#and speaking of the analogue horror videos they made are good. WAY too good. I dont trust like that. They for sure hired somebody to make

[iggyartsblog]

A small vent about marble hornets and creepypasta becoming a recent trend

Tw for description of psychosis, gore description

Read if you wish, if not just enjoy the gifs

Marble hornets is on its 15th year anniversary this year and because of this it's resurfaced and there's a wave of new age fans that enjoy the web show and have delved deeper into creepypasta lore as well as the slenderverse. On a normal person level I have no issues with this. I don't believe In gatekeeping analogue horror from back in my time from today's generation, especially something as good as marble hornets.

My issue is this (Trauma dump incoming) : from the age of 7 I was suffering deep psychosis as a result of using creepypasta and marble hornets as a way of coping with trauma and the stress I was under with neglect and having to look after my sick parent and having no healthy friendship in school. Yes, I was one of those kids who wished with all their hearts that the slenderman would come and take them away and make their problems disappear. The problem was I wanted it too much so my brain just made it happen. I was suffering from really bad derealisation as well as auditory and visual hallucinations of the characters. They would talk and interact with me, just not in the way I wanted them too. I remember so vividly washing up after dinner one night and seeing laughing jack break through the door and stab me in the stomach. I remember watching as my stomach and intestine dropped out of my body as he picked them up and swallowed them by the handful while still managing to maniacally laugh in my face. I screamed until my dad came in and told me jokingly to shut up, clearly not seeing my distress.

These hallucinations impacted my social life too. It was clear to me that there was a handful of them that were not out to get me and wouldn't hurt me if I played along with them. The most normal thing I had to do was just not ignore them. I hallucinated ticci toby a lot, especially in public. I had learned that if I didn't talk back to him he would get agitated and I would have nightmares of the slenderman murdering me so I would always talk back. This made going out with friends difficult because I had to respond to him no matter what. This lead to a lot of bullying from my friends and not many people wanting to talk to me.

For years, until I was 12, I kept slipping through the narrative I was either schizophrenic or actually one of the followers of the slenderman (I used to call myself a proxy, now the word makes me feel physically ill). This belief is probably what made the hallucinations last as long as they did. I wasn't aware at the time how deep in psychosis I was as I refused to talk to my parents about it in detail as my mum used to threaten to take me to a mental hospital as a small child when I used my imagination and said I could see a butterfly, for example, that wasn't really there. My sister knew and so did her friend but I'm sure they both thought it was some game.

So, I'm speaking in the past tense. This is behind me, right? Well, it was for a good few years. I was able to do this via limiting myself all access to anything creepypasta related or marble hornets related which was very hard because it was like my safety blanket for so many years. I tried to not put myself in rooms alone without music or something playing in the background so I can concentrate on that and not give anything the chance to harm me. When I did hallucinate I would take videos to prove to myself nobody was there and in time I was able to ignore them completely and the eventually went away. This took about a year or so of discipline and I think it only worked because it was psychosis and not schizophrenia.

However, the reason I'm talking about this now is it's all come back to me. I'm hallucinating again, I'm being hurt again and I'm unable to sleep properly because of the nightmares that plague me due to it. The reason is very clear to me. Media consumption has caused me to relapse. My girlfriend is obsessed with marble hornets and won't stop showing me stuff about it, which is totally fine because she shows me things she likes out of love. However, when I open Tumblr after it's full of marble hornets and creepypasta. It's the same story for other social media. I'm totally okay with people enjoying the fandom and I'm okay with seeing it from time to time but I do feel so bombarded with it all that's it's triggered me into psychosis yet again. And the way people enjoy this media isn't making me feel any more comfortable online either. You cannot imagine what it's like seeing IRLs of monsters that's harmed you physically and mentally roleplaying and twinkifying the character like the character hasn't killed people or tortured people in their source. I can't stand people simping over Tim from marble hornets after I've repeatedly been assaulted and tormented by a figment of my imagination with the exact same face. Having Jeff the killers bloody and broken face sting like a fresh wound in salt over my eyes when I fall asleep seems like a complete contrast to the hot fuckboy version that people put in their pfps and dirty talk on character ai. I'm not saying you can't be thirsty for a man with no eyelids, my point is it's really strange from my point of view.

Now that you've listened to my rant I just want to make it absolutely clear that if you enjoy marble hornets or creepypasta or the slenderverse you have all the right to keep loving that media. I don't want to put people off or make it seem like I'm trying to gatekeep. I do just want to share a very brief overview of my experience with this media and how it's affected me in hopes it might prevent someone else from going through something similar. This is also a reminder for all horror fans to take a break once in a while to cleanse yourself of all violence and fear for a while and look at some positive media to rest your brain once in a while.

