When my mom found the CD to 50 Cent's Get Rich or Die Tryin’ on my bedroom floor, she picked up the phone and called my dad.
“There’s a picture of a gangster wearing a bandana and a bulletproof vest! And there’s a bullet hole on the case!”
She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn't exactly right either.
It wasn’t a bandana. It was a durag. And it wasn’t a bulletproof vest. It was a Gucci shoulder holster. 50 wasn’t even wearing a shirt.
Even though she misread a few details, the message was clear. 50 Cent wasn't just an artist. He was a gangsta.
What struck me was her dramatic reaction. The same album cover that felt iconic to my friends was offensive to my mom. That collision stuck with me. Since then, I’ve seen it play out again and again in other work I admire. And that tension is what pulls me in. It's what impresses me the most.
What struck me was her dramatic reaction. The same album cover that felt iconic to my friends was offensive to my mom. That collision stuck with me. Since then, I’ve seen it play out again and again in other work I admire. And that tension is what pulls me in. It's what impresses me the most.
That’s the kind of work I want to make. Work people respond to, whether they like it or not.
I believe the best work leaves a mark not because it’s loud or trendy, but because it’s intentional. Whether someone loves it or hates it, they should never be confused about what it’s saying.
A collection of ads that taught me about tension.