Mind Games

Creativity Is Not Just for "Creatives"

As Andy Stefanovich's SUV nears Play's headquarters, his dog, Gekko, a rust-colored retriever mix, goes nuts. She stands up and pushes her way into the front seat, whining eagerly. "She knows we're getting close," Stefanovich explains apologetically. In a world of Silicon Valley-casual, bringing a dog to work is not unusual. But Gekko is probably one of the few company canines who has her own business card and title (top dog). She also gets picked up for "work" by another Play staffer when her owner is traveling. But she's not the only "employee" at Play who's eager for the workday to begin, nor is she the only one with a cool title. The group invents its own titles, which are a mix of in-jokes, role slang, and pure lunacy. Stefanovich himself is "in charge of what's next." Some of the other unusual titles at Play include "buzz"; "whatif"; "Houston, we've got a problem"; "#17"; "check, please"; "voice of reason"; and "1.21 jigawatts."

Those titles don't always reveal a job's function -- which is part of their beauty. Conventional titles tend to categorize people as either "creative" or "noncreative." But Play's employees are all part of the creative process -- no matter what they do on a daily basis. Cathy Carl, who at any other marketing agency would be an account manager, prefers to call herself "point guard" for Play. "When I go into a meeting with clients, they always think that I'm one of the creatives," says Carl, 25, whose thick, silver-glitter eyeliner and boisterous personality fuel that impression. "I'm encouraged to bring my own creativity to my job. We have so many people with dynamic personalities and myriad interests who keep us growing and learning constantly. It's as if we all feed this organism that is Play."

During its 10-year history, Play has developed a formula for inspiring innovative thinking, which includes curiosity, open-mindedness, energy, and risk taking. That's why Play's environment -- and its approach to work -- is designed to maximize both stimulation and safety. Players call that feeling "mojo." Mojo includes the physical surroundings (dozens of large, red rubber balls; Polaroids and graffiti plastered everywhere; and lots of toys and Tyvek suits) as well as certain rituals (such as drumrolls to announce meetings and morning story time). "One of the things that attracted me to Play was its open, caring environment," says Chip Leon, 32, the company's "what's next" strategist, who first used mojo to describe Play's magic. "It's just a good vibe, a feeling of positive energy, a familial closeness," he says. "It's like Disney's pixie dust -- a little bit of intangible magic that helps make us who we are."

That mojo is especially tangible at creative sessions. During the second part of the brainstorming for the Weather Channel, the group breaks into teams to come up with ideas for the cause-related marketing campaign. Each team grabs a stack of magazines to flip through to "force connections." The point is to come up with ideas -- no matter how silly, bad, or inappropriate -- from random input. This exercise in free association both removes penalties for "bad" ideas and guarantees exposure to unrelated and offbeat sources of inspiration. Stefanovich's group heads outside and sets up kid-size plastic stools in the middle of a large patch of sun. The team flips through magazines, calling out ideas, while Hammond takes notes on the arms and back of a teammate's Tyvek jacket. An ad for ties spawns an idea for clothing with patterns of clouds, sun, rain, and such on them, the proceeds of which could benefit hurricane-relief efforts. Stefanovich riffs off a picture of the sky to suggest an "adopt a raindrop" program to which people could donate money for a cause and in return track a fictional raindrop via computer simulation from its beginnings in a lake in Wisconsin to its destiny as part of a tropical storm.

After 15 minutes of a steady rush of ideas, team members take a few minutes to think about the question from their invented superheroes' perspectives. When the teams meet back in the conference room, all their ideas are written on the white board. No one worries that some ideas are weird, off brand, or lousy. There's no eye rolling or derisive laughter. Instead, everyone tries to "hook on" to an idea by adding to it or spinning it to make it better. The session ends with applause and, on cue, exuberant barking from Gekko.