In 2002 I graduated from the Portfolio Center in Atlanta.
I wanted to show my work to Sagmeister, Bierut and Bielenberg.
I never thought I would get a chance to show it to the NYPD as well.
One of the many perks from being an alumni of the Portfolio Center is the unique portfolio you enter the job market with. Weighing in at anywhere from 15 to 30 pounds, and with dimensions like 16” X 14” X 6”, it is less a presentation aid then the monolith from the film 2001.
But let’s talk about the real 2001—the year it all changed. The year an object like I just described strapped to the back of an unemployed-starting-to-grow-a-beard-sort-of-fella could cause a few worried glances on a metropolitan subway system. And so it was, me late on Tuesday morning, taking steps down into the subway stop. I have twenty pounds of solid gold on my shoulder, ready to be released on the eyes of a creative director.
“Sir, can I take a look at your bag.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
NYPD.
I nod. They are very seriously dressed for the cold weather. No polite smiles either.
“Sure. It’s my portfolio” I sling the heavy thing on a table. It lets out a thud.
Usually when I present my book, I have to do all the work. The creative director will sit back, maybe massage a chin, definitely look to me with an ‘impress me, I’m hungry’ sort of look. This time was much easier. They took the reigns.
They opened my bag, and they peered in.
They were faced not with the bag of sleep-over clothes, or the korean takeout they were hoping for, but an entirely other thing.
It was the monolith. It was my portfolio. And it was tightly fit into the biggest Timbuk 3 bag on the market (‘El Gordo’ I think it is called).
“Let me help you,” I said, “there is a bit of a trick to it.”
So they let me. I shimmied out the monolith the way I had many times before, on all those stainless steel DWR tables in design conference rooms from coast to coast. And my bag gave birth to the well worn thing. I opened the box. They peered in again and began to probe the trays. Now that I had her out, good training took over. I had an urge to share all of it with New York’s finest. All the logos, the posters, the Sharp as Toast shirts. I mean, what good is design when it is only shared with designers? I suddenly wanted an outsider perspective. These two police officers would be perfect. Design is for them, isn’t it? Design is for the rest of us. Good design works because of the benefits it creates in the everyday lives of real people, not in the ego stroking of the magazine annuals.
But I never got the chance.
The two officers took a quick look through the trays that held my work.
They said nothing about my everything.
Well, almost nothing.
“Is this wood?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “it is wood.”
They were as disinterested as could be.
With a ‘thank you’ it was all over. As soon as they said it, their eyes were now focused on other big parcels entering the subway. And I was left with my monolith. And an interview in thirty minutes in midtown. I redressed her quickly for the next show and caught the next train.
To make the experience even odder, I arrived at the big brand agency with whom I had made an appointment with one week prior, inform me that the creative director was in Chicago on a press check.
Very sorry. Our mistake.
My monolith and I smiled gracefully and then boarded the elevator. Down.
As it turned out our only performance of the day would be for the police. Maybe it was for the best.
At least they thought I had a dynamite portfolio.
When I read this, the only thing I wanted was to see it. Include that story on a cover letter and I think any creative director would call you in just to find out where the wood fits in.
On Nov.11.2005 at 05:02 PM