Ryan O’Connell.
I recently wrapped up judging a stack of APAC Effie papers, and next month I’ll be doing the same for the Australian Effies. No, that wasn’t some weird flex, as it’s not exactly an exclusive club. However, it is a privilege I don’t take lightly. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to review the best-in-class campaigns when it comes to effectiveness.
At the end of the day, work that worked is what it’s all about, no?
Unfortunately, there is one element of judging Effie entries that I’m beginning to slightly loath: the manner in which they’re all written. So many of them now are carbon copies when it comes to their style, narrative flow, and even their lay out.
Having written and won many Effies (sorry, that WAS a slight flex!), I know that you’re somewhat a slave to the entry form. Everybody has the same questions to answer, and the same sections to fill out, so there will inevitably be a sense of familiarity to the entries, across the board.
Yet that doesn’t mean there’s not some room for creativity in the writing. For a little flair. For engaging turns of phrase. For some damn personality. I’m begging authors to have any small semblance of uniqueness.
To be fair, I do appreciate how we got here, and why so many entries feel homogenous.
Reading previous winning Effie papers is a vital ingredient to writing a winning one yourself. They inspire you on how a compelling argument can be made. How to properly validate your thinking. How to prove causation, not correlation. They also highlight what a seamless, linear narrative looks like.
Although it now seems like all these winning papers have been blended into one single form of writing that you could almost call “Effie style”. Which, in turns, has taken some of the enjoyment out of reading them.
I’m actually old enough to remember when the Australian Effies didn’t even have a set entry form or questions; just a maximum word count. You could lay the paper out however you wanted. As long as you proved your effectiveness and had a great ROI, you were good. That certainly enabled, or forced, some creative writing.
While I’m appreciate the need, benefits and uniformity that an entry template provides, I think I preferred reading – and writing – the old way.
It would be easy to dismiss this as the subjective view of one lonely judge, and a mere round one judge at that. To be honest, it’s a fair retort. However, my begging for uniqueness doesn’t come from a place of personal preference alone, for there is a little bit of method to my madness, because making your entry stand out from the crowd is most certainly a good thing.
The reality is that as diligent, professional and objective as all the judges attempt to be, they’re also human. And for the most part, they’re judging the papers outside of work hours. That means they can be prone to reading a paper when they’re tired, distracted, perhaps even mildly inebriated, and/or on their fifth consecutive paper, with their eyes starting to go a little wonky.
“Effie’d”, as I like As such, making your paper enjoyable, engaging and distinctive, thereby jolting the judge out of
their mental malaise and standing out from the crowd, is exactly what you want.
No one will like me admitting this - and it’s probably even done subconsciously - but an enjoyable read is undoubtedly worth a few extra points. It could also be the difference in breaking a tie with another paper that has equally awesome results, but is sadly lacking a little bit of . . . character.
I’m not saying not to do the basics right. Have your ROI calculations done properly, source all data and facts, and though it’s stating the bleeding obvious, answer the question. Do everything a winning Effie paper does, and that the judges are looking for, but then give it some flavour.
Write it in a way that makes your paper an enjoyable read. A distinctive read.
Heck, even if this whole rant is just a survey of one, surely it’s more fun and natural to write in your own style anyway?!
Ryan O’Connell, Junior Chief Strategy Officer & Founder