‘They’re only chairs, but we think they’re worth it.’

...when 'good enough' isn't anymore.

‘Oh, it’s not the same as it used to be – you’d barely recognise it,’ says Max, a brand strategist I worked with in my advertising days, whom I haven’t seen in 15 years. He’s recently gone freelance after 30-some years in-house and so is reconnecting with old colleagues. We are standing inside a pop-up as part of Clerkenwell Design Week, and I have just been laughing about the Calvin Klein suit dresses, towering heels and designer handbags that used to be my suit of armour. These days I’m more of a trainers, jeans and rucksack kinda gal – truth is, I always was. ‘Nobody wears suits anymore,’ he says, ‘but it’s the AI…’ He tails off.

In my day, everything in advertising agencies was sacrificed at the altar of excellence. Personal identity, relationships, health and wellbeing, even the clients’ business objectives, gave way to the potential for awards.

‘He waits. That’s what he does. And I’ll tell you what. Tick followed tock followed tick followed tock followed tick….’

When Abbott Mead Vickers’ ‘Surfer’ ad dropped for Guinness in 1999, when director Nicolai Fuglsig bounced 250,000 brightly coloured balls down a San Francisco street in 2005 to launch the Sony Bravia, or when the Cadbury’s gorilla took that deep breath at a drum kit in 2007, just for a moment, we all felt part of something bigger than ourselves. The late nights, the public dress downs, the crying in the toilets all seemed worth it… until they didn’t.

‘Nowadays, the only question that gets asked is “Will it do?” continues Max. ‘Not “Is it really good?” – not “How could we make it better?” – but “Is it good enough?”’ He explains that AI means that concepts are no longer hand-drawn, entire campaigns are created without hiring a single actor or photographer, and that the culture of excellence that I grew up in is a thing of the past. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t miss the toxic work environments for a moment, and I am happily in recovery from perfectionism, but “will it do?” That’s not a question that motivates anyone.

I look around the space we are standing in. Collate Form has advertised ‘Aperitivo & Fries’ every day this week without requiring an RSVP, and so the place is packed. Outside on the pavement, two tables each set for two with a white tablecloth and a silver cloche bely the McDonald’s fries going cold underneath it.