Phil and I didn’t want to do any PR when we completed last April’s internal management buy-out. It was always intended as a calm and natural evolution for Fluid, so it didn’t really feel like anything to shout about.
Instead, we just wanted to focus on our team, our culture and our clients. And of course we treated ourselves to a posh tasting menu, with more wine than I realised we could survive in one day.
An unfortunate outcome of that approach is that Phil never got a big public goodbye when he chose to step away. And more importantly, I never got the chance to embarrass him.
So I thought you might like to know what Phil means to me, and what he might mean to many of the 100-odd people that Fluid has employed since he started building our agency 22 years ago.
Here goes. I hope this is nice to read.
I first met Phil playing footie down at Willows. And one of the things that always amazed me was, no matter how badly we were losing, and no matter how close the final whistle, Phil would still be playing like a mad man, determined that we could still win. He wouldn’t ever give up.
I guess that’s the spirit he carried with him through every single day at Fluid. And it’s why I lost all my hair within four months of joining him.
We won pitches that only really ‘clicked’ the evening before. We beat the biggest agencies when we had absolutely no right to do so. We were a team of seven people working with businesses worth billions. It was all because Phil believed we could do absolutely anything. And he helped us to prove it over and over again.
It’s meant I’ve been sat with him at 4am in the morning when he was relentlessly churning out creative. I’ve been stood with him on the pavement downing red bull before shakily striding into a pitch. I’ve been paddling with him in Barcelona. Been p*ssed with him in Latvia. And I’ve watched his sheer grit and passion drive Fluid into one of the best independent agencies in the country.
(Before things get too soppy, you should also know that Phil can be a total and utter pain in the arse. He’s infuriated me as much as he’s inspired me. But if I’m being honest, I’ve probably made him feel the same way.)
I’ve seen him sing to clients when first meeting them. I’ve seen him accidentally start client relationships whilst stuck on a train. I’ve poured concrete with him. I’ve navigated recessions with him. I’ve missed trains with him more times than I can remember. And I’m still angry at the number of times he’s made me sprint across London due to his notoriously crap timekeeping.
I’m also secretly quite proud to be the only person in the world who’s now completely immune to the danger and drama of his driving.
But I’ve also seen Phil sacrifice a lot for Fluid. And I think he’s probably done more than many people will realise and more than many owners could cope with.
I’ve seen the emotional toll of leading our biggest client relationship when everything ground to a halt in the pandemic.
I’ve known how much he missed his kids during the addictively long days and nights when he was building our business.
I’ve watched him stay strong for our team whilst he was grieving his parents.
And I’ve stood by his side as we’ve said goodbye to both Stine and Ben.
In another 22 years I hope Phil and I will both look back at Fluid as a business that continues to do things differently. That puts people first. That places pride before profit. That proves ideas are invaluable. That fights for what’s right. And that cares for its communities.
Many of the ‘new breed’ of Fluider probably won’t appreciate that Phil’s kindness, beliefs and bold-hearted ambition are the heartbeat of the agency they all know and love.
They’re the reason I’m so excited about our team and I’m so excited about our future. And, in the weirdest possible way, the things I’ve learned from Phil have become the reasons I’m not scared now he’s chosen to step away.