Damon Stapleton: Cannes. The truth is nobody bloody knows.
A blog by Damon Stapleton, Chief Creative Officer, Droga5 ANZ
“We drive into the future using only our rearview mirror.” – Marshall McLuhan
This one will be a little different. Cannes is normally a mirror to the industry. But this year it was a kaleidoscope. It showed us many possible futures. An endless array of possibilities that will forever change things. It was weird, you could see something and the exact opposite of it at the same time. And because there was so much of it, it felt close to madness with beautiful weather. It was feverish. It was the upside down. So, each day I wrote a paragraph. An impressionistic paragraph of what I heard and saw. And most importantly, the feeling Cannes gave me. These are those paragraphs.
Monday. 2025 and the best advertising is still in the Palais and the worst advertising is just outside of it. It is bad but very honest. Flyers and handouts. Wristbands that get you into something very exclusive. You know, for you and 6000 other exclusive people. Inside, people nurse jet-lag while whispering and staring at endless boards. There are always groups of people on little tours. With them is an advertising tour guide who explains the work to the group. For some reason they always sound like they had a roll in Bridget Jones Diary to me. Spontaneous hugs and kisses happen throughout the day when former comrades bump into each other after years and thousands of miles apart. This is the only place in the world this happens. And from personal experience, it is one of the best things about Cannes. In the end, it is always the people right?
Outside, a million lanyards in the sun. You will perfect the lanyard glance over the week. This is where you pretend to remember someone’s name but have just glanced down at the lanyard. The way you win is to do it before they have had time to look at yours which makes things beautifully awkward. And then you walk around a corner and see a man smoking a cigarette like it’s their last idea. You see their assistant screaming into the phone. It has to be a table for fucking eight. It just has to be. Please God give me a table for eight.
Tuesday. Cannes has always been a paradox. A place where ideas are worshipped and ignored in equal measure. It is a temple to creativity, and yet creativity can become the sideshow because of how the industry is changing. I wonder how many people that go to Cannes actually go to the shows and look at the work? The best work reminds you of what it means to feel something real, and the worst forgets feeling altogether. You hear people on stage who keep saying A.I won’t take your job it will assist you in doing your job better. Meanwhile huge job cuts are happening globally in the advertising industry. Like I said, a paradox. Whatever you think, you will hear the opposite. So, in the end, your opinion is all you have. With all that extra information and knowledge, your opinion is still your only compass.
Wednesday. The Carlton terrace has a slow madness. Not the loud kind at first, but the kind that builds. It started with laughter, loud and sharp like the crack of a starter’s pistol. Then comes the conversation. The boasting. The energy. The pretending. And the believing.
Men in linen blazers with glazed eyes clutch glasses full of melting ice. Women vape with one hand and text with the other. Everyone is talking. Nobody is listening. I heard a man from London pitching an idea to a man from São Paulo who didn’t speak English but nodded anyway. And then they both laughed and agreed it was a great idea.