I think I’ve fallen prey to a cult

My life was considerably different around five weeks ago. It was dull, uninspiring and lacked colour. This quickly changed once I became part of a small strange south London community nestled away in an intriguing part of Brixton. 

Initially, things were tough, like nothing I had ever experienced before. Our initiation on the very first day seemed to be a sign of things to come. Fast forward five weeks, and I’ve totally bought into it. I’m fully immersed in the hysteria, accustomed to the madness and settled.

The cult is made up of a diverse mix of colourful characters from all walks of life. Age, ethnicity and background are left at the door – that’s how things should be. We’re led by our hypnotic Supreme leader. He has the charisma of a dictator (a nice friendly one that doesn’t commit genocide, it’s a compliment, promise), the charm of a Bond villain (again, a compliment) and the energy of a 90s raver (a real zest for life). His team of trusty disciples are fountains of knowledge. They all share his dark sense of humour, his passion and his tenacity to preach to us to create more, to create better and to create right. 

We venerate persuasive communication of past and present. We idolise advertising icons of yesterday and today. And we are devoted to constantly creating fine work and continuously improving so we can become advertising icons of tomorrow. We preach the dark arts of Sticky thinking, Scamping and Iterating. Admittedly, things occasionally become ludicrously intense, and despite our work being ripped apart, chewed and spat out, we feed off the delirium within these four walls. 

So yes, I’ve joined a cult and it’s fucking awesome! I’ve found a sanctuary in SCA. I am happy, grateful and fortunate to be part of this cult. Opportunity is now here. I feel at home. 

If you have the chance to join this cult, grab it with both hands. Or else.

Disclaimer: we don’t wear robes, we haven’t sacrificed any lambs or babies and no-one has been burnt at a stake…yet.


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