A couple of months ago I had a conversation with a relatively high-profile Public Relations (PR) director. The reason for this meeting was because I was due, each week, a strategic insight into the PR world in order to become better prepared to go from my role as low-level research ‘bitch’ to account executive ‘bitchy’.

For the sake of keeping some anonymity about it I will refer to the experienced and well-versed boss as Mr. X, and myself as Mr. White (there’s no reason for this, it is solely for the purpose that I quite fancy myself as one of the ‘badass’ characters from Reservoir Dogs – though I could also be Mr. Plum who was clearly the most deceptive master criminal in Cluedo).

I have always been interested in the role of advertizing but only recently started to understand the meaning and practice of public relations. It originally stemmed from an interest in the way we, as humans, react to certain objects and images, why we’re drawn to specific colors and words. Several years ago I read Vance Packard’s 1953 The Hidden Persuaders with serious curiosity and it revealed some incredibly clever and wholly terrifying things about advertizing and 1950’s American society.

Sitting in a small conference room with certificates and copies of previous work surrounding us like some boastful and altogether ominous pieces of artwork — as though each one should be set up in the Tate Modern — Mr. X proceeded to tell me the differences between PR and advertizing.

“Imagine,” he said, leaning back in a well-meaning suit (i.e. worn too many times but was nice once) with slightly ruffled shirt and tie, “that there is a car on an open road, speeding through a mountain range. Take that image and put it on a page of advertizing. It’s in your face, slightly gregarious, a bit standard, right?”

“Right,” I replied, looking at the biscuits on the table, dreading that, like most people who have made their way in business, he would continue on an epic journey of metaphors, some fantasy and certainly self-gratification.

“PR on the other hand is much more valuable,” he said with a slight smirk. I noticed he too was eyeing up the biscuits. “You see, there are a couple of reasons why we’re so useful and so good.” (Remember this line for later and you’ll see the irony). “First off, journalists and us have a great relationship. We need them to get our clients in the press and they need us for their stories. Without PR agencies journalists would be lacking in a lot of material, so it’s quite a mutual relationship.”

This was the point, even early on in the conversation, where I began to get slightly weary. “A symbiotic relationship with journalists?” I thought to myself, “but they’re supposed to be objective, no?”

Mr. X continued, “PR is so much more subtle that advertizing, it can reach an audience by just giving information linked with trends, like the economy and like education for example … So let me give you an example. Joe Bloggs off the street is suffering from his local area because there aren’t enough schools nearby, and him and his missus want to go somewhere where a kid can be raised. Lo-and-behold an article in the local newspaper talking about education refers to some areas and homes nearby that are perfect for new families. Chances are that we, or someone like us, has written the release, sold it in to the journalist and now it’s there for Joe Bloggs to catch a glimpse of as he reads the article.” He pauses. “Ok, or another one, everyone talks about the cost of food, if a PR agency can get a comment from the MD of a top food company in the press – a little comment can go a long way.

I replied, “But aren’t people starting to realize that this is becoming more and more of a trend? I mean, they’re becoming more weary of what they read because they’re not so certain articles are objective?” I thought back to spin doctors of the Blairite era (‘spin’ came from ‘spinning a yarn’, a tall tale to impress the audience listening). Again, this is also something that Packard had written about in The Hidden Persuaders, see the politics section here.

“Ahh, that’s a good point. Yes, you’re absolutely right,” he says as he reaches for the biscuits, “Want one?” (His perceptiveness proves his mind is working sharply which, in turn, scares me a little — I go for the custard creams and devour them) “Thanks,” I reply. He continues, “You see, that’s exactly where web 2.0 and social networking sites come in. Places like Facebook, Myspace and all the blogs; companies have already started to realize that sites like those were – and mostly are – perceived by people to be far more reliable than newspapers. If you manage to penetrate these places, the target market is much larger and, it has to be said, much younger.”

At this point I started to feel as though the ominous looking articles hanging on the wall are not only listening to us, but viewing us, analysing us, turning our thoughts and conversation into data.

“But soon enough,” he said, opening another pack of biscuits, “people will become weary of this too and so we’ll have to find new ways of selling our clients’ products.”

He took a breath, it appeared as though he wanted me to ask what his future ideas were, to draw out what other ways he can penetrate and, essentially, manipulate the markets of the future – ‘me’ I think to myself.

But before I did, I clued up my question, mustering up some way of eloquently countering his now apparent smugness and belief in the industry. I drew in a breath myself, relaxed my posture a little, and tilted my head so as to seem more inquisitive than aggressive. “So tell me something Mr. X. If each time companies find new ways of selling products through silent persuasive means, a kind of ‘soft selling’, are we becoming more mature, more aware as a society, or are you just fuelling a society of distrust, a society of cynics?” (I only now realize that saying ‘you’ was a Freudian slip – but perhaps this conversation, either side of the table, was now ‘Manipulators’ versus ‘Society’, with the table in-between us the emblem of true and false, reality and fantasy).

I felt suddenly incensed by the final words of my question. I felt attacked by his very theories and the way he presented them. I also felt slightly betrayed and, it has to be said, gutted that he had taken the next, and only remaining pack of custard creams.

He seemed slightly taken aback by my question and by my disregard for niceties; I wanted to know, felt I had the right to know.

He responded, “It’s both. It’s probably one and then the other. We find new ways of getting products sold, people become aware of it, more intelligent to the ideas used and then become cynical of it. It’s inevitable really, that’s why we always have to be a step ahead.” He now took the opportunity to tell me his ideas. “Companies have and will in the future, I’m sure, go to heads of other companies, give them some product just so, in a random conversation, they can say to friends, ‘Hey, I used that razor this morning’, or ‘I played with some great clubs the other day’, and, sure enough, it’s coming directly from them, from their own mouths, from actual people and as I’m sure you understand, when it’s face to face, there’s a significant element of trust there, far more so than paper or the internet and consequently invaluable to a company trying to sell its products.”

Mr. X beamed at me and, merely for the fact that we’re in the room by ourselves, I achieved a somewhat uneasy, crooked smile back. I shifted slightly in my seat and felt my mind working, for now the biscuits didn’t seem so appealing; in fact, nothing seemed appealing: the branded phone in my pocket, the labelled jumper I was wearing, even the newspaper in my bag. Have I been subjected to subliminal, coercive techniques throughout my life, applied to me in ways I hadn’t even imagined? I thanked him for his time and walked slowly, unsurely out of the boardroom.

When Chrisopher Bigsby gave a short platform talk on playwright Arthur Miller at the National Theatre recently (Dec 2008) he said, from my recollection, the following, “When I spoke to Arthur, I asked him about Death of a Salesman (arguably one of Miller’s most well-know works) and Willy Loman and how Willy felt about everything, his surroundings, how he’s been treated. Arthur replied, ‘You know, in the 1950’s they used to shine advertisements and logos onto the underside of clouds for everyone to see. The difference with Willy was that he thought that the stars under the clouds were real too.’”

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