I doubt anyone would be interested in hearing more about my experience with psychosis but if you are ill gladly talk more about it. I'm going to do everything I can to overcome this unwanted sequel and I will over come out weather social media and the people around me let me or not. I've done this before and I'll do it again.

[entergamingxp]

Half-Life: Alyx review – a legend returns in elegant form • Eurogamer.net

The Strider is the greatest of all Half-Life’s creations, if you ask me. Sure, you could argue that it’s just another spin on HG Wells’ tripods, but seriously, look at the thing! Those legs, so horribly long and horribly jointed, that hideous hint of poultry flesh and machinery spliced together, all pain and wrongness. In Half-Life 2, I watched one of this awful lot stoop to duck under a bridge, and the thing about the Strider is that it never reminds you of just one thing, always a horrible bodging-together – almost a flamingo as its joints worked, yet almost grandparent nipping up into the attic for something heavy too. An internal life: that sense of self-preservation and cruel intelligence they have, of seeing only their own priorities. That sense of being autonomous in the moment, but also deeply mission-driven. They give me goose-bumps because it’s so entirely clear that they can probably get goose-bumps themselves.

Half-Life: Alyx review

Developer: Valve

Publisher: Valve

Platform: Reviewed on PC with Index

Availability: Out 23 March on PC

I had been waiting for this moment, then. Half-Life: Alyx, set five years before the events of Half-Life 2 and delivered sixteen years – is that possible? – since Half-Life 2 and thirteen years since Episode Two, the last installment. (How we had talked at the time about that gap between the first two Episodes. We had no idea.) Suddenly, City 17 lies before me once more. I am on a rooftop somewhere: Alyx Vance, 19-year-old daughter of Eli Vance, on reconnaissance for the resistance.

The metropolis is a mess of alien cables, black and heavy, draped thoughtlessly and sagging over honey-coloured European architecture with its weary finials and tiles and crenelations. It’s VR, so a moment or two to look at the creamy skybox dithering into distant mist, then another moment to delight in a nearby radio, fiercely analogue tech, that can be picked up and heaved around, the dials turning and moving a little marker along the display, an aerial that properly extends and everything.

Behind me, inside a little conservatory, there is a video call from Dad, and more importantly there’s a range of felt pens that have been used on the dirty glass to map Combine movements, but which can also be used to – what? – do anything really. Graffiti, Killroys, my daughter’s name in my own instantly recognisable handwriting, somehow captured inside a video game space. I’m on the move, so I heave back a hidden door and explore a few dingy Winston Smith bedsit rooms. Then out again onto a different ledge and, do tell me, what in the world is that sound?

That sound is a strider, horribly large and horribly close, heaving its carcass body up the side of a building, stepping where it wants because the crumbling world of human things is not really a concern for an alien invader. It stops. Has it seen me? I stare up – because it’s VR, I’m actually staring up – at this awful, wretched thing that I have always loved, and which is now here more fully than ever before, its knotty joints bolstered with servo-motors and shards of the Combine’s black-slate tech. It hasn’t seen me. It doesn’t care. It turns and unplugs a clump of cables from a nearby building – the human world is its junction box – and then it’s off into the distance. And yes! I had been waiting for this moment. And this moment did not let me down.

Not my only encounter with a strider in Half-Life: Alyx, but I’ll honestly try to spoil little more than that. What I should say is that for the last few days I have been a bit of a strider myself, strangely focused on a private agenda, strangely blind to the finer details of the human landscape around me, as I have navigated City 17 with a VR headset covering my eyes – two worlds, one laid over the other. All this, as I’ve taken on headcrabs and Combine troopers and all the rest, all this as I have puzzled and rewired and upgraded – while simultaneously bodging around my own PC set up by my desk. House cats and scarves dumped on the backs of chairs startled me when I brushed against them at the wrong moments – generally moments involving headcrabs. My daughter, moving a doll’s house behind me one afternoon, almost finished me off in a boss fight when we bumped together. “When you’re behind me, tell me you’re behind me!” I said. Five minutes later, when I was deep in the horror of the underground somewhere, she obliged, having snuck up close before announcing, “I’M BEHIND YOU, DADDY.”

