Adweek Feature

Wieden & Kennedy and nike enjoyed a special partnership that was the envy of the ad world until Nike did the unthinkable: it turned to a second Agency. Here's the inside story. One day last November in the airy San Francisco offices of Goodby, Silverstein & Partners, staff members were milling around the offices of creative director and co-chairman Rich Silverstein as they prepared for a routine meeting with Nike's director of U.S. advertising Chris Zimmerman. Then an assistant poked her head in the door with a surprising announcement: Nike's Tom Clarke had just called to alert them that their flight from Portland, Ore., had been delayed by bad weather. It was the first clue that anyone as high up as Clarke, Nike's president and chief operating officer, was planning to attend that afternoon's meeting. The room dissolved into pandemonium as staffers tried to figure out why Clarke was coming and what other Nike bigwigs would tag along. This, the Goodby team figured with a collective gulp, was to be no ordinary meeting. They were right. Nike executives had been working for months with creative staffers at Wieden & Kennedy, their longtime hometown ad agency, to devise a concept for a new umbrella campaign, which could balance Nike's familiar, hard-edged "Just Do It" theme with a slightly softer image. After some tense showdowns with Wieden, however, Nike's top managers felt they were getting nowhere. With a January airdate drawing closer, they informed Wieden that they were going to ask their other U.S. agency for help. The small Nike delegation-including Clarke, Zimmerman and Geoffrey Frost, the company's director of global advertising-arrived at Goodby's Nob Hill offices with a desperate appeal: As a favor, they said, could you please devise a new campaign for us? They gave Goodby one week. Despite the ridiculously tight deadline-"What would you say if Nike arrived on your doorstep?" asks an agency insider-Goodby's creative teams threw themselves into the secret project, working around the clock to come up with some concepts for the future of Nike's brand. But a week has only seven days. When agency principals Jeff Goodby and Rich Silverstein appeared before Nike founder Phil Knight at the firm's offices, all they had to show for their effort was an idea video and other materials reflecting themes and images of accessibility and individuality. Knight and his lieutenants found Goodby's work clever and appealing, sources say, but not radically better than what Wieden had been suggesting all along. Nike's new image campaign remained with Wieden after all, but it may have been a Pyrrhic victory. Wrapped around president Dan Wieden's inspirational "I Can" tagline, the work was beautifully produced yet somehow lacked Nike's usual verve and wit. And instead of the ubiquitous swoosh, the ad was anchored-at the suggestion of Silverstein, no less-with Nike's '70s-ish lowercase logo. All in all, the "I Can" campaign, like the last-minute plea to Goodby that preceded it, seemed reflective of a client caught in an identity crisis and the upheaval imposed on the agencies bearing the brunt. Could Goodby, with $400 million in billings, really be pushing aside the much larger Wieden as Nike's main U.S. creative agency? Since Nike signed Goodby as a project shop in March 1997, Wieden has watched its once-exclusive relationship with its signature client-a relationship many industry members regarded as an ideal-loosen and fray, while more assignments have gone to its rival. "This is a wake-up call for our agency," admits Dan Wieden. "In some ways I'm amazed how long it lasted that we had the account to ourselves." That even Wieden employees must look nervously over their shoulders at Goodby, now officially Nike's second agency, is emblematic of fundamental changes, such as the erosion of client loyalty, that are roiling the entire ad industry. Relaxing in his office early this spring, Wieden-the agency's father figure and guiding light-pondered the question of how the relationship with his premier client shifted so quickly. Dressed in a crisp dress shirt and tie with his hair closely cropped, he appeared out of place in his cluttered surroundings. His agency's relationship with Nike "is more like family than it is business," he says, his eyes searching for the right words. "[What has happened] is convoluted and hard to talk about," he trails off. "It is important to remember that Phil Knight is still very much the entrepreneur and Nike is run by athletes, and they understand competition," he says, struggling for an answer. "I can see how this might affect people who saw Nike and our agency like a married couple who they cared about and looked up to," Wieden says. "Everyone wants to see stability. But hey, the world is on fire." Nowadays, insiders use words like "anxious" and "paranoid" to describe the mood at Wieden's offices. Both account and creative employees are said to be deeply worried. Earlier this month, Wieden was forced to lay off 37 employees-about 11 percent of its