The Thing About Happiness PR

pain perdu

Day 55

Exactly 99 days ago, I started the #100HappyDays challenge, which dares you to post a photo of something that makes you happy, every day, for 100 days. When I first came across this challenge, I was somewhere between stress-Pinteresting mug cake recipes and Googling “inspirational posters with penguins on them,” having felt buried under classwork, the pressure to find an internship and typical 21-year-old What The Hell Am I Doing With My Life terror.

The challenge, hosted by the 100 Happy Days Foundation, promised to make me feel more grateful and, yes, happier, if only I could stick it out the entire time. So I created a Tumblr, posted a photo of an newspaper office meeting and told myself this was like some form of new age journaling.

Over the following months, I posted pictures of loved ones, views, puppies, French toast and fun events. When I sat down every night or so to add to the Tumblr, it did provide a nice moment of reflection, especially if it had been a few days and I had a few photos to make up for. I realized that the things I remembered best from each day that made me happy weren’t getting good grades, or losing weight, or even pay day (well, also, it seemed sketchy to post a photo of my bank routing number online). They were people, places and things like painting or learning a new language that were devoid of obligation or a grading system. In the moments when I felt down, I would scroll through the blog and feel better, as if reminding myself see, look at all this awesome shit you’ve got going on. The 100 Days of Happiness project worked.

At the same time, it changed the way I saw happiness.

While the 100 Happy Days project made me appreciate so many things (and people!) more, I also started to devalue every feeling and moment that wasn’t happy –moments when I was bored to tears building an Excel database for hours at work, moments when I actually was in tears, sometimes, embarrassingly enough, in the office bathroom. I started resenting myself for being someone who couldn’t just be happy all the time. I knew I was #blessed. So how dare that ungrateful lip of mine even think about quivering!

This summer, I put hundreds of miles between me and my closest friends to move to a new city, in a new state. There were a lot of scary, boring, confusing, frustrating, terrifying and downright unhappy moments involved, and it feels weird to skim back through my blog and see absolutely no trace of any of that amongst the foodstagrams and screenshots. And, unless you’re really committed and go look at all the posts, you’ll notice that there’s actually one day that’s missing. In the complete story of the past 100 days, this day would be known as The Absolute Worst Day Ever, but it weren’t for the missing date, you’d never even guess it. So I started thinking about Happiness PR.


Our generation is particularly obsessed with happiness, which is mainly a really good thing. We don’t just want 9-to-5 jobs to pay the bills; we want jobs that actually fulfill us and make the world a better place. We don’t just eat food; we shop for mega-organic uber-vegan products that are supposed to make our lives purer and whole. We take gap years, go abroad, and travel like mad to find ourselves. We rally to Beyoncé’s battle cry of seeking but happiness as our aspiration life. And we enlist Happiness PR to show each other how well we’re doing.

Happiness PR has always been around, but it’s never been more apparent than now, when we have access to the same communications technology as corporations, and vice versa. Our generation especially has become experts at boiling down our messy, imperfect lives into flawless personal brands. Every Facebook photo, tweet and study abroad blog post becomes part of a carefully-designed public relations strategy, whether we admit it or not, designed to create perceptions about ourselves. Even that Tumblr I made and this portfolio website, too, is no worse nor better than a corporate news release or PR stunt.

I don’t think there’s anything unnatural about Happiness PR, because I mean, just as I want to know about Starbucks selling fair trade coffee and Taylor Swift visiting kids with cancer in hospitals, I want to know what’s making my friends and family happy, and I want to know they’re doing well with their job/relationship/school/Candy Crush. But I think one of the biggest problems with Happiness PR is that unhappiness has no place in it.

A YouTube video released earlier this summer shows, there’s a problem with all of us only selectively showing the peaks of our lives, when in reality, there’s a hella lot of valleys going on in between. Unfortunately for us, a thinking heuristic makes us automatically assume that a sample (aka what we see on social media) is representative of the whole (aka, the quality of our friends’ actual lives).

