Do We Actually Do What We Say, or Do We Just Say We Do?

It’s the kind of question that sneaks up on you after another long day surrounded by banners, posts, socials, quick turnarounds, and “just one more version.” Most of us came into advertising with a different picture in mind. We imagined stories, characters, big ideas, and late-night brainstorms that felt like scenes from a creative movie. The promise was that we’d shape culture, challenge the norm, maybe even change a little corner of the world.

Then reality showed up.

Instead of cinematic breakthroughs, we found the real rhythm of the industry: the small tasks, the endless decks, the ideas that need three versions before lunch. The rush to finish something you know won’t end up in an award show reel but still matters because it keeps everything running. It’s not bad, just not what was promised. More practical than poetic.

Somewhere in that daily grind, we also realized not every piece of work gets to see the light of day. A lot of it lives quietly inside folders or dark posts, doing its job without applause. And that’s part of the strange charm of it all. Advertising turned out to be less about epic cultural moments and more about understanding, adapting, and trying again tomorrow.

Now, with AI becoming the new teammate who never sleeps, things feel even stranger. The tasks that once took days now take minutes. The mechanical side of the job is speeding up, as if the industry is trying to convince us that creativity can be automated. Which brings another question: if everything becomes “quick and easy,” do the fun parts finally come back into focus, or does it just make the difference between dream and reality even clearer?

The truth is, advertising lives somewhere between dream and routine. We joined this world for the spark, the magic, the ideas. And even if our days are filled with mechanical thinking, micro-adjustments, and tight deadlines, there’s still something oddly beautiful about making something that helps someone, somewhere, see the world differently.
Maybe that’s the real job. Maybe the gap between what we thought we’d do and what we actually do is the story itself, messy, imperfect, but still worth showing up for. The magic is still there. It just looks different now.