headquarter's staff-in response to deep cuts in Nike billings as a result of the shoe company's recent sales drop-off. Sources say more layoffs may come. Not so long ago, such losses would have been unthinkable. In the raucous world of advertising, where companies drop partners at the slightest whim, Nike and Wieden have had one of the most exciting and celebrated partnerships since 1982, when the young footwear company hired the new agency to handle its $1.2 million account. Working and growing side by side, the two companies generated the kind of creative fireworks that made Nike's swoosh a cultural icon and sparked the imaginations and yearnings of ad and marketing executives. "People saw working for Nike to be like getting a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts," says an envious creative director at a midsized shop. "This was a client that demanded outstanding work and was willing to do whatever it took to get it." Both client and agency fed on each other's success. The unique bond was mirrored in the personal relationship between Knight and Wieden, the two companies' founders and visionary spirits. The Nike-Wieden drama has played out at an accelerated pace. The first public inkling of trouble in Nikeland appeared last November when word of Nike's clandestine San Francisco expedition leaked out. Consider: Only weeks later, in December '97, Frost announced that Goodby would enjoy equal status to Wieden on Nike's branding issues. At the time, Frost explained that it would be "stupid" of Nike not to use the "resources of both of our agencies in the evolution of our brand." Finally, in March of this year, Nike handed Goodby creative duties for the U.S. launch of its new premium Alpha line of apparel, footwear and sporting goods. That meant Goodby was handling almost as much U.S. creative work as Wieden. Wieden had to be satisfied with media duties and foreign ad work for the high-tech subbrand. Nowhere have Nike's recent moves shocked and unsettled people more than in its hometown. Nike is admired in Portland, and Wieden dominates the local advertising scene; headquarters of the client and agency are less than a half-hour drive apart. "We like to be located out of the fray" of larger ad communities, says Dave Luhr, Wieden's director of account services. Along with less scrutiny, the agency's isolation brings fewer distractions, such as interagency gossip and rivalries, "so we can focus more of our energy on our clients and our work," he maintains. That very isolation, however, likely prevented Wieden from being attuned to the depth of anti-Nike sentiment creeping across the country, say industry observers. The satirical comic strip "Doonesbury," for example, has recently taken after the company for its allegedly unfair foreign labor practices. The rift in Nike and Wieden's cozy relationship started innocuously enough. By last year, Wieden was handling an estimated $300 million in Nike billings worldwide. But some critics had begun to grumble that there was a creeping sameness in Nike's ads, and the company's senior management began to fear that its longtime agency was being stretched too thin. When Nike's retail division decided to put its tiny assignment up for review in January 1997, top managers quietly decided to take creative duties from Wieden for a few emerging U.S. product lines and add them to the review, Nike sources say. While Fallon McElligott in Minneapolis and BBDO in New York were among the shops considered for the business, both were eliminated early in the process. That March, Goodby, an hour away by air but in many respects a world away from Portland, snagged four noncore assignments: women's sports, performance apparel, ACG outdoor products and retail. In its winning pitch, Goodby gathered a range of consumer research that showed negative perceptions attached to the Nike name and swoosh; the company was perceived, for example, as being responsible for the overcommercialization of sports. The shop's position was "You are considering us because you have problems, so let's get the uncomfortable stuff up front," says an insider. The agency suggested a more humble, caring tone for the brand. While client and both agencies at the time publicly downplayed the account as Wieden's leftovers, in reality the loss of women's sports stung Wieden, sources claim. The agency's women's work had garnered kudos for both its creativity and its contribution to women's marketing in general. Goodby's billings from Nike quickly grew to $60-70 million. And some of its campaigns, such as spots that follow the adventures of an imaginary girls basketball team and expensive apparel ads featuring naked sports stars, won raves inside Nike. Outside the company, however, the creative community was not buying the idea that Goodby had given Nike anything that Wieden hadn't provided in the past. The minute that Nike brought Goodby aboard, many of Dan Wieden's outside admirers began anticipating he would walk away from the account in disgust. But to their surprise, there