Head of Content @ LASSO | Co-host of That's Marketing, Baby | Delivering daily cheat codes for small content teams

I'm a creative director turned content marketer and strategist with more than 20 years of experience conceptualizing and executing breakthrough work for B2C brands like Eggo, Rice Krispies, Blue Cross, Cottonelle, and McDonald’s, and B2B brands like Fastly and Island.

I have a knack for leading cross-functional teams toward a common goal, bringing order to the oft-chaotic creative process, crafting insight-driven global campaigns, and bringing stories to life via long- and short-form content.

Jess Cook

I've worked with a lot of talented people over the years.
 
But every once in a while, you meet someone who just 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘵 in every way that matters.
 
Annalisa Rodriguez is one of those people.

I had the privilege of working with her for a short time at Fastly.
 
And this week, she joined Vector 👻 as our Sr. Content Marketer Manager — a sentence that makes me so happy I could cry.
 
Annalisa has a journalism background that shows in everything she touches. Long-form, repurposing, content design... she's equally amazing at all of it.
 
But what makes her truly special is her ability to take the things people 𝘴𝘢𝘺, turn them into content that makes readers 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭, and connect it all to results when buyers 𝘢𝘤𝘵.

(Read: not a common skill.)

Bonus: she's already vibing with us in Slack, and keeping our cat-loving hearts fed with pics and videos of her kitties, Oreo and Darkness. 😻
 
With Annalisa on the squad, we now have four marketers at Vector. And for the first time, a real three-legged stool:
 
→ Product marketing 
→ Demand gen 
→ Content

(i.e. I feel like I just collected ALL OF THE POKEMON.)

Annalisa's going to be sharing how she builds content here at Vector. You'll want a front-row seat for that, so go give her a follow.

Then stand back, 'cause sparks are 'bout to fly, y'all.

Just back from an incredible week at Above the Fold where I ran six content workshops over two days. I have but three pieces of photo evidence I was even there.

1) Schnitzel dinner with my ride or die agency guy, Justin Dunham. We've had two Zoom calls a week for nearly 5 years straight and had yet to meet in person. It was worth the wait. (For both the hang and the schnitzel.)

2) Got to meet my buddy from across the pond, Luke Winter - the man, the myth, the legend behind our "Next best way" ads. We talked shop (obvi), and concerts, and about what we do when we're not at our desks. His hair is just as fab in real life.

3) My parents were also flying out of Detroit at the same time as me - something we only realized a few days before. So we met up for an early bird special before boarding. They paid, of course, because I'm only 42. 🥰

So glad I went. So glad to be home. So ready for this damn snow to melt.

I have a rule I live by in marketing: Test small before executing big.

It's why I ran an influencer pilot before making it a full program.
Tested new messaging in ads before our repositioning launch.
And why I'm so excited about what we're announcing today...

Vector 👻 𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗰𝘁-𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗮 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘆 𝗔𝗱𝘀. 🎉 

Here's the metaphor that's been living in my head for this:

Clay is the proving ground. 🏁
It's where GTM teams experiment with signals, build enrichment workflows, test what actually predicts buying behavior, and figure out which audiences are worth activating.

Vector is the Autobahn. 🚗
Once you know what works? You open it up. Contact-level targeting, live audience updates, suppression logic that actually follows your buyers—running modern ads playbooks at full speed.

This isn't hypothetical for us.

It's exactly how Kelly and Sara have been building Vector’s ads program.

• Kelly uses Vector to identify accounts and contacts signaling intent. 
• Sara uses Clay to enrich and score those ICP contacts. 
• Then, they use Vector to activate those contacts across LinkedIn and Google, keeping our paid targeting aligned to real buyer signals as they move through the funnel.

When your team’s already living the use case, you know you're onto something.

Grab some time to see it in action: https://lnkd.in/eugn7rJh

I love a good Uno reverse. 

Especially when it's aimed at Joshua Perk 👻.

