How to Build a Camel in 10 Meetings or Less

One of my favorite episodes of the show Parks and Recreation is titled “The Camel”. The Parks team is asked to design a new mural for a government building. Each department submits an entry. Each one is bad. But rather than choose the least awful, they do something worse. They combine them. What they end up with is not just a compromise, but a crime scene. What comes out is a mural that looks like it was drawn by a committee of well-meaning toddlers after a gas leak. A camel. A visual hostage note. And like all good satire, the show tells the truth almost too well.

Camels happen when decisions are made for the room, not the result. When pleasing the people inside the meeting becomes more important than impressing the people outside it. The system is built to avoid blame. It spreads credit so thin no one can taste success. It invites everyone to nod along without ever sticking their neck out. Creative decisions get massaged into mush. Nothing bold survives the room.

Most organisations would rather be bland than wrong. This is why everything starts to look like a PowerPoint template got tenure. Logos that vanish on a shelf. Ads designed to offend no one and impress no one. Campaigns that pass every internal hurdle and fail the only one that matters: the public.

The problem is that everyone wants to be involved, but no one wants to be on the hook.

And, you don’t fix this with more guardrails. You fix it by giving someone the right to decide (and letting them live or die by the outcome). Not the HiPPO (Highest Paid Person’s Opinion), not the loudest voice, but someone with conviction, curiosity, and a willingness to be wrong. That person doesn’t need perfect taste. They need taste, full stop. Everyone else can advise, but someone has to steer.

Jerry Seinfeld’s comment to fellow comedian John Mulaney on Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee speaks directly to the root of the problem:

“TV executives need to leave these people alone. They’re struggling to swim in a rapid. Just let them do it. You’re not going to make it better. Are you funny? No. Then get out! Get out of the room if you’re not funny*. You might as well go up to a homeless man and go ‘You can do better than this. Let’s talk about it. Let me give you my views.’”

*(side note: I witnessed a similar encounter between Seinfeld and an exec when I worked on the show ‘The Marriage Ref’ for NBC. Let's just say that this is something he walks the walk on).

The trouble starts when people with no creative instincts feel the need to validate their role by chiming in. Their suggestions rarely help. They just add noise, slow the pace, and blur the vision. Seinfeld’s point is simple: if you don't have the skill, if it's not in your lane, don't shape the work. The same holds true outside of television. In any field where judgment matters, too many opinions from the wrong people guarantees a watered-down result.

And then, for the love of all that’s holy, shorten the distance between idea and decision. Every meeting after the second one is just embalming fluid for enthusiasm.

And finally, because it must be said, treat workshops like fireworks. Beautiful at a distance. Dangerous up close. Use them for tension, surprise, and starting sparks; not to find consensus. They are the birthplace of camels, beige walls, and brochures that make you feel sad without knowing why.

The goal isn’t harmony. It’s to create something with a pulse. Something people notice and remember. You don’t get that by splitting the brush 12 ways. You get that when someone picks a colour, paints on the canvas, and dares to sign their name.