was only silence from his office. Insiders pointed to the fast-growing agency's financial pressures from overseas expansion and outfitting its new headquarters. Goodby executives, for their part, diplomatically minimized their rising status. But Wieden's young staff was not so easily fooled. Many regarded Nike's low-key November visit to Goodby as a clear signal that it was time to start looking for work elsewhere. Shortly afterward, any notion that it was business as usual at Nike fell apart. After enjoying 12 consecutive quarters of profit gains and an annual 42 percent sales growth, Nike's core business stumbled badly, the victim of cheaper, trendier competition and Nike's oversaturation of the market. During the quarter ending Feb. 28, the company reported that its profits had plummeted 69 percent. In the weeks that followed, Nike announced about 250 layoffs on its Beaverton, Ore., campus and slashed its $300 million 1998-99 ad budget by as much as one-third. When Nike handed the U.S. creative assignment for Alpha to Goodby in March of this year, the pretense that the second agency was hired solely because Wieden had more work than it could handle seemed ridiculous. Frost acknowledges to Adweek that adding a second agency "wasn't so much about workload, but the need for a deep knowledge of multiple sports" and was part of the company's strategy to be a major player in different sporting fields "rather than a general sport company. Goodby provides us with a deeper resource." Including projected cuts, a tally of Nike's current U.S. creative billings gives Goodby about $70-80 million. But Wieden has taken a major hit. Its domestic Nike billings, previously $210 million, are now in the $100-120 million range (that figure does not include additional media fees for placing Goodby's creative work). Jeff Goodby calls Nike "the client we used to dream about doing business with." Normally loquacious, he declines to talk about the shop's Nike wins, except to say, "We resent the treatment the press has been giving the situation. There is a lot of speculation that is fermenting some kind of competition that I don't think is there. It's unfair to us and to Nike. We are simply helping the client by adding our talent to the [considerable] talent they have." Several sources confirm that Nike has forbidden any Goodby employees from holding public discussions about the client or its ads. "It is rough to go from a monogamous situation to a polygamous one," Frost concedes. "And it is probably roughest on the party that has been the wife." In a sense, Nike's recent troubles are part of a corporate midlife crisis. The company is no longer the upstart athletic shoe manufacturer it was in 1972, when it catered to hard-core runners and distributed its first products from Knight's parents' garage. It has matured into a $9.2 billion global powerhouse employing 17,000 people in 110 countries. The swoosh is now emblazoned on everything from $4 socks to $229 inline skates. While the hallways and lobbies of Nike's Beaverton corporate campus are still decorated with posters, videos and busts of athletic greats, its current crop of managers are as likely to favor Armani suits as new cross-trainers. But there's a flip side to Nike's explosive success. Its images of rebellion, passion and elite athleticism have been so seductive and successful that the company, which now dominates the U.S. athletic shoe market, has been absorbed into the mainstream. Its products are embraced by legions of unhip suburban wanna-bes and their aging boomer parents. And its relentless promotional tie-ins and giga-buck signings of star athletes such as Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods have made Nike appear to be as much a part of the sports establishment as the National Football League. "The Nike brand has grown universal and ubiquitous to the point where it is losing its core appeal as a maverick," says David Aaker, professor at the University of California at Berkeley and author of Building Strong Brands. "Trying new taglines, downplaying the swoosh and adding a second agency make Nike seem like it's flailing and desperate." Capitalizing on Nike's declining coolness, competitors such as Adidas, Reebok, Fila and Vans have all made market gains. As Nike rolls out a new generation of sporting goods in the U.S. and reaches further overseas, Knight and his subordinates face a quandary. Should Nike reinforce its brand essence as the sexy, brazen young rebel, the perpetual adolescent in awe of the ultimate athlete, as reflected in much of Wieden's past work? Or, plagued with changing consumer values and stinging criticism over its labor practices, should the company embrace a new role as a conscientious corporate citizen, as Goodby tends to advocate? Or, facing increased competition, should Nike focus less on attitude and more on product attributes? Nike's answer is unclear, as both agencies are painfully aware. Several people close to Nike say that a controversial 1996 Olympics Nike ad with the tag, "You