As the daughter of John Boiler, ad agency 72andSunny’s founder, you must have grown up around the advertising industry for your entire life! What led you to discover your own interest in creativity, and how did you develop your copywriting voice? I just laughed out loud. This is a tragically valid first question.

As the daughter of John and also Kari, who met at Wieden+Kennedy (AKA Wedding+Kennedy), I have been live-laugh-loving advertising since day one. When my dad took the leap to start 72andSunny, I got a front-row seat to what building something from nothing actually looks like: The grit, the uncertainty and the belief. My mom’s patience. Their shared vision. I was raised alongside it. My brother is one of the most creative people I know, and I think it makes a lot of sense with 72 as our other sibling.

What do you do in your role at 72andSunny, and what do you enjoy most about it? As a writer at 72, I get to turn my literally insane inside thoughts into ideas that live out in the world.

Growing up, I thought advertising was the most badass job because of the people who sat at our dining table for hours with my parents. They were out of pocket. Their stories had an absurdity I craved and kept craving. It was the energy and the weirdness. That insatiable craving is why I set my sights on advertising early on at the University of Oregon, thinking I’d follow one of my parents’ paths: account-side, like my mom, or art direction, like my dad. Alas, it turned out I didn’t have the patience for scheduling, pixel pushing or frame f**ing, so I found my own lane.

My family calls me the Tasmanian Devil because if I have an off switch, I still haven’t found it. It can be annoying when I’m thinking all day and all night, but I also think that’s what makes me good at what I do. This 24/7-365 ad brain is something I share with my dad, and I’ve learned to see it as a superpower. Although if you ask my coworkers about my 6 a.m. pings, they might have another word for it.

What I love most is the variety. One day, it’s a billboard; the next, it’s a global campaign film. One day, I’m briefed on something new; the next, I’m in edit for something entirely different. I found myself in advertising because it races at the same pace I do. And I love trying to keep up.

But above everything, it’s the people. There’s nothing normal about this industry, and I feel lucky that the wackadoos I’m learning from are equally as such.

Tell us about this recent campaign for Surfrider, the nonprofit ocean conservation organization. With your interests in the outdoors and environmental advocacy, what spoke to you personally about the brief? I’ve always had side quests. In my earlier days, there was surfing before high school, making and selling clothes, and advocating for clean drinking water as a Thirst Project student ambassador. In college, I was marathon training through hangovers, video editing as a producer for the ad program’s in-house agency, and traveling to Alaska for a Science and Memory Fellowship, which concluded in my book about Cordova’s changing climate.

Now that I’m adulting or whatever, my side quests are especially important. Even at an agency like 72, where I’m always working on something, I still find time for recording voiceover work on the side, becoming the best first-time dog owner and being a type-A firefighter’s girlfriend. Those mixed in with traveling, surfing, and spending time with my family and friends keep me inspired.

So working with Surfrider has always been a no-brainer. As a surfing family, we’ve always participated in beach cleanups and clean water organizations. Even at the University of Oregon, I majored in advertising, but I also double minored in environmental studies and science communication because I have always been fascinated by the intersection of advertising and environmentalism. Advertising is about selling ideas as well as stuff. I can’t fix consumerism among a billion other things, but what I can do is use the tools I have to make some sort of a difference.

We all have our own tools in our toolboxes. Mine are mine. Yours are yours. So I own and amplify my tools to the greatest volume instead of chasing someone else’s. A few years ago when Surfrider first came to 72, I wanted to lend a writing hand. I watched and learned as some of the most impactful creatives—Matt Jarvis, Jason Norcross and Bryan Rowles—created something beautiful and human. Instead of creating yet another crisis, we tapped into people’s generosity of spirit, turning ocean conservation into a friendship movement. We called it The Ocean Needs More Friends. We made friends who signed up and showed up, and they included some famous friends, too. With real friends came real, measurable change.

But as years went on, headlines got darker. Anger turned to apathy. Everyone started scrolling past bad news. We had more friends, but we also had more problems. Threats compounded: Drilling. Fracking. Plastics. Pollution. Indifference. Last year, our friend the ocean was under attack like never before. So when Surfrider asked for more help, I put on my big girl pants and hopped back in with the guys, and we got to work.

How did you land on the idea to create provocative URLs that celebrated environmental destruction and then make OOH ads that Surfrider could then “vandalize” with the actual campaign messaging? Here’s a question for your question so I can answer your question: How do we make people care again when everything else is competing for their outrage? By picking a fight with indifference. We asked a more provocative question: If you’re not a friend of the ocean, what are you supporting? The purpose wasn’t to shame people; instead, we wanted to jolt them into self-awareness. And it worked.

