Nobody Reads Copy.

A wise person once said, “Nobody reads copy.”

And though that person was indeed very wise, from the day I first set foot on campus—July 17, 2002—I have spent 71% of my days on this earth trying to prove them wrong.

For example:

I have buried lyrics from Radiohead and The Beastie Boys inside manifestos. Written hangtag copy as haikus, and feature-and-benefit lines in iambic pentameter. I have fabricated quotes “by” Lance Armstrong, and openly campaigned (via engage-plus copy) for the world to return to calling Kevin Durant “The Slim Reaper.” I have named running shoes after the Swahili terms for both “slow” and “painful.” Placed dad jokes on sock packaging, and old wive’s tales on apparel call-outs. I have deliberately misspelled words on a poster for our Santa Monica Run Club. And made it so that when you read a headline aloud at a certain speed, you wind up cursing in front of your kids.

All in hopes that one day, someone—ANYONE—would say, “I saw what you did. And you’re fired.”

But after 17 years, the time has come to accept the fact: My cathartic moment of reading revelation is never going to happen. That wise person’s point has been proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Therefore it is time for me—a guy who writes a thing that nobody reads —to move on. Voluntarily, it seems, and without any form of security escort.

I am as surprised as you are.

That said…

If there were a person still alive on the face of this earth who reads copy—the kind of good and patient and intelligent and altogether wonderful person who could make it this far down a letter— this is what I would write for them:

There is something magical about you. A special gift. You may be wise, or kind, or witty, or generous, or thoughtful, or resilient, or imaginative, or compassionate, or simply someone who brings joy to others. More likely you are some beautiful combination of all of those. Perhaps that magic has been tempered a bit over the years. But know, deep in your heart that it is there—you wouldn’t be receiving this letter if it weren’t. And if I can see it, so can others.

You have a duty to yourself—and only to yourself—not to let those gifts go to waste. Pre said something like that, though now that I think about it that one was probably Geoff Hollister. Regardless, the point remains: This place needs your magic more than it knows, and more than you need it. So seek out the people who see what I see, wherever they are. Let them bring the best out of you. Do the same for them. And everything will be just fine.

(Especially if everybody goes back to reading copy again.)

With warmest regards and highest hopes,
Jason