don't win silver, you lose gold," is still one of Knight's favorite ads, despite criticism that it represented the antithesis of the Olympic-sportsmanship spirit. "Knight's point is that this is the way top-flight athletes think. It's what makes them the best," says one insider. As Nike's profits plummeted last winter, Knight told Time, "Our style is to be a rebel, and we enjoy that. [But] now that we've reached a certain size, there's a fine line between being a rebel and being a bully. And we have to walk that line." Still, many longtime Nike veterans lean toward the well-worn, super-jock approach. A member of Nike's old guard, Bob Wood, vice president of U.S. marketing, recently told The New York Times, "We are not backing down on sports celebrities one bit. We are always going to be with athletes and about athletes." In contrast, many of Nike's new recruits seem ready for a change. Frost, hired in 1996 to bring a fresh global perspective to the company, told an audience at the American Association of Advertising Agencies' creative conference in November that Nike was "recalibrating" the brand. "There is something very democratic in the Nike brand," he added. "The danger as sports get bigger and the lead athletes get more distant is that we will lose the democratic thread of the brand." He points to Wieden's recent basketball "Fun Police" spots as an example of Nike's spontaneous, fun-loving side. Managers of Nike's growing new product lines agree. The company will soon be forced to revamp its concept of sports icons, insists a Nike manager associated with Wieden's soccer ads. "We need to make sports and athletes more accessible," he says. "To combine the champion athlete and the consumer's own experience-that's where the magic is." Sue Levin, Nike's women's brand director who now works with Goodby, perceives "a change in the sports landscape." She believes Nike is responding by "humanizing its advertising and identity with the use of old people, women and kids." Next to Knight, Dan Wieden is probably the person on most intimate terms with Nike's brand nuances. He calls Nike "complex, contradictory and genuine, like an interesting person, which is why people respond to it." The company's essence includes a "wide range of attitudes, executions and techniques with a thread holding it together." Pressed to explain, Wieden switches gears. Nike, the company, isn't as much about business, he says, as it is about a mission. "The people at Nike have a passionate belief that competition and athletics are important for a balanced life." Wieden refuses to discuss his frequent talks with Knight, but sources say that even after the "I Can" campaign was in production, Knight expressed doubt about the wisdom of not using Nike's familiar "Just Do It" tag on the work. At the same time, Knight's marketing executives are accused by several insiders of being too timid and watering down any excitement in the ads. "It was like working on a corporate campaign" for a soft drink, says a source close to the work. "Nike sanded down the creative and there was too little time to produce it." The company "tried to play both sides. They wanted an edge, but didn't want to offend anyone," says an agency staffer. Worst of all, Goodby was used as the club to ensure the agency's cooperation. "They made it clear to us. If you don't do it, Goodby will," says one insider. If Nike's corporate culture has evolved, Wieden's remains true to its roots. The agency won acclaim for its powerful intuitive skills and creative talent, not for adhering to account planning and client service. While the agency's 15 or so planners conduct consumer research before any ads are created, on principle, the agency does not test its creative work. That practice is known inside the agency as "using focus groups to be your creative directors," says one senior executive. And its research has sometimes been limited. "To collect consumer insights, we would talk to young Nike employees in the local bars or the company gym," recalls a planner who worked at Wieden several years ago. "Like our target audience, these people lived the sports lifestyle." "Nike and Wieden are at their best not when we're crafting the tightest strategy or needing the perfect brief," Wieden himself explained in a speech to the Association of Independent Commercial Producers in '96. "We are best when we are filled with an enthusiasm that is contagious. The passion makes us jump someplace we didn't know existed." But as Nike hired more mainstream, by-the-book executives, planning and research have gained credence. Wieden managers now find themselves sitting across the conference table from executives who have grown up outside the seat-of-the-pants Nike culture. The new arrivals often have backgrounds with agencies specializing in packaged goods. Frost, the current global ad director, for example, was a creative director for Foote, Cone & Belding in Europe and FCB/Leber Katz Partners in New York. Frost likes to remind his peers that he comes from the creative