The irony here, of course, is that doing Happiness PR kind of makes everyone else unhappy as they’re comparing 100% of their lives to the top 20-30% of yours shown online. And then it makes them ashamed for being unhappy, because as far as the smiling photos and Snapchats go, no one else feels that way.

The other problem, as I encountered with the 100 Happy Days project, is that Happiness PR makes unhappy moments seem… unimportant. Moments like getting rejected, getting over someone, feeling alone, dropping toast butter-side down and thinking you’re never going to succeed – those moments really, really suck, but these are the experiences that make us strong and driven and passionate (and more careful with our toast the next day). To deny the inherent worth of those moments is to reject a huge part of our lives, and ourselves.

So, to combat Happiness PR, should we just post things like “She broke up with me today” or “I can’t open my Nutella jar, and I actually cried because I am that hungry”? I don’t think that’s necessarily the answer. As that Higton Bros video shows, we’re typically not interested in opening our news feed and seeing hundreds of people griping left and right. Psychologically, too, it’s just as bad of an idea to surround yourself in other people’s misery as it is to surround yourself with things to envy.

But I don’t think that means we as a population don’t want to hear about each others’ problems, period. Humans of New York, for example posts magnificent photos of average people talking about the heartbreaking and frustrating things they’re going through, and it has done a great job of bringing everyone on the Internet together in a big well-lit group hug. Celebrating struggle without bringing anyone down – that’s what we as future professional storytellers and human beings should work toward.

The first step, then, to combating the problems of Happiness PR, is to realize that Happiness PR exists, and that like any PR strategy cooked up by professionals paid by clients, it has its benefits and its limits. It doesn’t tell the whole story. As uber-savvy consumers, we’re well practiced at calling bullshit on big corporations, and as humans in civilization, we should be better at looking at social media with some of that same – not skepticism, per se, because I don’t believe we’re all just faking happiness to trick each other – but maybe awareness. Awareness that the photo your best friend took in front of the Eiffel Tower is not proof that her life is completely perfect and yours is shit; it’s just her celebrating being abroad, and off that cramped 10-hour flight. Awareness, on a personal level, that that #100HappyDays Tumblr I made is a nice record of happy things, not a comprehensive representation of my most recent 100 days.

The obvious second step after that, of course, is to take advantage of our persona, private interactions to help each other recognize and appreciate all parts of our lives.

Being happy is important. It is so important. It is, many argue, the point of this whole shebang. But what this project has made me realize is that it’s important to find meaning in our happiness. In order to find meaning, we have to also welcome and appreciate the less than picture-perfect moments. Not a novel discovery by any means, but 100 days of rather acute ups and downs have given me a lot to think about. Because while those unsavory, unhappy moments hurt, and they don’t look cute on Tumblr, they’re part of the package deal. And it’s a pretty great package deal, all things considered.

Mercury creative project

In the mist of post-College World Series mania and trying to make French toast in the agency kitchen, I got to work with two of the art direction interns, Elizabeth and Breanna, on a fun project creating and pitching ads for an imaginary running shoe to agency execs – and here’s what we came up with:

AtoB evolutionaryadaptation MERCURYAD_Opt2

A city of small moments and big lessons

“A summer working in Omaha” just doesn’t roll off the tongue, or call forth Instagram-worthy mental images as well as, say, “a summer touring Europe,” or “a summer exploring New York,” or even “a summer relaxing in Columbia.”

At least, that’s what I thought when I jammed my car full of scavenged Ann Taylor pencil skirts, only three short days after taking my last final, and then hauled it all to Omaha, Nebraska. Not the city that never sleeps. Not the city of lights. Not the city of brotherly love. But the city of beef, Warren Buffett, and being nice.

But one month into living in Omaha and working as a public relations intern at the ad agency Bozell, I’ve realized, sure, Omaha is not the glamazon It Girl at the party, and that’s okay. She’s the smart, sweet, sensible girl who smilingly offers to hold your purse while you go to the bathroom. She has impressive taste in microbrews and knows a lot about a lot, but won’t make it apparent right away. And she believes in things like free parking, numbered streets and the ability to buy a week’s worth of groceries for $40.

