When I was young, I often swam in the middle of Lake Kariba, Zimbabwe. My mum always reassured me,“ Don’t worry, crocodiles don’t swim in the middle of the lake”. It sounded logical, so I believed her. Again and again, I leapt in, slicing through the open water, exhilarated by the sense of freedom that came from thinking I was safe.
But one afternoon, when I climbed back onto the boat, I saw it. A crocodile gliding silently across the exact stretch I’d just left. Cold. Indifferent. Breaking the rule we had chosen to imagine.
That moment never left me. Not because I was nearly in danger, but because of what it revealed about people. We create stories, safety nets, rules and illusions, to make life feel less threatening. We cling to these illusions, even when reality doesn’t play along.
Years later, I realised it hadn’t drawn me to strategy so much as it had shaped the way I think. It taught me that people live inside the stories they create for themselves, and that the real challenge is knowing when to lean into those stories, when to question them, and when to break them completely.
No room for illusions
That way of seeing the world became a foundation when I started my career. I didn’t start out in advertising. My path began in the nonprofit world, where there was no room for illusions. Progress only came if you created it yourself.
My first big challenge was World Water Day, where we launched the Wishing Well for Communities campaign at the V&A Waterfront, which helped build wells across Africa. It demanded resilience, and in return it welcomed brand partnerships, some of which are still thriving today.
Woolworths was the one brand I sought after the most. I had studied the brand in university, written papers on their Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR), and admired their Head of Sustainability. So I phoned his office, every day, for weeks. Eventually, I was put through, given ten minutes to sell the idea, and walked away with a yes.
Around the same time, by sheer chance, I struck up a conversation with the Puma marketing manager at one of their stores, and left with them on board as well. What started as persistence and, at times, divine timing, became momentum. Puma went on to become long-term partners for the nonprofit organisation.
Relentless persistence
Those wins weren’t luck. They were the divine consequence of my relentless persistence, which I believe to be one of my defining characteristics. Once one brand said yes, others followed. Within three months, I’d secured over 25 new brand partnerships. No big title. No industry stamp of approval. Just grit, repetition, and belief. Those months became my training ground, teaching me that persistence isn’t just a trait, it can be a defining character of success.
It was also during this time that I was mentored by someone who had once been a Creative Director at Ogilvy (whom to this day, I still call King of Creativity). He showed me that creativity doesn’t sit apart from strategy, it strengthens it.
I learned that every strategy works best when you use your head to understand the problem, your hand to design the solution that truly helps, and your heart to shape the outcome, not for you, but your audience.
Head, hand, heart
That simple framework of ‘Head, Hand, Heart’, became the foundation of the way I work today. You won’t find it in any textbooks, but it taught me that strategy isn’t just analysis, it’s problem solving led by humanity and empathy.
That mentorship lit a fire. I wanted to move into advertising.
But wanting in and getting in are two very different things.
The industry doesn’t hide its bias: if you don’t have advertising agency experience, you don’t count. I experienced the gruelling catch 22 many newcomers may relate to; you need industry experience to get in, but you can’t get that experience without already being in.
At first, it felt brutal. But then I remembered Lake Kariba. The crocodiles were here too; rejection, invisibility and closed doors. The questions had simply shifted; it wasn’t whether the danger existed, it was whether I’d keep swimming anyway.
Lean into differences
So I reframed rejection as conditioning. Every “no” was practice for the industry I wanted to be in. Because advertising is no stranger to rejection. Ideas get killed daily, clients change courses in a heartbeat, and agency personnel move faster than I stomach breakfast servings at all-you-can eat buffets (as a foodie, I, along with my older brother can attest to this, I am a cheetah at these buffets). Case in point, if you cannot stomach rejection, you won’t last here.
That mindset shaped how I positioned myself. I built a portfolio that didn’t try to hide my differences, but rather leaned into them. Work that proved I could win brands against the odds, hustle without a safety net, and turn constraints into creativity, all showcased through a simplistic three point analysis. My portfolio didn’t look like anyone else’s, which I believe became my distinct differentiator.
When I finally stepped into an agency, I didn’t arrive fragile or untested. I arrived ready. The nonprofit world had forced me to earn every win. Rejection had thickened my skin. My overly enthusiastic “yes”, the one people sometimes misread as naïveté, had become my competitive edge. In a business that runs on doubt and fatigue, persistence backed by optimism is not a weakness. Some may even go to say it’s a unique selling point.
Forging resilience
That’s why I don’t think the gates into the advertising world should be unlocked for newcomers. These gates are huge, well-guarded and hard to break into. But they forge the resilience the industry demands. The people who fight hardest to find the key, are often the ones who fight hardest once they’re inside.
As someone on the cusp between Millennial and Generation Z, I’ve learned that advertising doesn’t just reward creativity, it demands stamina. We came of age in uncertainty: recessions, shifting economies, relentless digital change.
That shaped how I see this industry. It isn’t just about having ideas, it’s about keeping them alive in a world that changes faster than most can keep up. My path into advertising wasn’t traditional, but it mirrors the times: unconventional, unfiltered, and built on the belief that persistence is the sharpest tool in a strategist’s kit.
Breaking in was brutal. But it made me exactly the strategist I needed to be. And just like all those times I swam in Lake Kariba, I know now the crocodiles never vanish. The risks, the rejections, the unseen challenges; they’re always there, moving just beneath the surface. The only question that matters is whether you’ll keep swimming.
Amy Jayne Burrow is a brand and communications strategist who thrives at the intersection of creativity and resilience. With a background in marketing and strategy, she graduated top in the country in BPhil Honours Marketing Management. Her approach is simple but powerful: every great strategy needs a head (to solve the problem), a hand (to shape the solution), and a heart (to create meaningful outcomes). As the voice behind Burrowed Perspectives, she shares unfiltered reflections on breaking into advertising, building resilience and finding human truths in unexpected places, sometimes even while swimming with crocodiles.
