I worry where we would be without our imposter syndrome

But I hesitate. Stumble even.

Oh God, should I even be doing this?

After all, I’m not even a real journalist.

So now I’m suffering from impostor syndrome.

Actually, I’m not suffering at all.

I’m just experiencing impostor syndrome, and that’s very different from suffering.

I think it is a marvellous feeling and I’m grateful for the way it’s always inspired me.

Impostor syndrome is the natural consequence of advertising’s random and diverse selection process.

Unlike being an accountant, a lawyer, an electrician or a plumber, there is no formal qualification that “allows” you to work in advertising. So the entire business is powered by impostor syndrome. It’s what makes us all so keen to do the best job we possibly can. Everyone in advertising has impostor syndrome because, ironically, it’s the secret, uncertified qualification we all need.

I’ve been mulling this over for around eighteen months now, after first reading a piece written by Carly Avener, CEO of Leo Burnett. Her views on impostor syndrome aren’t ones to which I’d necessarily subscribe.

For example, the headline: “We must combat impostor syndrome across the board.”

Why on earth would you want to do that?

Why would you seek to “combat” the advertising industry’s one great superpower?

She also said that impostor syndrome is “cripplingly exhausting.”

No, it isn’t. Long, long hours are.

But impostor syndrome, well, that is just a natural part of the human condition.

I was lucky enough to know this from the get-go.

On my first day in my first copywriting job at Y&R, Chris Wilkins, the creative director, said to me: “Don’t worry about impostor syndrome. We all have it. Even me. Especially me. We all feel that we have no right to be doing this and that one day, we’re going to get found out. We’re all impostors.”

That said, I really was the Impostor’s Impostor.

On paper, I was a professional writer. But in reality, a professional writer who’d written very little and read even less. I knew, for instance, who Jeeves & Wooster were, but that didn’t mean I’d read a single word of Wodehouse. Apart from dreary set texts for English O-level, I’d never read a proper book in my life, and that was about to become glaringly apparent.

When I first got my start at Y&R, it had the Croft Original sherry account and the work comprised a popular TV campaign featuring Jeeves & Wooster.

Wilkins had devised the campaign and dashed off the scripts with Wodehousian wit and elan. Unfortunately, Wilkins himself was dashing off on holiday, and with the sherry folk awaiting a new sheaf of scripts, he asked me to try and write them.

“Here we go,” I thought, “I’m about to be found out.”

Recognizing this at once, Wilkins handed me an old copy of Very Good, Jeeves. “Read this”, he said, “Familiarize yourself with the language, the characters and their rhythms of their speech. You’ll be fine.”

And I was fine.

From that moment, I welcomed impostor syndrome and the way it pushed me to try my hardest to make it as a professional writer in a way that formal qualifications wouldn’t have done. Impostor Syndrome is a blessing, not a curse, and I’m not alone in feeling this way.

Look at Dave Trott, Mark Denton, Graham Fink, Dave Dye and Sir John Hegarty. Some of the finest creative minds this industry will ever produce, and yet, after everything they’ve achieved, I’m pretty sure they still feel like impostors. They’ve never lost that impostor’s desire to create, to inspire, to try new things and to prove to the world – and more significantly, to themselves – that they still sparkle with ingenuity, legitimacy and relevance.

But back to Carly Avener. As she ran us through the highlights of her impressive career, she seemed strangely unaware that her achievements came, not despite impostor syndrome but because of it.

So if you feel like an impostor, embrace that feeling and channel it. And always remember that in an industry where nobody belongs, everybody belongs.

You’ve been chosen to work in advertising because of your character, talent and hidden humility. In other words, your impostor syndrome. So celebrate that engine of insecurity because it drives you forward, keeps you good and keeps you you.

Though if you’re still not comfortable with impostor syndrome, try something more staid and structured. Like accountancy.

Paul Burke is an acclaimed advertising professional and creative writer based in London. He is the founder of Paul Burke Creative and Paul Burke Radio, where he writes, casts, produces, and directs radio commercials and podcasts. Paul Burke is on LinkedIn here.

Get in touch with Paul on LinkedIn.

Read more opinion on The Drum.