rather than the account side. But his creative credentials are not extensive. Among his best campaigns, he says, is the international work for Northwest Airlines that ran about four years ago. Zimmerman, who took over as Nike's ad director in '95, was previously an account director on Procter & Gamble at Saatchi & Saatchi, New York. "These people are not sports maniacs or ultracreative. They need research and planning to make decisions," says a former Wieden creative staffer. A colleague on the account side puts it more bluntly: "They want to test everything to death." At the same time, some of Wieden's backers, such as Liz Dolan, vice president of communications and marketing, and Scott Bedbury, global ad chief, have departed Nike. The situation was ripe for an agency such as Goodby, with its strong emphasis on account planning and a willingness to conduct creative testing, to capture Nike's attention. Led by agency general manager Jon Steele, considered one of the top planners in the country, Goodby was happy to hit the streets for Nike. In particular, Goodby planning director Pam Scott and planner Diana Kapp made a strong impression on the Nike camp, according to Nike's Levin. "Goodby gains leverage because it will test ads, and Wieden won't," says a Nike insider. That's not all. Nike's rapid expansion in recent years has produced layers of bureaucracy that have confused and frustrated Wieden staffers, agency insiders say. The agency, which was producing 200 TV spots for Nike annually for the U.S. market alone, was increasingly stymied by client delay and indecision. A former Wieden executive who helped oversee Nike explains the exasperation: "Our campaigns would languish for months as we tried to go through the maze of managers. It wasn't the workload so much as it was incredible difficult getting a decision," he says. It seemed like "no one was driving the ship." Frost counters that a decentralized structure is necessary to stay entrepreneurial despite Nike's size. The company is broken into nearly autonomous units so it can keep an edge over the competition in each sports niche, he explains. Frost has tried to simplify Nike's complex approval process by requiring only one presentation for major U.S. campaigns; formerly, there was no limit. The approval committee has been narrowed to himself, Zimmerman, Wood and global brand marketing director Mike Wilskey. But the client's efforts to streamline the decision process aren't bearing much fruit, according to insiders at both Nike agencies. Meanwhile, Wieden has tried hard to keep pace with Nike's management shuffles. The agency restructured its Nike team last autumn after the departures of Dolan and Wieden's global ad director, Jim Ward. Ben Kline was recruited from Fallon to assume Ward's post; Nike's creative work was placed under the guidance of creative directors Jamie Barrett and John Jay. They, in turn, hired Chuck McBride, a former Goodby creative who made a splash with his Gen X Levi's ads for Foote, Cone & Belding. The second tier beneath Barrett and Jay was made up of creative directors Vince Engel, Jerry Cronin, Hal Curtis and McBride. At the same time, about 15 Wieden staffers were laid off, many of them members of the Nike creative team. "Wieden has never been known for being a place that's overly structured, but Nike's size and the changes in its business demand a more organizational approach," Barrett said in an interview during the restructuring. The agency also moved its ESPN creatives, including one-time Nike contributor Stacy Wall, to its New York office, which Nike requested in order to free more talent at Wieden headquarters. But insiders point to another motive: Nike was jealous of the agency's hilarious sports-oriented ESPN work, which sometimes outshone their own, they claim. This spring, Jim Riswold, a veteran copywriter on the Nike account who's been with the agency almost since the beginning, was moved to the Coke account; he now retains only the Michael Jordan work for Nike. The gifted and volatile Riswold "butted heads" with Frost and others and the client asked for a change, according to sources. Nike has also grown wary of the agency's increasing allegiance to its other big clients. Of particular concern is Microsoft, now Wieden's largest U.S. account, with billings of more than $200 million. The agency's ties to lucrative new clients "challenged the specialness of our relationship," Frost admits. Of course, no price can be attached to one of the Portland agency's greatest assets: Dan Wieden. Wieden says the principal reason he has never seriously considered walking away from Nike, even now, is his loyalty to Knight. "Nike was the client that built this agency," he affirms. But the sense of security afforded by this top alliance has encouraged Wieden staffers to be cocky and arrogant to midlevel Nike managers, say people close to the account. That swagger has almost cost the agency to lose Nike, "not because they were overworked, but because of their attitude," says a source close to Wieden