Close-Up: On the Campaign Couch ... with JB.(Jeremy Bullmore )(Interview)

Q: Greg Grimmer of ZenithOptimedia writes: I am puzzled by the recent fascination with salary levels. Is it just me or is the advertising world (and Campaign's) fascination with salaries detrimental to the welfare of the business as a whole? In this most capitalist of industries, don't people earn what their employer thinks they are worth?

A: Dear Greg, many thanks for this timely question. Old Masters and Young Turks have this in common: the only way to establish how much they're worth is to find out how much people are prepared to pay for them. In this respect, I agree with you. No regulator, government or media pundit should attempt to interfere with the way of the market. However, we're still entitled to be fascinated by the prices paid for both - and I can't see that either the art business or the advertising business suffers as a result.

In fact, of course, the prices paid for Young Turks are doubly fascinating because, unlike Old Masters, Young Turks often turn out to be turkeys: and this is why.

A lot of people in our trade, highly intelligent and extremely able, are also deeply insecure. Their insecurity contributes greatly to their ability to perform: it's neither pride nor vanity that propels them but fear of failure. They win awards, attract clients, get featured in diary columns and are invited to speak on prestigious platforms. Yet qualitative success is not enough for them: like nervous clients, they need the reassurance of numbers. How good am I? How much do you love me, value me, want me? What am I worth? Please put a number on it.

As Katharine Whitehorn observed many years ago, chaps need high salaries not because chaps need the money but because that's how chaps keep score.

(Chaps, of course, like Young Turks, come in a wide variety of genders.)

And here's the funny bit. When an Old Master gets snapped up for pounds 35 million, it doesn't go to the Old Master's head. But when a Young Turk finally gets someone to pay him a million potatoes a minute, he seizes ...