As for Bozell, nowhere else is there a better microcosm showcasing Omaha’s metropolitan feel mixed with small town pleasantry. I’ve spent about a month here, working mainly on the College World Series account (but also on my personal Take Advantage of Free Daily Office Donuts project). And in these past four weeks, I’ve already discovered some pretty big lessons from deceptively small moments. Here are four:

  1. The first press conference that I helped organize was not only being held in honor of an NCAA official who was a Mizzou alum, but one of the journalists who came to cover it was none other than my friend Hunter Woodall, a fellow former editor at The Maneater. Check us out in our fancy business professional below! That day furthered my theory that Mizzou Tigers secretly run the world.


  1. Getting to work on the College World Series, if you know me at all, is very ironic since I spent my junior high softball career spitting sunflower seeds on the bench. To me, sports is an enigma on par with the theory of relativity. But watching this city come alive with the idea of baseball is downright inspiring. A few weeks ago, we drove around the city putting down giant sidewalk stickers shaped like home plates and bases. At a local playground, we decided to have some fun and arrange them to look like a real ball diamond, and the kids barely gave us time to step back before they emitted bloodcurdling screams and started running the bases in that kind of pure little kid show of appreciation that makes the world go ‘round.


  1. Now that the games have officially started, I get to wear a floppy laminated press pass and wander the stadium, doing important PR type things like sampling the journalists’ buffet. Bozell sent me down to the field to take photos, and I was kind of clueless as to how I was supposed to take pictures of this sport I didn’t really understand, while competing against hawk-like NCAA and ESPN photographers. Then I saw a cluster of kids chattering with some of the players by the edge of the fence. And I realized that I didn’t have to get the rules or regulations of baseball to understand the kind of joy it brings to kids – and a city – so enthusiastic about meeting and making heroes.





4.  Last Friday night, I thought I was just going to clock out, go home, veg out on Easymac, and continue my scorched earth strategy with Netflix. Instead, I found myself strapped inches from the door of a plane, 14,000 feet in the air, surrounded with tough-as-nails Golden Knight parachutists hired by the College World Series for Opening Ceremonies. I watched as they strapped sparklers to their feet and lept out into the void. When I looked out into the night sky, they looked like shooting stars.



Ah life, you sparkly, unpredictable thing.

Once a Maneater


Being a Maneater taught me everything. I mean it.

As a reporter, it taught me to be meek. It taught me how to get on my knobby freshman knees and beg — for a story, for a contact, for an interview, for a chance. It taught me how to write sentences that I loved dearly, and then it taught me how to kill them with a machete without flinching under the level gaze of my editor. Being a Maneater reporter also taught me to be bold. It taught me that journalism is scary, but in the way that jumping off a cliff into a crystal cold pool can be at first, and it taught me that literally and figuratively, I was only a 500-word article embedded within the 40-page issue life.

And then as an editor, being a Maneater taught me to be tender. I learned how to gather up doe-eyed young reporters under my wing and, without suffocating them all crowded together there in my armpit, coach them to shun the Oxford comma and to worship fact checks. It has been one of the greatest joys in my life to watch too many of the reporters I worked with evolve into these beautiful journalistic creatures careening across campus, pens perpetually in hand.

But, you know, being an editor also taught me to be vicious. It taught me to stand up for my reporters with the diligence of a 5-foot-4 mother bear, to stand up to weekly print cycles that came at you like some kind of sick, merciless tetherball, and then to cast predatory stares at other competing publications with embarrassing sophomoric pluckiness. The Maneater, underrated and unsung in a city of thousands of journalists, taught me to aspire to be among the best. Never mind the disadvantages of a completely student-staffed editorial board and the anemic financial state that comes with being self-funded.