In the season two finale (!!!) of This Meeting Could've Been a Podcast, Josh and I take you through our entire website redesign process: from the awkward "you literally told me no when I suggested this six months ago" conversation (haha), to how we worked with our design agency to build the new look and feel, to the 37-item launch checklist 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 (Josh) did not see coming.

But one of my favorite takeaways from the entire project goes a little something like this...

The second someone lands on your site, they start to form an opinion about your product. 𝗔𝗻 𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗲𝗯𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺.
 
They assume the same level of polish and thought put into your website go into your product, too.
😒 If the design feels dated, they assume the product UI is clunky.
😒 If product screen shots feel too mocked up, they assume the product isn't robust enough.
😒 If it's hard to figure out what you do, they assume the product is just as convoluted.

A lot of teams either go full nuclear on a redesign and lose everything distinctive about their brand, or they're so precious about what they have that the "redesign" is just a fresh coat of paint on the same old house.
 
So when Josh and I sat down to figure out what to actually change, we built three buckets.
 
𝗕𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁 𝟭: 𝗞𝗲𝗲𝗽. These are the things that make you you. The stuff your audience would immediately recognize and miss if it disappeared. You don't want to lose them—you want to evolve them. Same personality, better haircut. For us: Ghostie, bright colors, bold statements with a wink.
 
𝗕𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁 𝟮: 𝗚𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝘂𝗽. These are the things that aren't bad, exactly—they're just limiting. They paint you into a corner or kill your flexibility, even if people associate them with your brand. For us: super saturated color usage that made text basically impossible to read.
 
𝗕𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁 𝟯: 𝗥𝗲𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲. These are the things actively working against you. They're building a perception you don't want—making you look smaller or less sophisticated than you actually are. No sentimentality. They gotta go. For us: all-caps headlines and ghost visuals in spots that should have had actual product screenshots.

The reason I love this framework is it gives you permission to make bold changes while protecting the things that actually matter. Before we kicked off the project with our design agency, Josh and I literally listed out which parts of our brand fell into which bucket. It made every every design decision after that so much cleaner. 🤌

The FULL second season of is out now! Just search This Meeting Could've Been a Podcast.

Ashley Amber Sava

Content, Editorial & Employee Communications Leader | Recovering Journalist | Storyteller | The Editor | Unpopular Opinion Podcast Host | Incurably Cheerful

There’s a moment in every LinkedIn scroll where you feel it—a slow, gnawing nausea. It creeps in with the motivational TED Talk masquerading as a post. You know the one: a guy in an ill-fitting blazer whisper-screaming about “unlocking potential." Keep scrolling. Enter the grind-bro. Eyes bloodshot. Skin like a haunted drumhead. He’s been awake since 2:47 a.m. for...reasons. His post reads like a deranged love letter to burnout culture, all caps yelling about “discipline."

And then, the fluff prophet/AI oracle. Their face is slack, mouth twitching as they whisper, “AI is going to disrupt everything,” like a doomsday preacher on a street corner with a cardboard sign. “We’re living through the next industrial revolution,” they declare, conveniently ignoring the fact that their entire strategy is pasting ChatGPT outputs into Canva templates.

The clap emojis pile up. The buzzwords snowball. And you sit there, wondering why we're applauding this nervous breakdown.

Welcome to my profile. I don’t do that here.

Here, you’ll find stories that make you laugh, flinch, maybe even even stop mid-scroll to reread. I write to jolt you awake—not to whisper sweet nothings about KPIs. My posts are jagged, human and unapologetically real. They’ll linger like a scar you can’t stop tracing. Because that’s what good writing does—it takes your attention hostage.

I’ve been called irreverent, abrasive, “not for everyone.” I take that as a compliment. My words are a protest against the beige corporate sludge clogging up this platform. I write for the people who hate white noise, and who crave a voice that’s sharp, raw and distinctly human. My content is for those who want something real, even if it stings. If that’s you, stick around. If it’s not, go back to clapping for the guy trying to sprint through his midlife crisis.

