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I thought it was cute, and cool in a quirky way. What I didn’t know at the time is that we were taking part in a seminal online-marketing phenomenon, and the first digital effort to infiltrate pop culture since, well, the Subservient Chicken. Because if the chicken was the Jackie Robinson of digital advertising efforts, the talented and brave pioneer breaking down barriers and erasing stereotypes, the elves were Willie Mays and Hank Aaron, taking it to a whole other level.

One thing about having a loft as a company office space is that the layout doesn’t work particularly well with the traditional lobby format. With lofts, where many of the idea factories I visited are situated, there is no soothing, receptionist-guarded barrier haven between the elevator banks and the chaos happening just around the corner. With lofts, when the elevator doors open, you’re immediately released into the workplace, which in a way reinforces the “we’re not an advertising agency” vibe and, more important, says “transparency.” We have nothing to hide here, and we have no desire to impress you with a gilded atrium or a mahogany-paneled conference room. We’re all about the work.

So I simply got off the elevator at Toy and started to wander around. Fortunately, the first person I stumbled upon was Anne Bologna, a founding partner and the president of Toy. Bologna did her best to make me feel welcome, even though the small staff was obviously busy. She introduced me to the other founding partners: David Dabill, the chief financial officer; and Ari Merkin, the creative director who was in the middle of writing a manifesto for a new business pitch for a fast-food chain.

Bologna led me to the open conference space toward the back of the loft. There was a large-screen TV on a freestanding shelf and another set of shelves filled with Elf-related booty—plaques and trophies from the spring awards-show season.

Bologna sat across from me and began to dispense with the list of “not’s” that are a requisite part of every idea factory’s creation story:

We are not big.

We are not fancy.

We are not an advertising agency.

We are not a TV-making factory.

We are not exclusively a digital agency.

We are not beholden to a big holding company.

We are not inherently evil.

And we are not, despite the author’s prior insinuations, Freemasons.

Part of the reason for my interest in shops such as 42 Entertainment, Toy, and other idea factories is that I never worked in a creative boutique, let alone an agency bold enough to have a subversive manifesto. I worked at huge, venerable agencies with global networks, hundreds of employees, shareholders to report to, and, in theory, financial stability. Creative shops were usually the opposite: small start-ups dependent on one account, run by an entrepreneurial creative team and account person. Creative shops were sexy, provocative, and swashbuckling. It took guts to open one and even more to work at one.

At least a half-dozen times over the years I entertained the idea of breaking off with a partner and doing my own thing. And every time, I chickened out. The challenge of running my own agency was always intriguing, but the financial risks and the life commitment always proved too daunting. Usually my plan was dependent on a client who liked me and my work but was unhappy with the agency I worked for. Starting a shop with a nationally known brand would certainly make things easier, but the flip side is that your entire livelihood, at least until you attracted additional clients, would be dependent on the emotional whims and career trajectory of one person. Plus, despite being competitive and intrigued by a challenge, I was never entirely convinced that I wanted to go all out, that I wanted advertising to dominate my life.

Bologna continued to explain why it was so important to emphasize what Toy is not.

“It’s because it is extremely important that clients understand that we are operating under