Then there was this year, which I spent as the managing editor. Can I be proud to say that being a Maneater executive taught me to be cynical? Because it did, in a breathlessly humbling way. Between helping to lead the transition from a biweekly print product to an online publication and simply just trying to understand the peculiar business model that is a student newspaper, it got a lot discouraging some of the time. I learned that even the best-laid plans can be doomed to die — quietly in small gasps, sometimes, and other times in garish explosions. I learned to be okay with that, because despite our best efforts, we never learned how to stop trying, nonetheless.

But at the same exact time, The Maneater taught me to dream and to hope. You would think that 4 a.m. deadlines and a laughable excuse for a paycheck would be enough to dissuade those who walk into that basement office every day, much less the ones who then also voluntarily walk into deadening city council meetings and board meetings, too. On any given production night as a Maneater executive, there is this extraordinary chance where you sit down and click through the completed pages of each new issue, and you see the efforts of 30 to 40 talented young individuals fuse together into a tangible product that’s supposed to ship out in the morning and educate society. It teaches you that journalism — and life, and the world, really — is this amazing collective thing that you wouldn’t stand a chance against alone.

What more could a kid ever hope to learn?

Thank you to Joel, who gave me the chance to have that first byline. Thank you to Kelly and Pat for believing in me so much that they put me on an editorial board, even when I didn’t know what a comma splice was at the time. Thank you to previous MOVE editors Brandon, Natalie and Pierce, for their MOVE guidance, to Maneater editors like Zach and Allison and Kaylen and Celia for giving those of us in this basement something to aspire to be once we’re beyond the green masthead, and to Becky and Kara, whose daily efforts keep the Maneater from spontaneously combusting.

Thank you to Ted, pictured with me and our framed first issues above, who secretly knew before I did what a privilege it would be to serve as his managing editor this year, and thank you to each member of the editorial boards I was lucky enough to work with in the past three years. You are family. And thank you to every reporter, columnist, photographer, designer, editor, business manager, intern and staff member who has made The Maneater the game-changer it will always be. Don’t be surprised as this publication continues to change, to make mistakes, to make amends, to keep growing up. Don’t be surprised when I stop you on the street 50 years from now and shriek some staff box quote at you in greeting.  And please, don’t try to act so surprised when you all become wildly, disgustingly successful out there, no matter where you end up.

As the saying goes: You’ve been warned.

This is why

The other day, I found myself across Missouri in one of those interview things where you try to explain to a group of exceptionally impressive industry professionals why you want to be just like them when you grow up, and why you would make a great scholarship candidate, and also why it appears as though you’ve sort of lost your voice (without admitting it’s because you were singing too enthusiastically out loud in your car on your lone man road trip there). They asked me about my background in journalism and how it was that I now wanted to go into advertising, which made my tongue somewhat invert into my throat, because I still struggle a lot with the idea, too (Sometimes, I swear I can hear my Journalism 1100 professor angrily crying in shame).

But then we started talking about our favorite ads, and I was jabbering about this Thai Life Insurance commercial called “Unsung Hero,” done by Ogilvy Bangkok, that I’d seen online a few days prior. I’m no expert as far as scholarship interviews go, but I’m pretty sure Rule #1 is not admitting you cried about an ad you saw on Facebook. But I did, and it made me think.

This ad is somewhat cliché, yes. And it’s pretty cheesy. And ultimately, it is designed to sell me something. And as a kid who’s studying advertising full time, I should totally know better than to let three minutes of images and sound and somewhat awkward subtitles capture my attention, much less steal my heart. But it does it anyway.

This “Unsung Hero” ad is an example of the kind of powerful communication and storytelling that got me into that journalism business in the first place, and it’s the kind I really, really hope to do one day.

I’ve realized that I want to go into advertising because of creations like these. Ads like these wield a power unimaginable by even Pulitzer-winning journalists and hard-hitting investigative writers, because those professions are noble and amazing and save the world a lot, but ultimately, even if they do everything right, that kind of work reaches maybe only 10 – 20% of the entire world. Maybe. Not everyone reads or watches the news. But everyone experiences ads. And while advertising can be a lot of meaningless jingles and sexed up cleaning products, it’s also the singular medium where you can have the chance to say almost anything to everyone.