In other words, Half-Life was always going to work in VR. But what’s fascinating is how it works. If you’re expecting an explosion of let’s-try-anthing creativity a la Boneworks, a game in which every conceivable kind of physics interaction is gleefully gimmicked together as you tumble through its wonderfully scrappy campaign, you’re going to be a bit disappointed. Half-Life would rather focus its ambitions – and in turn rein-in the scope of what you can do – than risk breaking the illusion or frustrating the player. Something is lost in that decision, certainly. It’s Alyx’s way or the highway. But a lot is gained too.

As a result, Alyx is marked by restraint. Which is to say, I think, that it understands that VR itself is still such a continuous gimmick for many people that it can play things straight, paring the Half-Life concept back closer than ever before. Yes, it has radios to play with and the inevitable VR piano to prod out a Goldberg Variation on, but it’s not one of those VR games that serves as the equivalent of those early 3D movies where people were forever throwing knives at the screen. Most of the time, it uses VR to steadily put you deeper and deeper into the fabric of this grimy, flaking Victory Gin world.

This is a simple story, direct yet consequential, studded with wonderful set-pieces, most of which are pitched towards a sort of sci-fi-tinged survival horror: you, a gun, ammo scavenging and them lurking all around as you slowly inch towards your next destination. VR is used to continue the Half-Life ambition, begun with that tram-ride back at Black Mesa and extended via the Gravity Gun and the magnifying glasses and the facial animation tech of Half-Life 2 to truly embed players in its reality. Cats, children, scarves and bookcases aren’t just victims of this approach. They feel like an important part of it.

The basics are straightforward. All I’m going to tell you of the plot is that you’re trying to meet up with your dad and figure out what big strange thing the Combine’s currently so excited about. Events zip along quite briskly and objectives are always clear. If there’s a problem, it’s that the game is hemmed in a little, in terms of narrative, because it so clearly has one specific job to do.

The controls are as clear-headed as the narrative. Playing room-scale or simply standing with a more confined space, you can choose one of four movement options, two of which work brilliantly as teleport jobs while the other two offer continuous movement guided by either the hand or the head and seemed to me pretty clumsy and nausea-inducing. Whatever movement you choose, one hand generally holds a weapon or gadget – switching them is as easy as pressing a button and waving your arm up and down – while the other is always free for interacting with the environment, opening doors, grabbing ammo clips from your backpack and ramming them home, priming grenades before lobbing them.

Both hands wear gravity-gloves, a cobbled-together precursor of the gravity gun. They’re beautiful things. Hold your hands up and it’s like some addled genius has built mittens for your out of diodes and Technical Lego, while little displays show you your health and ammo levels. These things are not for pulling sawblades out of walls and firing them into crowds of zombies, though. They’re precision affairs, a little flick of the wrist yanking a highlighted object out of the environment and bringing it into your hand with a neat little slap.

The gloves have been created by a new character, Russell, played by Rhys Darby, who despite being cast as a genius, stays wonderfully close to Murray, the dim and easily bruised band manager from Flight of the Conchords. Because Alyx also speaks – a performance from Ozioma Akhaga that is forever revealing different facets of personality, while being wonderfully alive to graveyard wit – the game is essentially a two-hander, Alyx out in the world while Russell monitors her progress from a distance, cowardly, prideful, tender and quirky by turns. I love this combination. Beyond anything else, following up the biggest video game in the world with a Rhys Darby simulator is a total power move.

The texture of the game these two travel through is relentlessly – and gloriously – practical, pragmatic and down-to-earth. This is a game about navigating space and killing everything you meet, but it’s all so carefully wrought. A nervous skittering on the soundtrack is ultimately the buzzing of an old fluorescent light tube. Puzzles are made of gravity, stacked boxes, and wood used to prop open windows. These challenges can be maddeningly clever, but Newton always keeps them honest at the same time. Elsewhere, a vaguely celestial sounding clue in the main plot turns out to have a very mundane solution, while car posters you pass on the remains of the subway show boxy Soviet saloons accompanied by ad-talk that’s even more oppressive than usual: Reality Defined. This is science-fiction with both feet on the ground.

This works because the interaction, enlivened by VR, is tangible and playful. It elevates everything, from wiring puzzles – a real theme of this game, using both a gadget that allows you to see electricity flowing through gates inside the walls, and a bit of good-old-fashioned cable-following – to hunting for ammo and other supplies, including the worm-eaten hockey pucks of grey stuff you use as currency in the machines that allow you to upgrade your weapons.