himself. "Agency people had this in-your-face, screw-you attitude to Nike staff. They knew they were the only agency, and they had support at the top," he says. Contrary to the popular image of Wieden and Nike as enjoying a warm and supportive relationship, "Everybody was always screaming at each other," says an account director close to the business. "The relentless challenge has made for consistently amazing work." Wieden himself believes that "creative people need a sense of alienation and defiance in order to do good work." Goodby, on the other hand, has a less confrontational culture and tends to be more respectful toward clients, especially new clients with cachet. In fact, the San Francisco shop won the assignment for Alpha not so much for brilliant creative ideas, but for being pleasant and flexible, insiders say, particularly during the "I Can" meetings. "We don't get caught in the notion of creative primacy," says Colin Probert, the agency's dapper British president, during a discussion of Goodby's general philosophy. "We don't believe there is only one solution, and we don't think we have to defend the work at all costs." Nonetheless, Goodby is not exactly enjoying smooth sailing either. Though Probert has taken a stronger role lately as a buffer between powerful creative egos and the agency's clients, creative turnover on the Nike account has been high. The agency has not received clear strategy and directions from Nike for the U.S. Alpha campaign set to run early next year, sources say. None of Goodby's ideas have been approved, possibly because the client has yet to nail down its overall global plan for the new line. Wieden's hopes for Nike, at least internationally, are now hanging on the kick of a soccer ball in the agency's 1998 global World Cup campaign. With an estimated $35-40 million ad budget, the World Cup-the globe's most popular sporting event- is a crucial test of Nike's goal to be the best-known international sports brand. Handled primarily by Wieden's Amsterdam office, the campaign consists of a pair of TV spots and a flood of magazine ads and outdoor work highlighting the Brazilian team and its star players. The lighthearted airport spot, directed by action film director John Woo for a cool $3 million, differs markedly from some of the agency's dark, intense World Cup work for Nike in the past. A second spot, directed by Tarsem and backed with a massive TV buy in the U.S., began running a few weeks ago at the start of the cup series. Well regarded inside Nike, the soccer work is fulfilling at least one of its goals: bringing badly needed excitement and energy to the Wieden troops, say insiders. The agency is also rolling out a new round of image ads overseen by McBride later this month. June. Gone will be the less-than-celebrated "I Can" theme, though just a few weeks before the back-to-school campaign's debut, Nike management was still deciding whether "Just Do It" would return, say company officials. Like "Fun Police" and the World Cup ads, look for quirky story lines and an attitude that doesn't take itself too seriously. What's next? Though Wieden adamantly states he will not consider selling any part of his agency, the pressure to expand Nike's estimated $100-150 million foreign business and attract other accounts, some industry analysts predict, could force the agency to surrender all or part of its independence. Either way, Wieden may welcome back all of Nike's business once the honeymoon with Goodby ends. As a precedent, Wieden watchers recall the episode during the mid-'80s when what was then Chiat/Day of Venice, Calif., picked up one-third of Nike's $10 million account. After two years and too many clashes with Chiat, Knight handed all the business back to Wieden. But don't bet on it this time. Nike may add even more agencies to its coveted roster, much as it's been doing in Asia. Knight has stated that advertising is under sharp evaluation this summer as Nike looks for ways to cut costs. Frost has talked at trade functions about a "virtual creative department" that includes creative people not associated with any single agency, as well as cultural and sports experts who can offer groundbreaking ideas. And Nike has shown it is perfectly willing to flex its muscles to ensure the best work, Wieden executives note wryly. Regardless of Nike's next move, Wieden insists he is in the game for the long haul. "We have set up people around the world to serve Nike." More importantly, he says that Nike continues to be one of those rare clients that not only accepts great creative, but demands it, "which is hard to replace," he says. Still, the old days are gone. Wieden personally seems conflicted about the new status quo between his shop and Nike. At times, he has acted upset and cold, sources say. Yet he remains protective of Knight and their friendship, stressing how he would never do anything to jeopardize their personal ties. Several people close to the account remain convinced that as long as Knight is part of Nike, the agency can count on