In Venice Beach, wildpostings greeted tourists and locals alike: A turtle with a plastic bag in its mouth with “Honk if you Hate Sea Turtles.” A sea otter soaked in oil with, “Suck it Sea Otters.” We also dropped real URLs everywhere, like “I-heart-microplastics.org,” and “Someone-else-will-pick-up-that-trash.org,” promoting the Ocean’s worst enemies. Each cheeky URL redirected people back to Surfrider. We used absurdity to wake people up.

But that was only phase one. With phase two, we doubled the impact. A week later, we “tagged” our own work by vandalizing it with stickers, including the Surfrider logo, a reminder that The Ocean Needs More Friends and the biggest sticker of all: If you’re not a friend of the Ocean, what are you supporting? Influencers joined in to spread the snark, and awareness followed.

With more than 50 million impressions and OOH all over the United States, we flipped apathy into action. And proved to ourselves and the clients at Surfrider that friendship is powerful, especially when the Ocean’s the one asking.

As a creative, why do you think brands and campaigns are uniquely positioned to raise awareness of environmental issues? With that power comes responsibility. People are more aware than ever of performative messaging, so the work has to be rooted in something real. It has to go beyond awareness and connect to action, behavior or tangible impact.

I remember graduating college and looking at the kinds of clients tied to big agencies. While I won’t name names, there are still agencies holding onto relationships that directly contradict the kind of future we’re all talking about building. Nobody is perfect—we all need to make that bacon—but there’s a line.

And I think that’s the tension creatives have to sit in now, not just asking “Is this a good idea?” but “Can this idea also do something good?” Brands don’t just reflect culture anymore—they actively shape it. I think that if brands stay true to their own audience rather than trying to get everyone on board, they can turn passive awareness into participation. At their best, brands can take something overwhelming and multifaceted, like climate change, and make it feel immediate and actionable. In other words, pick your lane and drive it home.

What is one challenge currently facing ad agencies that they must address to stay relevant? As a Gen Zer in an industry with not enough Gen Zers, there’s something I call the Okay Boomer Brief: “Make it go viral.” “Do something TikTok-y.” Translation: “We didn’t figure out the idea, so you patch it up.”

When young people enter this industry, we have a certain amount of cultural currency, but it’s a credit score you have to spend wisely to earn respect. For Gen Z creatives, getting hired comes with a tax: the expectation to be trend encyclopedias and TikTok translators. If we don’t know enough about trends, social media or whatever Alix Earle is doing right now, we aren’t tapped in enough. But if we lean into being chronically online and parlay in ways that the overlords don’t understand, then we’re too young for the job.

Agencies need to properly invest in young creatives. So let’s sober ourselves from the buzzword hangover and actually listen to the new ways we think about solving problems.

Do you have any advice for creatives just getting their start today? A few years ago, I was given some unwarranted (albeit appreciated) advice from a well-meaning ad veteran: “Hide your editing, sound and design chops, or you’ll get pigeonholed.” Respectfully, I call bullshit. Versatility is value. Our skillset is our leverage, not a liability. So practice those skills, become a jack or jeff or janet of all trades. And tell everyone.

As multiplicity becomes the most valuable asset a creative can have, then AI is our creative exoskeleton. So make it strong. Work on your hard skills and learn every new AI tool, too. It’s not slowing down. You shouldn’t either.

In this industry, I see technology as another language—and if I’m not bilingual, then I’m behind. Proficiency isn’t good enough. 72andSunny, fortunately, values and teaches fluency. This is the mindset of a forward-thinking agency that understands there’s never an end to knowledge. That curiosity is what turns apathy into empathy and creatives into storytellers.

While everyone gets their frustrated, stubborn panties in a twist, don’t stop running when they lose pace. The unique skills you bring to the table are valuable. They make you indispensable. I’m a writer who also does voiceover, video editing and sound mixing. Writers learn how to use Premier, speak like an art director and use AI to make a visual that sells the idea to clients. Art directors write scripts, tweak headlines, and ask for help when there are a million slides that need images and it’s all on you. This isn’t a “my problem” business—the fault of failure falls on the team, not you.

AI levels the playing field for creativity. Learning additional skills outside of your job description isn’t stepping on toes. We are all novices. So stop letting your fear of mistakes limit you from being the catalyst that drives your agency forward. ca