By Lauren Peters 




This is the first scab I’ve written where I’ve not planned what I want to say. I am literally just typing what comes to mind as and when it comes…. like this right now here…. and that… [intermittent curser while I pause to think].

It’s strangely liberating. Strange, because I tend to plan most things in life (bar the slaughter of my hip-long locks post India, which, to this day, I deeply regret), and liberating, because, well… you’ve no expectations of yourself. For instance, I have no idea how this will pan out and in the highly likely eventuality that it’s shit, I’ve sort of absolved myself of any responsibility because it’s all just one big unedited stream of consciousness.

Anyway, I digress.

I’ve just devoured a melt-in-the-middle fishcake from the Tesco Express down the road for the third time this week and, I have to say, despite being heavily reduced (usually an indication of it’s passing into the slightly-less-delectable realm), it was, in fact, delicious.

Another thing. I never buy clothes. Which, when you’re partnered with queen of studio style Cerf, can be tough at times. HOWEVER. I spontaneously purchased a dress the other day from a thrift shop in Peckham. It was a lovely shape and fit and a reasonable price and summer is here so I thought – yes – I will buy this dress. So I did. Fast forward two hours and I am racking my brain as to how I could have possibly missed the giant second-third-fourth-god-knows-how-many-generations of sweat patch stains under the arms. Surely the girl selling knew? SURELY?!

Introducing: DIY DYE.

Here’s how it works.

First, ditch the monotony of D&AD case study videos.

Second, sprinkle half a pack of dye into a tub of boiling water and stir with a spoon. Add the second-hand sweat patch dress and soak for 10-15 minutes. Empty the bucket and rinse the material in warm water until it runs clear.

The dress is now a beautiful dusty blue and I can officially say, it looks great – better than the original.

Other things that are on my mind as week one term three draws to an end:

  • Placement. Augustine and I were lucky enough to nab a spot at 18 Feet. We were able to work on all sorts of briefs – from beers to banks to booze to bitches (of the dog variety) – and explore facets of advertising we’d previously no knowledge of, namely, post-production and colour grading. We learnt the importance of being proactive, hardworking, sociable, culturally aware and realistic. The team were eclectic to say the least – from hardcore adventurers to burlesque dancers – and it served to demonstrate the importance of ‘extra-curric’ pursuits. We are all a constellation of past experiences and so if we want to shine bright we must collect the stars. 
  • Steve Henry. Jesus. What a guy. Steve came by the studio on Tuesday to give a talk to us all, encouraging us to be agents of change amidst perpetual fuckery; about finding the balance between creative irresponsibility and ethical responsibility; about doing shit that, frankly, nobody knows the answer to. It can be difficult not to loose sight of who we are at times, but, as Steve rightly said, we must harness our conscience and use it as a force for good wherever we can. Consumers have the power to change the world, and we have the power to influence consumers. The current rate of global consumption is overwhelmingly unsustainable. We are going to have to slow down at some point. It may as well be now. And it may as well start with us.
  • Lastly, penguins. I genuinely really missed being in the studio over Easter. I love it. I love the energy. I love the people. I love the work. All of which point towards a future where I love my job. I haven’t always loved my job. I’ve had some really shit jobs. So this, for me, is huge. I am so lucky. So grateful. So ready.

Peace out x

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