Weapons are real presences because of VR. It’s not just that you have to change clips and pull that slidey thing at the top of the pistol before you can shoot the zombie that’s already groaning towards you. It’s that they have a complex, weighty, rattly presence in your hand. You can sense these guns are each one thing made from many smaller things working together. Valve has always been good with this stuff, and the upgradable weapons of Alyx are very special. From that pistol and a shotgun to something a little more exotic, they’re filled with character and a sense of power, even before you start adding laser sites and bigger clips.

Gun management as well as gunplay, wiring puzzles as well as hacking challenges, traversal with physics hurdles so nicely weighted that you can predict the outcomes in your head: all of the various aspects of Alyx appear simple, but they all work together to bed you deeper and deeper into the game until you reach the point where, if you’re like me, you’re talking back to Russell out loud as you catch up after each fight.

Oh man, but never forget: at the very center of it is all is those incredible gloves. The gravity gun has always had a habit of working its ways into other games for me. Not directly, of course. It’s just that I’ll be playing Gears of War and I’ll see a grand piano or a panel truck and think: I wish I could just lob that somewhere. The gravity gloves have already gone beyond that. They have a habit of getting into my head. I’ll be lying on the sofa and thinking: I wish I could just flick that book from the other side of the room into my hand. At the front door I’ll wish I could turn around and grab my keys from the stairs. The things I could do with Jaffa Cakes, mate.

The gloves are a less ostentatious kind of magic than that offered in Half-Life 2 – again, you won’t be chucking a car at anyone with them – but in some ways they’re a more startling kind of magic. I was half an hour in and pausing mid-reload to pull an interesting bit of set design off a distant shelf and inspect it. The levels are filled with bits and pieces to pick up and examine: cutlery, pipes, video cassettes. Chuck in the reloading and this is stuff you can get good at – you can master it until you’re fighting through the apocalypse and foppishly checking out the detailing at the same time. Half-Life has always sought to startle, which is probably why the last instalment came out in 2007. The right material, the right opportunities, take time to present itself.

What detailing that lost decade or so has allowed for! This is a game that has been allowed to percolate. City 17, strangely noble in its ravaged state, a faded relic being steadily eaten by alien technology, is still one of the great locations in video games, even if you tend to just see bombed out apartment buildings, train yards and subway stations for a lot of the campaign. But the greatest details this time around are the Combine tech, which has never been so monolithically grim. Outside it’s grey sheeting and stark angles: designs that could give you a nasty cut. Inside, though, it’s often big chunks of offal instead of circuitry, as if Darth Vader had teamed up with Fergus Henderson, the man behind the nose-to-tail eating movement. Health stations, pretty much unchanged from the first game, are so much more visibly present in VR. You inspect the squealing white worm that is squished to make the lurid Mountain Dew healing substances, and then you have to pull down a plate and rest your hand on it, enjoying the dancing jabs of a dozen little syringes while you scan the surroundings for oncoming threats.

All of this stuff comes together with wonderful set-pieces. Due to the exhausting nature of VR combat, massive pile-ons like Nova Propsekt are out of the question, ditto the open-world ram-raiding of the White Forest. Instead, troops are dropped in surgically – their strangled tannoy barking giving you a moment to panic and hunt for ammo and hopefully come up with a plan. As for the bestiary there’s a shocking new enemy who I won’t spoil, but even the old guard return and bring a vivid kind of enhanced fear with them. I had dreaded VR headcrabs, and then the game not only introduces them but immediately loses the first one in some pipework. That was a nice two minutes. (I regret to inform you that there’s a new kind of headcrab now too, even if its design can’t quite match the queasy supermarket horror of the original.) Elsewhere it feels like a testament to the brilliance of the original creature design on this series that you feel dread rather than nostalgia whenever one of the classics turns up again. Or maybe it’s another sign of the sheer weight of immersion Alyx can conjure: there’s a real sense of apprehension when the game leads you out of the light and back underground for a spell. You live in these spaces while you move through them.

There are ingenious set-pieces, increasingly piling up towards the end of the campaign, but I’m so struck through by the sheer thrift of a lot of it. It’s that restraint again: make the VR work, get a handful of killer things out of it, and then repeat and remix without breaking the spell. There are Hollywood moments that will stick with me, but I also remember being in a room filled with oil drums while a tank of explosive gas was being winched up towards the mouth of one of those horrible limpet things that sit on the ceiling. That’s the kind of clock Valve likes to put in a scene to add suspense. Hitchcock would be proud: you can see all the moving parts and yet the magic is still there.

