One of advertising's most prominent creative voices talks about expanding to the U.S. and what keeps him up at night

‍Big Ideas is ADWEEK’s series in which we talk to the industry’s top creative minds.

As someone who’s frequently declared that “most brands could disappear and no one would care,” Nils Leonard, co-founder of Uncommon Creative Studio, has long been a prominent voice on industry hot topics like preserving independence and why advertising is under threat.

But in 2023, Leonard and co-founders Natalie Graeme and Lucy Jameson sold a 51% stake in their British-born business to agency network Havas. The sale enabled them to expand to New York later that year.  

Since opening in the U.S., the hot shop has won business from the likes of Diageo brand Guinness, broadcaster SiriusXM, and grooming brand Harry’s. But Leonard is wary of Uncommon being seen as yet another British agency newcomer struggling to gain a foothold in the American market.

Just over a year into establishing Uncommon on the other side of the pond, he spoke to ADWEEK about what independence means to him post-sale, how to win business without pitching, and what scares him about this next chapter of his career.

ADWEEK: How’s the U.S. expansion going?

Nils Leonard: It’s going really well, but it’s not been easy. [Before the U.S. launch], 50% of our revenue was international already, so this wasn’t a leap of faith, but a logical next step. We’re about 50 people in New York now.

I don’t refer to us as a U.K. studio. Our methodology was never rooted in geography, but in our ambition around the work. We wanted to be on the receiving end of the most important briefs of our time. When we landed here, that was the intent. We’re looking for partners who share our ambition.

We want to work with the most important brands—the brands that matter here and have an attachment to the American people—not niche brands.

You say you’ve won a lot of business without pitching for it. That’s an approach also touted by others, like Mischief @ No Fixed Address. What’s your secret?

When I was back at Grey [London], clients would come to see us, and I realized I never once asked why they were there. It’s the first question we ask at Uncommon. When people say, “I don’t know,” we generally tend to not work with them. How could we hope to make the right work with them if they don’t know what we do? That’s been our secret. It’s not complicated, but it is hard.

As a studio globally, we’ve won 95% of new business without pitching. That’s about our work being seen and recognized. Every client of ours is creatively prolific and wants to make the same kind of work—work that will be a reference point in three to five years.

You often used to tout Uncommon’s independence. Have your thoughts on the importance of independence changed now that you’ve sold a majority stake to Havas?

The typical rhetoric in a sale or acquisition is that an agency grows and is forced then to fold into a bigger, decrepit company that needs help. That’s not our deal. The deal we were looking for was we don’t want to change our name and don’t want to fix another thing; we want runway and support and to do it our way.

Independence is anyone singularly making their output, with creativity being the most precious and valuable thing in the company. That’s going to win.

Agencies often brag about their culture, but the industry doesn’t have the best reputation for work-life balance. What do you think makes a good creative culture?  

We don’t use that word, because it’s become overused and meaningless. The industry doesn’t need more buzzwords. You can have a culture for what you make and a culture for how you work, and you should have rules and boundaries around that.  

Uncommon has a clear culture around the work we make. We ask a series of questions about it: how is this going to be a reference point? How will people talk about it in 10 years? How will people in the real world talk about it? The level [of output] is going to rise if everyone’s asking that.

Uncommon has never been a place where you go if you want to roll in and sit on a couple of bean bags. But creative people don’t just want money, yoga mornings, or free beer—they want to be prolific. They want their time to matter. We’re a high-performing studio with big ambitions, but what you get back from that is you make important work and a lot of it.

A side effect of the level we run at is people get tired—myself included. It takes careful awareness and management of people and how much they take on. Often the biggest enemy to ambitious people is themselves, because they will always stick their hands up. We have to watch and marshal our best people and their appetite for work. They need space and breaks to have the energy to do the work.

What scares you the most about your job now?

Lying to myself.

I used to worry that the briefs weren’t going to come. We said some pretty grand shit, and I was worried it was all going to be nonsense.

Now we’re getting briefs and my fear is not honoring them, not doing the work I promised we would do, not being special. I fear that we’ll just be another place. I want the studio to be a reference point. That’s only going to happen if we do things that haven’t been done before.

What advice would you give to a creative who’s fed up with the industry?

Get mad. If you’re upset with the industry, change it. Or go and do something that fuels you and feeds that thing.

Don’t get cynical. Cynicism is death. It’s a side effect to believing you don’t matter.

Not everyone has to set up their own business. But don’t be dependent, don’t ask permission. The industry is brilliant at teaching you to ask permission to make dreams come true. Why would we do that?

Starting Uncommon was risky, but I was 20 years into the industry. I was ready. If you’re 10 years in and not sure you’re ready, just do it where you are, or start something at 6pm.

What’s inspired you lately from outside advertising?

Samuel Ross’ collaboration with Zara was brilliant. Often when you see high-end fashion collide with high-street brands, it tends to look like a compromise, but this doesn’t. The poncho is iconic. There’s not another [Ross], and that’s very exciting.

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