It happened again. I bid on a director job for a spot rich in Black character work, specifically targeting Black women. And per usual, the agency team didn’t reflect the audience they were trying to speak to. So, shocker: they missed it. The nuance. The culture. The point.
But I showed up. Ready to bring my lived experience and creative chops to a campaign that clearly needed exactly that. I poured my soul into the treatment. But guess what? I didn’t get the job. No Black woman did. I was the only one even considered. The gig went to a white woman.
My executive producers were mad. Rightfully so. One even posted an outcry on social media. Because what was all that talk about “authenticity” and “getting it right for Black women”? It’s performative. This isn’t about losing a job. Bids come and go. This is about losing access. Again. Access to shape conversations that Black creators have every right to lead. This wasn’t that director’s story to tell. It was mine. It was ours.
Black creators are tired of being tired. Being Black in America isn’t a demographic or a stroke of melanin. It’s lineage. It’s language. It’s not a costume you throw on for your Q3 campaign. When your campaign claims to “speak to Black women” but doesn’t hire Black women to lead it… who are you really talking to?
This industry loves to pat itself on the back for being “inclusive”, but thrives on this nonsense. Nearly 70% of Black audiences say they wish they saw more of themselves represented- more than any other group. What’s that saying? “You love our rhythm but not our blues.” Or: “They want the sauce, just not the chef.” Or my remix: “If it’s Black, let’s just replicate that.”
And this isn’t revolutionary. Or political. The problem crosses ideologies, parties, and zip codes. Brands, how much money have you wasted trying to reach us without us? Do the math. (Spoiler: it’s billions.)
How many campaigns have you greenlit where the casting was off? The styling was tragic? The dialogue felt like it was trying to mimic Black voices? You think sprinkling in a little AAVE and a Beyoncé nod makes your ad “relevant”? Unless you’re Levi’s and actually have Beyoncé… you’re talking to yourself. And that “self” based on the usual agency and brand executive demo is probably an old white dude who thinks wearing Jordans means he’s “on the pulse.”’
Remember that Heinz ketchup ad promoting the Joker: Folie à Deux movie. Yikes. Or that Dyson TikTok ad? The one where the blow dryer flopped publicly on coiled 4c Black hair in real time? That’s what happens when you don’t have Black folks leading or worse, when you bring one of us in and ignore us. I’ve been there. You hire me for optics, but don’t want my opinion. “Please be Black… but not like that.”
But when you get it right? Whew. Ralph Lauren’s Oak Bluffs campaign, directed by Cole Brown. Shannon Washington and Garrett Bradley helping Sephora say “Black Beauty is Beauty” and my wallet said, “say less.” Google’s “Most Searched” ad by Shea Jackson McCann? Stunning. Resonant. Because when Black creators lead, we don’t echo culture, we shape it.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Not every Black ad needs a Black director. It should be the best person for the story, blah blah.” Welp. You’re wrong.
I direct spots all the time that feature people from all kinds of backgrounds. And I’ll keep reminding agencies: don’t only call me when Black History Month rolls around. I’m a damn good director. I say that, knowing the barriers I’ve had to overcome just to be in the room that I’ve had to be beyond good. But if your campaign is rooted in Black experience, Black culture, Black identity, then lived experience must lead. It’s a mandate. Directors should reflect the full spectrum of Black creativity. We’re not a monolith. Our excellence is wide. It’s quirky, thoughtful and meaningful. There are a lot of us out here roaming around being brilliant and ready to make you lots of money. (Blinks in sarcasm.)
You pick directors for how their identity shapes storytelling. There are genres I don’t pitch for because they’re not mine to tell. Nobody’s calling me for the Jewish, Polish, or Chinese campaign and that makes sense. Is this commercial about prostate exams?
I’m probably not your girl.
So why is Black culture treated like an open-source folder anyone can dip into?
And a note to white women directors: yes, white men dominate the chair. But I’m holding you accountable. When you accept work that erases us, you’re part of the problem too. A shared womanhood or nonbinaryhood doesn’t give you the cultural currency to be the only “diverse” voice in the room.
Don’t get it twisted, I’ll be fine. I’ve got more jobs ahead and more brilliance to bring. This is about the next generation of Black creatives not having to fight just to be heard so they can build, lead, and leave a legacy.
Brands, be mad too. Mad you’re spending big budgets on mediocrity. Mad you’re overlooking creatives who could take your campaign from passable to powerful. Mad you’re saying Black people are worth replicating, not trusting or empowering. That you think you know us better than we know ourselves. Hmm… sounds very supremacist of you.
Do you like money? McKinsey says Black consumer power will grow from $910B in 2019 to $1.7T by 2030. Do you want your campaign to be Sinners at the box office or just another made-for-TV movie no one remembers? Because when you keep hiring adjacent to Blackness instead of Black people, you might as well throw your cash out the window.
You can’t Google your way to cultural insight. You can’t crowdsource the soul of a community.
If you want to be authentic? Hire us. Trust us. Then step aside.
Because when authenticity wins, so does your bottom line.
Jenn Shaw is an NAACP Image Award-nominated director who is represented by Tinygiant for commercials and branded content, and by literary manager Elissa Friedman at Zero Gravity. She is an alum of the 2017 15th Annual SHOOT New Directors Showcase.