And the more I played of Alyx, the more I thought about how VR and Half-Life were made for each other. And the more this left me thinking about the G-Man, the shadowy figure in a suit who turns up at crucial moments throughout the series and does intriguing stuff. The G-Man is the focal point for a lot of lore conspiracies in Half-Life. Who is he? Is he human? Is he Gordon Freeman himself?

Let’s not worry whether he makes an appearance in Alyx or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Because throughout the course of this game, I think I worked out who he really is. He’s Valve. Think about it: inscrutable Valve, a company that seems to see further than most, that seems to have a separate agenda to that of most developers – and who, granted, doesn’t always seem to be entirely benevolent. The G-Man disappears for long periods of time, but then turns up just as events have caught up with his intentions. It’s his way or no way at all. He waits for the right pieces to appear, and then he makes the most of them with little apparent effort.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/03/half-life-alyx-review-a-legend-returns-in-elegant-form-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=half-life-alyx-review-a-legend-returns-in-elegant-form-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[raystart]

Skin in the Game

In 2010, Aapo Bovellan spent his days working in the London offices of Nokia, and his evenings and weekends offering branding expertise to a video game startup that gave him an opportunity to become an early shareholder. Last year, that company, Supercell, raked in $2.3 billion in revenue on the strength of its first release, Clash of the Clans, and several spin-offs. Not long after completing that project, Bovellan and his wife teamed up with a colleague from Nokia to form Proxy Ventures. In the four years since, they’ve carved out brand identities for 14 startups, including game maker Another Place, Frill frozen smoothies, and apps like CurrencyFair and Peak—and they became early-stage investors in each of them. Clearly they’re doing something right: Proxy’s clients have seen average revenue growth of 202% year over year, and an average share price increase of 91%.

As venture capitalists continue to throw startling amounts of money at nascent businesses, more design firms are offering work in exchange for equity, and when they hit the jackpot, the world hears all about it. But not long ago, an equity deal was considered a sucker’s bet, like buying a lottery ticket or purchasing a can of magical beans. Is it a short-lived trend destined to fizzle out or a promising new approach that’s here to stay?

“The model we work with is sexy and shiny, but too many people think that there are a couple of ways things can go wrong and a lot of ways things can go right, when in reality, it’s the opposite,” says Red Antler cofounder and CEO J.B. Osborne, whose agency made a name for itself with the launch of mattress brand Casper. “And most of those factors are out of your control—someone goes to market faster, someone raises more money, the founders fight and break up the business, or they overhire. It’s an incredibly risky investment with only a small percentage of deals that are likely to pan out, so you have to be able to make quality bets and play the game enough times to make it worthwhile.”

Perhaps it’s smarter to say that taking an equity stake is more like playing poker than playing the lottery—an intelligent player who’s seen thousands of hands will always have the advantage. But for Osborne, it was never about the money.

“I’ve always been fascinated with the business model for creative services,” he says. “It never really made sense to me why someone should pay by the hour for something that could be incredibly valuable in the long run, so I was curious about how to structure things in a way that was aligned more with value creation than time spent.” When colleagues in the design industry heard he was accepting equity along with a portion paid in cash, they told him he was crazy. But as someone who doesn’t like being told what to do, those comments just added fuel to the fire.

“The vision was always to partner with our clients as much as possible, where our success comes from their success,” he says. “If we do good work, their business grows and if we create something that’s truly valuable, it builds our reputation, and we get piece of the upside.” Case and point: Red Antler’s first project was to establish the branding and identity work for Behance and 99U—launched by Osborne’s old college friend, Scott Belsky—in exchange for equity. When Belsky sold the company to Adobe in 2012, the small agency saw a nice payday.

So, if you’re considering adapting an equity model, what are the most important to ask of potential clients?  

“I ask a lot of entrepreneurs to talk about analogues,” says Alain Sylvain, founder and CEO of New York-based Sylvain Labs. “If I asked them to tell me about companies in other industries that they look up to, they’ll usually say Tesla or Patagonia—you can learn a lot about how they view creative work through that response. I’ll also ask what they know about manufacturing and whether they have an in-house chief technology officer or outsource their tech, which is a big red flag. And I’ll find out about the company of investors that I’m joining, so that I can be sure we all share the same vision.”

That first meeting can be crucially important, too: “If a client suggests equity in the first meeting, I never touch it,” says Sylvain. “The only projects I’ve done in exchange for equity are projects where I brought it up.