work from the company. Yet at the same time, Wieden is openly contemplating a future in which Nike, though still a presence, is no longer the agency's heart and soul. Executives report that he has been quietly telling staffers for the last few years that the agency would be riding a different client into the millennium. "Nike is not our future. Microsoft is our future," he has said. As any aging athlete knows, there comes a time when everyone has to hang up their cleats and leave the field for the last time. Then it's time to move on to something new. AS GOOD AS IT GETS "I hate advertising." Those were among the first words Dan Wieden and David Kennedy heard from their new client Phil Knight nearly two decades ago. With that brusque dictum, the two men began work for Nike while still at Portland's William Cain agency. Their mission: To turn out advertising unlike any seen before. Forming their own agency on April Fool's Day, 1982, and taking Nike with them, the two men delivered on their promise. Wieden & Kennedy has crafted a body of Nike work that is nothing short of brilliant. Wieden's advertising for Nike has been inspirational, not only to millions of consumers but to the international ad community as well. With their irresistible command to "Just Do It," Wieden and Nike reached the pinnacle of the ad trade, marrying commerce with art. The memorable ads have run the gamut from straightforward celebrity endorsements to attitude-filled art-house films. Wieden's production techniques have been widely copied, but few mimics have equalled Wieden's freshness and vision. Exploring the athletic spirit in depth, Wieden's work for Nike has tackled such controversial subjects as politics, race and even domestic violence. A series of Super Bowl spots pairing Michael Jordan with Bugs Bunny even inspired a film, Warner Bros.' Space Jam. How many agencies can claim that? Wieden's work is perhaps best remembered for its big-budget athletic superstar endorsements featuring Jordan, Bo Jackson and Charles Barkley in special-effects laden extravaganzas, such as "Bo's Family Reunion," "The Barkley of Seville" opera series and, more recently, the poetic Jordan spot, "Frozen Moment." But Wieden's genius is more than that. What other agency could have employed such unlikely figures as actor Dennis Hopper and writer William S. Burroughs to sell shoes-and it worked brilliantly! Even as Wieden was busily promoting sports stars as superhuman figures, it sometimes confronted the whole chimera of advertising. Remember the confrontational spot in which Charles Barkley announces, "Just because I can dunk a basketball doesn't mean I should raise your kids?" The fearless social commentary was later extended to an award-winning 1995 commercial in which young girls rattle off such statistics as "If you let me play sports, I will be 60 percent less likely to get breast cancer." Wieden's successes with Nike, the product of strong intuition and fearless dedication to the creative product, is a testament to the integrity of the creative spirit. For most agencies, that magic lasts only as long as it takes to commission a new campaign. Wieden & Kennedy managed to prolong it for a 16- year run. And it's not over yet. -E.P. FOLLOWING THE LEADER Goodby, Silverstein & Partners, the San Francisco shop that made milk hip, cruise lines sexy and Polaroid pictures interesting again, is the late arrival in Nike's two-headed roster. Industry observers are watching closely to see whether this new relationship will infuse Nike with the vigor needed to revitalize its battered image. So far, the verdict is mixed. One of the first Goodby campaigns was an effort for skateboarding which produced an amusing series of comic spots inspired by a Rodney Dangerfield-ish insight that skateboarders are the outcasts of the athletic world, while traditional athletes get respect. The spots show what runners, tennis players and golfers would be subjected to if they were treated like skateboarders: Runners, for example, are heckled as they jog down the street. The hilarious spots target a miniscule portion of the Nike universe, but the skateboarding population represents a key market: youth. The agency's offbeat Winter Olympics campaign, a collection of spots featuring the words of streetwise young poets, was interesting; but whether the average TV viewer appreciated the poetry slam is another matter. Surprisingly, Goodby's initial print effort for women was disappointing. In an attempt to scrap dated sentiments of female empowerment, the agency produced work that felt thin and transparent, mocking the status quo rather than shattering it. The grandiose Super Bowl spot work for Nike apparel was better. Beautifully shot with elegant and arresting black-and-white portraits of naked athletes' bodies in motion, the concept worked even better in its print form. Goodby's talents will truly be tested when it finally rolls out its work for Nike's Alpha line-a new agency for a new brand. -E.P.

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