From the outside, Jim Riswold was the name I kept hearing.
Riswold was the first copywriter Dan Wieden hired and was credited with authoring Nike’s voice in the 80’s and beyond. First with the Spike and Mike ads, Bo Knows, Hello World for Tiger Woods.
And on and on and on.
The list is staggering and endless.
One of his ideas for Nike was so big, pairing Michael Jordan with Bugs Bunny, that it ended up becoming a Hollywood blockbuster, Space Jam.
When I started at Wieden+Kennedy, the Riswold anecdotes started on day one and never stopped.
About how he rode off with Michael Jordan one day to go golfing. Or how he would start swearing at random people in the elevator. Or how he literally had a “Stupid” stamp that he would pound on work presented to him.
Susan Hoffman, my mentor and patron saint of W+K was especially full of the Wisdom of Riz. About how he’d make things so simple and sharp. About how he’d never give up once he had an idea. About how much he hated boring work. About how much he hated BORING.
One day, when I was in W+K 12, Wieden’s experimental advertising school, Susan arranged for us to visit Jim Riswold in his art studio. We were all a little intimidated given the man’s hard core reputation and hall of fame body of work.
We showed up at his studio, which was filled floor to high ceiling with art, WW2 propaganda, bins of vintage toys, statues of world dictators, random doll parts, portraits of David Bowie and Warhol paintings. It was like a psychotic flea market or deranged toymaker’s factory.
We gathered around and Jim started talking about how he came up with some of his famous ads. How he’d bang his head against his desk (or hide under it), wallowing in despair until he found something interesting. He talked about how he always looked for ways to exaggerate or stretch the truth. Like Bo Knows about two-sport superstar Bo Jackson. The idea was simple, Bo is good at two things, what if he was good at everything?
Despite Jim’s snarling reputation, he was extremely generous and open with sharing his thinking and process with our group. Even when someone asked a “dumb” question, he answered earnestly and thoughtfully. Of course, he would tip into his famous profanity-laced tirades during his anecdotes. Usually when he was recounting resistance to his ideas or having to deal with a process that would dumb down his work.
After the talk, a few of us were looking around his studio and checking out his art and toys. He asked if we wanted to go around the corner to his local spot to keep chatting. Of course we were up for that.
I asked him how he comes up with his ideas. He said he just had a list of people he wanted to work with, then he made up campaigns as an excuse to work with them. That list included Lou Reed, Spike Lee, Bo Diddley, Bugs Bunny, Miles Davis and more. He had a knack for turning fame in on itself and creating a cultural bang that turned into new and unexpected things that became crystalized in pop culture.
Riswold then asked what we wanted to do. He alternated between harsh cynicism “the client would never buy that. You should have had that idea ten years ago,” and teacherly optimism, “keep going, there might be something there.”
After the visit to Riswold’s studio, I’d email him for advice sometimes. He always responded right away. Sometimes just with a short line. Sometimes with a couple of paragraphs. Usually taking the time to both rip on himself and me.
A few years later I was asked to give a talk to the current W+K 12 group. At one point Riswold walked by as I was answering a question. He was just walking through. He kept his head down and when he was almost out of the space he suddenly shouted “Don’t listen to this stupid f***! He’s only been in advertising for two f***ing minutes!!”
It was a drive-by STUPID STAMPING by Riswold.
The standard the he set with his work has remained the creative bar and north star for decades.
In meetings and brainstorm sessions, I used to hear “that’s kind of a Riswold idea” as a high form of praise. I don’t hear that so much these days. And that’s a damn shame. It falls on those of us who heard some of the method behind the madness to preach the gospel according to Riz. In all its vulgar glory. It’s central to the DNA of a place like Wieden+Kennedy. It’s the big bang of creativity that preaches taking big swings, and being bold enough to be wrong. Or these days, maybe even worse, daring to NOT MAKE SENSE.
One more pearl of wisdom Riswold explained was this: Never complete an idea.
Riswold argued that if you perfectly wrap up an idea, the audience will get bored. Leave something unsaid or unexplained. Or flat out wrong. In an industry of meetings and video calls with everyone power nodding along in agreement as a presentation “tracks”, maybe the bravest thing is to go the other way. Risk alienating some people. Let them scramble to catch up. Give them space to figure it out for themselves. That’s one way to get to work that cuts through and gets remembered.
It’s something I still think about when I’m putting ideas together today.
I’ll leave you with some words from the man himself below. And when it comes to advertising, no one has ever had a command of words like this dude. He will be greatly missed.
My love goes out to his family, the thousands he inspired and mentored and the untold millions who were smacked upside the head by his work. Riz Forever.
Andrew “Oyl” Miller is an advertising Creative Director and Copywriter. He spent 15 years working at Wieden+Kennedy on brands like Nike, PlayStation and IKEA. You can check out his work on his website.
