Medicine should be more inspiring than sneakers.

People have all kinds of pet peeves.

For some, it's hearing a coworker clip their toenails in the office. Gross. For others, it's those "Then and Now" clickbait ads that force you to get through a 35-person slideshow to see "the shocking transformation" of that kid from The 6th Sense to adulthood. Spoiler alert: He got older. Grew a beard. Not a single face tattoo.

As someone who loves advertising, and believes no other category has more potential for creativity than health - my pet peeve is when I hear others in our industry wish they worked on "more glamorous things" like soft drinks, laundry detergent, and cell phone carriers.

I don’t object to the aspiration, if that's the right word. Just to their definition of glamorous, which is really depressing. And to the foregone conclusion that if advertising were a high school cafeteria, health would be sitting at the nose picking table. (Which, as an aside, is a haven for germs. And probably the subject of a pro-bono idea that some agency is working on as we speak.)

The truth is, there isn't a category of advertising can compare with healthcare, in terms of built-in emotion or the opportunity for ideas to affect lives. We create in a world of vulnerability and hope. Life and death. Sickness and health. Things that don't just affect people, but families, futures, everything.

To try to put it in perspective: If Dad gets that new pair of Nikes, the best-case scenario is they make him look cool and are comfortable when he goes for a walk.

But if god forbid he ever needs that new cancer treatment, it can do something no other product can even come close to. Something that defies logic: Invent time, when time is running out.

So why are sneakers more inspiring than medicine?

Historically speaking, there was a time (before the mid to late 80s) when sneakers weren't inspiring at all. Sneaker ads were mostly just about sneakers. With imagery that, more or less, showed sneakers. And copy that talked about the features and attributes of (wait for it) sneakers.

This early Nike ad, for example, highlighted things like heel flares, herringbone soles, and sockliners. You can almost imagine the marketing meetings from that time. "Are you seriously trying to cut the heel flare copy? It's a competitive advantage over Reebok. Now go grab a 6-pack of Bartles & Jaymes, drink until the box is empty, and pack your stuff in it. Because you’re fired." (It's not easy to channel the early 80s, but it helps to imagine Johnny, from the Karate Kid movies, delivering all the lines.)

Like a lot of advertising, the sneaker industry was focused squarely on the product. That's what they were selling, so it made sense. And if market research was anything like it is today, they probably heard, "Don't waste my time. Just give me the facts.” It's the way people think they feel. But that's only true in a market research setting. Not life. Because to get someone to care about the details, you have to get them to care, period.

Just like movies, music, or any other form of modern communication - people want to feel something they didn't expect. They want to relate. Or feel understood. And (whether we're talking about a simpler time, when it was harder to skip ads, or today when your audience has a million alternatives at their fingertips) no one cares about herringbone soles. They care about what those soles will do for them.

Enter Just Do It in 1988. On the heels of Nike's hardest times, having been overtaken by Reebok in sales, and laying off about 20% of its workers, they were in dire need of a change. According to interviews with Dan Wieden - the idea of the campaign was initially rejected.

Nike co-founder Phil Knight's response was, "We don't need that shit." But Wieden knew it was right, fought for it, and the rest (including a rise in worldwide sales from $877 million to $9.2 billion be 1988 to 1998) is history.

With Just Do It, Nike found that thing that makes people tick:

The fact that that our biggest enemy, especially when it comes to any activity that requires sneakers, is our inner self. That part of us that would rather hit the snooze button than go for a run. Or watch TV instead of go to the gym. At it's core, this campaign was a response to the universally relatable question: Are we going to pursue our dreams? When you're tired, when it's hard, when you have every excuse in the world to take the easy way out: Just Do It.

Nike wasn't selling sneakers. What they were selling was human potential. The sneakers were just a tool/accessory/symbol to help people reach it. Here's the original TV spot that launched the Just Do It campaign:

It features an 80 year-old Walt Stack, the Golden Gate Bridge, and questionable music that probably fit the late 80s well. He says, "I run 17 miles every morning. People ask how I keep my teeth from chattering in the wintertime." [Pause for a beat.] "I leave them in my locker." Followed by Just Do It. That beat is the only time we focus on the product, showing a 2-second close-up of his feet as we anticipate the punchline. It doesn't mention the product, not once. Just a silent logo on a final art card. But it says everything about the brand.

"People don't tell bedtime facts. They tell bedtime stories." -Jonah Berger

The Wharton professor's quote is a simple, relevant truth. Facts don't draw you in. Stories do. And Nike became a brand that told them. Consistently telling incredibly human stories. Another example being one of my favorites from 2012, called "Voices":

So again, how does footwear move more people than healthcare?

By not just selling a product. But by tapping into the 21 grams that motivates and inspires people to do better, to be better, to get better. The human spirit.

Conclusion.

What brands like Nike have done, and continue to do, can feel unattainable. Of course it can. We're talking about one of the most loved, respected, and best examples of advertising in the world.

But it's important to remember that Nike didn't start out all that different from where health is today. It too leaned heavily on features and benefits before realizing that the product isn't the story. You are. The audience is. The brand is just a facilitator - helping, in some small way, make that story happen. Which is even more true with medicine than just about anything else.

Don't dwell on what can't be done. Learn from Nike. Just do it.

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And if you've really got some time on your hands, the last thing I wrote (on LinkedIn) was "The world doesn't need another healthcare agency". It covers a lot of topics: Why new agencies are a good thing, how awards do and don't matter, and why there's no gray area - bulldogs on skateboards pretty much rule. For fair warning, it too might be 9 paragraphs too long.

And I don't want to sound too uppity, but I'd prefer you didn't read it in the bathroom. Ok, only if you have to.