bring their head-scratchers, hunches and conundrums to Hilary, the owner of a boutique creative agency in Los Angeles, and Amy, a copy writer.

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