An Open Apology to Reporters
From a recovering public relations “exec”
--
To the handful of you with time to read this,
I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for all the frustration, anger and likely outright rage that my actions have inspired over the last fifteen years. There is no doubt in my mind that I directly contributed to weeks of wasted time, frequent blown deadlines, myriad empty-suit interviews and an endless cacophony of self-aggrandizing marketing-speak.
I was supposed to be one of you after I finished journalism school, but I went straight to the dark side. I’m sorry that I defected before I ever gave journalism a chance.
As I sat on a barstool at the Inn Complete drinking shots of Jack with High Life chasers to warm my cold, dark soul in the dead of winter in Syracuse, I thought there was an easier, softer way — a way where I wouldn’t have to cover news I felt beneath me, where I wouldn’t need to shake down the great unwashed for man-on-the-street interviews, where I wouldn’t make a pittance of a salary.
If I’m really being honest though, I was weak and I was scared. From the rotten-smelling shore of Lake Onondaga, I saw the industry imploding into digital quicksand. I was full of fear that I’d get whacked.
The reality is that I traded my moral standards and scruples for a life of situational ethics, empty titles, encouraged alcohol abuse, a salary that never squared the exploitation endured and a box full of defective agency tchotchkes.
I believed all the hype sold by slick shysters who glad-handed their way up and down the halls. I thought that we were doing things that mattered and acting fearlessly on behalf of our clients. I was convinced that helping major corporations grow their businesses and present themselves as shiny objects for investors would make me important and give my life meaning.
I was wrong. But all that’s just window-dressing.
I know that your time is extremely precious — so I’ll jump right in.
This is my inventory
First of all, I’m sorry about the useless spam that clogged up your email and completely missed the mark each and every day. I told my teams to double check every reporter target for relevance and craft personalized notes based on your news coverage, but I simply did not have time to look over their shoulders. The reality is that lazy PR flacks often “spray and pray.”
I’m sorry that the tech product(s) I pitched you for an exclusive did not actually exist. I told the client we shouldn’t be pitching vaporware, but they insisted on an “agile approach” to launch communications. The product would be ready for prime time, they said.
I’m sorry that the business unit leader spokesperson you asked to speak with couldn’t explain his unit’s business model. This was an oversight on my part. I assumed that the ability to explain what you do would be a requirement for running a billion-dollar business unit. Clearly, I was wrong.
I’m so sorry I forced you to spend hours interviewing the megalomaniac tech CEO(s) who were so “visionary” they were incapable of answering your questions in common English. Their staple diet of Kool-Aid and acronym alphabet soup likely did lasting damage to their prefrontal cortex.
I apologize for all the business executives I put on the phone who thought they were more important than you. During the interview pre-brief, I tried to explain that you were doing them a favor, but they hung up right after they finished barking orders. The egocentric politicking on display in many Fortune 500 is truly a sight to behold.
I must admit I also wasn’t expecting them to demand to see the article before publication, and, yes, I know that’s not your policy. I always tried to explain the difference between paid advertising and an earned media interview, but many executives have a knack for blocking out what they don’t want to hear.
I’m sorry I lied about the sudden departure of my client’s CEO. He was actually pushed out about because of a sexual harassment lawsuit and did not voluntarily exit to spend time with his family as I shared.
I’m sorry that I rushed you to publish your story because my client issued the release two days early. They were scared about beating a competitor to market, which is something that drove most of their marketing decisions. So, no, they were not “market leading.” They were just another industry laggard.
I’m sorry I tried to bury that DOJ lawsuit by issuing a press release after market close on Friday. I would have gladly shared it before you left the office, but I would have been fired on the spot.
I apologize again. I, in fact, did realize that you didn’t want to talk to “the head of marketing,” but it was not my choice to make. I will say that I tried to convince him to change his title, but his ego was too wrapped up in it.
I’m sorry that 10 people joined that conference call interview. It was only supposed to be the two of us. His communications, product, legal, finance, human resources and strategy teams insisted on joining in case the CEO “pulled the cowboy act again.”
I’m sorry about the startup CEO that argued with you for 15 minutes over the meaning of tech innovation when that was the name of your column. I suppose it all worked out in the end though, given that he successfully persuaded you not to do a story on his company.
I’m sorry for I pushed off interviews for weeks and weeks. The truth was that the top brass felt they had more important things to do than talk to a trade publication.
I’m sorry I requested all those “corrections” that were thinly veiled attempts at asserting editorial control. I was told the brand messaging needed to make it into the story or it wouldn’t count against our KPIs.
I also need to come clean on something else. I lied about the connection issue with that healthcare CEO. His phone was working fine. I was actually writing down answers on flash cards so his responses were slightly delayed.
I’m sorry one of my clients refused to use Skype and demanded that you use Blue Jeans.
I’m sorry I called you five times in a row right before that broadcast segment on earnings. It was a direct client command, and the agency didn’t want to lose the business. It made me really uncomfortable to pester you like that, and I felt guilty for months.
If it makes you feel any better, one night I got drunk and told him off in an email (and CCed the CMO). If I’d realized that was a surefire way to get off that miserable account, I would have done it well before you and I had our incident.
And, yes, as I’m sure you assumed, I never told you the full truth.
When I stood in between you and my clients, I can assure you that I was not doing it to spite you and make your life more difficult. It was really because I needed to protect my clients from themselves. PR execs* often find themselves in the unenviable position of taking blame for the client’s own incompetence.
Was any of it worth it?
No. It was not.
After enduring the terrors of alcohol withdrawal, heavy psychological abuse from malignant narcissists and gaslighting sociopaths, multiple psychological meltdowns and several dark stays in psychiatric institutions, I can now admit that I took the wrong path.
As my psychiatrist admitted during one of many sessions to increase my anti-anxiety medication, I just happened to choose an industry that was home to a disproportionately large number of people with personality disorders.
While I fed into the public relations industry’s cult of ego for far too long, I am no longer such an unfortunate. I am constitutionally capable of being honest with myself.
The hours were shit. The people were manipulative and self-absorbed. The expectations were uniformly unrealistic. The pressures at the top were, at best, unmanageable. The promises pitched to clients were pure smokescreens.
The statistical results we touted to make clients happy were fantasies spun by an industry that lives in Neverland. Media impressions…ha. There’s no such thing. It’s a made-up hypothetical statistic intended to express the reach of news coverage. In reality, this shadow stat was designed to do one thing: make the client’s squishy PR work look substantive to their boss.
But I digress. The pain of addiction, delusions of grandeur and other negative psychological consequences I have endured are irrelevant to my amends.
While I cannot take back all the lies I told to the reporters I misled, I hope that my words and sincere remorse have offered you some consolation.
Take comfort in the fact that — no matter what level of denial you receive from them in direct conversation — all public relations people are restless, irritable and discontent on the inside.
They might not know it yet, but sooner or later they’ll realize that their careers were meaningless and their egos were built on self-serving, gratuitous manipulation.
That or they’re sociopaths…Maybe both?
* Note: Does calling someone right out of school with no experience or discernable skills an “account exec” actually make them an executive? I think not. It’s just how the PR industry applies lipstick to the pig.
