I Didn't Want to Write This. But Here We Are.

Honestly? I nearly broke down writing this.

I didn’t want to be that guy again—the one pulling the curtain back on all the things this industry pretends not to see.

I wanted to enjoy my coffee, not chase down stories about assault, leering executives, and the silent rot behind every sanitized Cannes press release.

But then Mike Brooks from LG Ad Solutions posted this:

“Way too much sexual harassment and objectification of women’s bodies… I heard a conversation-derailing awkward comment in upwards of 30% of my casual discussions. Comments like ‘I wish I had 10 minutes with that waitress’… This is not what leadership looks like.”

And just like that, the quiet I’d been forcing on myself cracked.

Because what Mike said? That was the PG-rated version.

I had people messaging me all week during Cannes, asking if I was going to cover what really happened—the stuff the press skips and the industry quietly laughs off behind rosé-soaked smiles.

One woman told me a well-known creepy adtech podcaster couldn’t keep his hands off women’s backsides at a party he hosted.

You know—the kind of guy who tweets empowerment quotes by day and treats women like furniture by night.

The “adtech leaders,” it turns out, are just frat boys with upgraded wristbands and fancier wristwatches.

And honestly? I don’t think most people care.

Let’s stop pretending the industry was ever serious about fixing this. Heads of agencies who were fired for sexual harassment are already “back on the beach”—and not in disgrace.

They’re being celebrated. Toasted. Handed fresh consulting gigs and VIP passes like nothing happened.

We saw it in Cannes. The velvet ropes, the yacht parties, the “he’s changed” whispers from people too busy chasing LinkedIn likes to bother with integrity.

And then there’s that French executive—always lurking at American conferences, drink in hand, “flirting” like it’s a competitive sport. (Cough... Canal.)
Telling women, with a smirk, that it’s just “the French way.”

Let me be clear: it’s not the French way.

It’s the pervert’s way.

And the silence around him? The chuckles? The “that’s just how he is” shrugs?
That’s complicity—plain and simple.

No one wants to lose access. No one wants to ruin the vibe.
So they look the other way while women get cornered, whispered at, touched, or propositioned.

This isn’t new. It’s normal. And it’s disgusting.

One study of over 30,000 women found that nearly half reported being harassed or subjected to unwanted advances at conferences.

One event alone? 11% of women—and yes, 3% of men—reported direct experiences of harassment.

Why? Because conferences are the perfect storm:
Free alcohol. Loose dress codes. A thinly veiled “what happens at Cannes stays at Cannes” culture that gives cover to predators in loafers and lanyards.
And if you think that’s hyperbole, I’d like to introduce you to reality—with a side of NDA.

Last year, two American undergrad marketing students were allegedly groped by a well known U.S. ad industry contractor in the garden of the Carlton Hotel.
His defense? That “accepting men’s forwardness” is the price of success.

Let that marinate for a second.

They reported it.
Filed a police report.
Told festival security.

Was he banned? No.
Was he a delegate? Also no.
Did the industry take a long hard look at itself? Hell no.

He still got invited this year to every single party.

The festival installed “Safe Zones,” which is Cannes-speak for “we needed a press-friendly Band-Aid.” Great optics. Zero accountability.

Meanwhile, Dagmar Bennett—a respected woman in the industry—was propositioned, mid-handshake, by a senior man who asked, “Will you have sex with me when I give you the money?”

And if your first reaction is “that can’t be real,” then you haven’t been paying attention.

Dagmar, like so many others, didn’t post to collect pity.
She posted because nothing changes unless we drag this filth into the daylight.
She said, “I’m not a victim. I want change.”

But let’s be brutally honest: the people who need to change? They’re still not listening.

Because this industry’s elite? The event organizers, the adtech kings, the podcast bros with VC friends and brand panels?
They knew. They’ve always known. And they said nothing.

Like at the AdTech holiday party in London last year—where the tone-deaf, borderline cabaret ambiance was less "holiday cheer" and more "last call at a marketing frat party."

Strippers. Christmas lingerie. Santa hats.*
An entire vibe that screamed: this isn’t a safe space, it’s a boys’ club on absinthe.

* Editorial Note: There seems to be some disagreement here specifically if they were strippers or just dancers, and what they were wearing — not sure that’s the point.

And then, of course, the anonymous “AdTech God” made a video cameo—because why not turn the creep factor up to 11?

“Cause it’s a party, relax they told me…”

But let’s not pretend this is just about events. It’s about what we allow.

Every man who says nothing.
Every executive who doesn’t remove a predator because “he brings in too much business.”
Every awards show that invites the same creeps to the stage year after year.
Every brand that keeps sponsoring them.

They didn’t speak out then.
They didn’t speak out last year.
They’re not speaking out now.

They won’t speak out until we make silence louder than complicity.
Until the cost of staying quiet outweighs the convenience.

So no—I didn’t want to write this.
But I had to.
Because you can only unsee so much before the shame stops being theirs and starts being ours.

This industry can’t keep tweeting about inclusivity and then turning around and enabling assault behind velvet ropes and private Slack channels.

If you're a man in this business and you say you care? Prove it. Speak up. Shut it down.
Call it out in the moment—not in a Slack DM two days later when the woman’s already crying in her hotel room.

And to the ones still touching, leering, joking, whispering—know this: we’re watching. We’re talking.
And next time, we’re naming names.

Because silence is no longer an option.
And neither is survival by looking the other way.

Let’s talk about what’s appropriate—and what absolutely isn’t—even if it makes people uncomfortable.

I’m not calling anyone out by name.

This isn’t a witch hunt.

But I am pointing out something I witnessed firsthand at a recent industry event. And it wasn’t just a one-off. It was man after man, repeating the same behavior: casually placing a hand on a woman’s lower back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, letting a hand linger near the buttock area while posing for a photo, or pulling her in close for what’s supposed to be a friendly conversation.

Let’s pause right there. Was that sexual harassment? Maybe not by legal standards. But was it appropriate? Respectful? Professional?

That’s a different question.

I was taught—thank G-d—by some very decent mentors early in my career that you simply do not touch people without their consent.

Full stop. At industry events, in meetings, at happy hours. Especially if you're a man and the other person is a woman, keep your hands to yourself. 

This isn’t complicated.

You don’t put your arm around her.

You don’t rest your hand on her back.

You don’t grab her waist for a photo.

You don’t “jokingly” pull her in during a conversation. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s innocent.

It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen other people do it. And it sure as hell doesn’t matter if she smiles politely in response.

Because here’s the truth: women are conditioned to smile through discomfort. To play along. To de-escalate. They might not say anything in the moment—but that doesn’t mean they’re okay with it.

They might go home feeling uneasy, even dirty, wondering why it happened, and more painfully, why they didn’t feel safe enough to say something.

And if that’s the case, then yes—you crossed a line. 

Even if you didn’t mean to.

Even if no one called you out.

Even if it’s “just how people act in Cannes” or “a friendly industry thing.”

We have to stop pretending this is a gray area.

It’s not.

Physical contact in professional settings should never be assumed.

Respect doesn’t require touch.

Affection doesn’t require proximity.

And being human doesn’t mean forgetting boundaries.

So ask yourself: are you making someone feel welcome—or are you putting them in a position where they have to choose between staying silent and staying safe?

Because if you're unsure, that’s already your answer.