Bovellan and Osborne both say that the source of the referral also carries a lot of weight. Agencies involved in venture capital deals aren’t passively standing by, waiting for opportunity to come knocking—they’re meeting with VCs, reading the trades, and talking to experts who can offer background on any potential client. Because combining creativity with venture capital requires the ability to speak both languages fluently.

“Most designers don’t really feel like looking at term sheets and doing due diligence, whereas most venture capitalists don’t feel very compelled to produce mood boards,” says Proxy’s Bovellan. “To run a good design studio, you have to be able to attract good designers and establish a solid creative process, whereas the venture capital side has to be extremely disciplined—it can be hard to get all of those skills under the same roof. So one of our partners is focused purely on investments, another is completely design driven, and I’m half and half. ”

Proxy has found more success working with companies in the A series stage rather than those in the early seed stage. “By series A, companies probably have revenues of $500,000 a month, so they’ve already found out who’s buying their product and why,” says Bovellan. “And that means they won’t flip [their business model] to become, say an enterprise SAAS company or a B2B company, which means they’re more prepared to pursue branding and positioning [for the long-term.]”

Even after the due diligence is complete, the agency CEOs interviewed for this piece generally insist on taking a portion of their fee in cold, hard cash, for several reasons. For one thing, you’ve got to pay the bills long before your client is bought out for millions. Second, a little cash can minimize the pain when things go south, which will happen on occasion, no matter how careful you are.

One horror story: Sylvain Labs partnered with an entrepreneur creating technology that would produce custom shirts at a fraction of the typical cost. But after the agency spent thousands of hours on the project and developed a deep expertise, one of the partners walked out on the other, to pursue the work on his own.

“The whole thing completely fizzled overnight,” says Sylvain, “It was really painful, not only because we had spent money on it, but because we’d invested in the idea emotionally, and it was now irrelevant. That’s when we learned a mix of cash and equity is critical, and we started to evaluate every project more seriously—looking at business plans, doing our due diligence, asking lawyers and accountants to review balance sheets. That work really changes the relationship from a client and a consultant to an entrepreneur and an investor.”

And that deeper relationship can have a radical impact on the process.

Jonathan Levine, founder of Master & Dynamic, approached Sylvain Labs looking for help with branding and strategy for a new line of premium headphones. Sylvain’s team was engaged in pivotal decisions around pricing, naming, and launch strategy, even producing the materials that persuaded Apple to include the headphones on its website and in its brick-and-mortar stores.

“Entrepreneurs are desperate for creative energy, and the ones who are willing to give up equity tend to be the most progressive and open-minded,” says Sylvain. “Clients who pay us directly may say, ‘We want you to really push us creatively,’ but they don’t always want to be pushed; they rein us in all the time. Our entrepreneurs are always asking us to help them accelerate their brand to make a real impact, and when they say, ‘Push us,’ they really let us go for it.”

“When you and the client ultimately want the same outcome, that can shift the tone of the conversation,” says Osborne. “If you’re the agency that keeps saying ‘No,’ you’re just going to get fired, because the person who writes the check has the power, and that’s a dangerous thing. So it’s really important that you have the rigor to push and pull to get the best outcome. Our clients respect us because they know we’re not pushovers—they know we’re not just going to say yes and phone it in; we’re going to put in the extra effort to get to that outcome and ultimately work beyond what we’re getting paid, and that leads to a much deeper, more trusting relationship.”

That level of trust allowed Red Antler to launch product and marketing for All Birds, whose founders aimed to create a shoe that’s comfortable, stylish, and environmentally sustainable. “As we were figuring out how to position the brand, we knew we wanted to get away from a mission-first business, and instead focus on what will make people care about the product. And that meant style, comfort, fitting with your life, and a focus on travel and exploration.” Red Antler designed custom packaging that uses 40% less materials, an integrated e-commerce site, and a unique “unboxing” experience that seems to be connecting with consumers.

Of course, breakout successes will always be rare, and few agencies have the time, the expertise, or the stomach for the inherent risks that come with equity deals. But in a world that glorifies the entrepreneur, it’s a trend that’s likely to continue.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that 12 years ago, The Apprentice was one of the country’s top reality shows, and now we’re all watching Shark Tank, which celebrates the entrepreneur,” says Sylvain. “Today, everyone seems to aspire to be an entrepreneur and invite a little risk into their lives. Even with our clients who pay for the work directly, there’s always risk: Will our work be successful? Will we get a second project? In some ways, it’s almost easier to have all risk encapsulated in a single project, where the results are plain for everyone to see.”