Portals are a staple of narrative. From C.S. Lewis’ iconic wardrobe to Hot Wheels Battle Force 5 (anyone?), they provide access to another world and are catalysts for adventure in a new and different world.
In the real world, where most of us live, not so much. Portals can be a dead end. I’m talking about the portals companies establish to take resumes or product submissions, of course, and while they are designed as tools of efficiency, they can also inhibit opportunity and possibility. Yes, they can work very well to sort out and find very specific criteria, but often they leave out the human element.
Thinking of resumes, I’ve talked to headhunters who counsel young people to craft their CV so it will get through the scanner. It has to do that long before it lands on the desk of anyone who could potentially hire a candidate. I’ve also talked to young college graduates whose approach to job hunting is to flood the plane with resumes, hoping that one resume will get through.
The same is true for product submissions for the inventor relations crowd. At many companies—both in and out of the toy business—unless your submission aligns perfectly with what they’re looking for, it will never be seen by human eyes.
Yes, this is perfectly understandable, but at best it’s imperfect, as it leaves out the human element almost entirely.
I think of my own case at the start of my career. I had a BFA in theater. I’d worked as a stage manager, done a bit of dramaturgy and translation, and written a few successful grant proposals—not that I knew what I was doing on the latter. My only marketable skill was that I was a demon on the Selectric, but I connected with the woman who would be my boss, and she took a chance on me. That human element has made all the difference.
Later, the two best hires I ever made were people who on paper weren’t an exact fit. However, I liked them. They were eager to learn, smart, and since we were going to be spending a lot of time together, I wanted to be around people I enjoyed. Decades later—and long since we worked together—they’re still two of my closest friends.
This comes up now because I recently heard the story of a game that couldn’t make it past the portals of major companies. It’s a darn good game, but it would be hard to craft criteria for a portal that would isolate what makes it cool. It got licensed by a smaller company that took time to play the game, meet with the inventor, and refine the concept. It will be out next year.
So, the pitfall of portals is that because they are limited by their programming, by their nature they can’t see nuance of possibility. It’s a bit like dating. A friend of mine has such an extensive list of criteria a potential partner must have—from job to wardrobe and more—there’s no room to be surprised by what might be unique and wonderful in an unknown.
It’s also funny because rigid criteria are the antithesis of the toy business. The element of surprise, or what companies like Moose call the “wow” get that wow because nobody thought of it before, or at least never thought to express an idea in quite the same way. Kids don’t care if something is “on brand.” They just want a toy or a license that intrigues and delights them.
I wonder how the concept of the adventures of a talking sponge who lives underwater would fare in a portal designed to find product ideas. The criteria of a portal are by their very nature limited by the people creating them. Perhaps they minimize risk in an expensive and crowded industry, but show me any groundbreaking toy that hasn’t required some level of risk, even a calculated one.
I’m certainly not saying not to use portals, but I’m also suggesting not to avoid the very human opportunity to be surprised and see new opportunities a machine can never do. Portals can’t see possibility and potential; people can.
I think of some of the great toy designers: the team at Marvin Glass back in the day; Jeffrey Breslow, Dan Klitsner, Jim McCafferty and so many more. They were—and are—driven by that constant, childlike drive to find something new that will engage kids. You can’t build an algorithm to find that.
Just as kids’ play is driven by possibility and the wildly unpredictable world of the imagination to see opportunity, we need to broaden our vision and engage on a human level.
As always, Shakespeare said it, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.”
If it weren’t for the human connection, how else would a kid with a love of Brecht and Shakespeare, a working knowledge (at the time) of German, and an impressive typing speed end up in a career beyond his wildest dreams?