Here’s what to expect: Stories about the absurdity of modern work culture. Rants about the dumbest trends. Tactical advice wrapped in cynicism. And maybe, just maybe, a small dose of hope—wrapped in barbed wire, because I’m not a monster.

Because while this platform loves its safe, saccharine posts about “growth” and “hustle,” I’d rather talk about the messiness of actually trying to get there. The fumbles, the failures, the outright catastrophes. It’s not pretty, but it’s honest. And honesty’s in short supply these days.

If you’re tired of scrolling through LinkedIn posts that feel like a bad infomercial for someone’s personal brand, stick around. Let’s be human, even when the algorithm begs us not to be. 

And yes, I still use em dashes. Fight me.

Head Of Content

Them: Do you work well under pressure?

Me: I watched the trailer for “Gone Girl” one morning in 2014 while it was still playing in theaters. When I learned it was based on a book, and there were evening showings that day, I immediately bought tickets. I then drove straight to Barnes & Noble, beelined for the book, went home and totally canceled being a human.

I ate nothing. I drank nothing. I ignored my phone. I read 400+ pages in one sitting like my life depended on it.

I finished with less than an hour to spare and proceeded to re-enter society. I made the movie and still caught previews.

So yes, I work well under pressure but require morbid curiosity, immediate psychological escalation and a deadline that threatens my identity.

Very normal. Very employable. No further questions.

P.S. I did not get the job.
#ThatAshleyAmber

Content Anarchist | Recovering Journalist with a Vendetta | Writing What You’re All Too Afraid to Say | Keeping Austin Weird | LinkedIn’s Resident Menace

What’s up MTV? Welcome to Cribs: Office Desk edition.

Today we are touring a 60-inch slab of laminated ambition and emotional instability.

Step in. Cross your chest. You are entering sacred hardwood.

First of all, yes. My MacBook did not make the cut. Why? Because if I put the MacBook here, you wouldn’t see my goodies. And we did not come here to hide the goodies. We came here to let them BREATHE.

(Don't worry, though, an in-depth look at how I've defaced my laptops can be found in another post I will link in the comments)

That monitor you see? It does not display anything.  It is a $400 charging cable with self-esteem.  That’s it. That’s her job. She’s decorative infrastructure.

I could be writing novels. I could be solving crimes. I could be staring into the void.

You will never know.

*Pan left.*
Gallery wall of emotional plot twists.
Picture one: tiny human smiling before a softball game.
Picture two: two cats (Mufasa and Cleo) posed like they’re about to drop a mixtape. 
Picture three: wedding photo. We’re radiant. We’re in love. We have no idea how many shared Google calendars are coming for us.
Picture four: same small child in a sunhat frolicking in a field of bluebonnets.

Every photo screams: “I do this for them.” But also whispers: “They are watching.”

*Camera dips down.*
The plaque. “I’m silently correcting your grammar.”
You typo near this surface? The air gets... tense.

*Camera swings right with unnecessary enthusiasm*
Now THIS is where things get unwell.
Cat.
Riding.
Whale.
That cat is running the ocean. That whale is just payroll.
Right next to it? Laser-eye cat. This cat does not chase the laser pointer. The laser pointer chases HIM.

Underneath? Gold-tier organizer. If you’re going to hoard paper, you do it like a tasteful villain.
Inside these slots are:
*Books.
*Notebooks.
*Stickers.
*Ransom notes.
*Possibly secrets.

You don’t know. MTV doesn’t know. HR definitely doesn’t know.

And right there: “Content Team is a Cult.”
Is it a joke? Or are you already indoctrinated just by enjoying this tour?

Left corner: A book about gun safety for your cat.

Michael Scott. “Somehow I Manage.” Every morning I glance at it and think, “Yes. That is the level of leadership I aspire to. Accidentally successful.”

Anti-affirmation calendar. None of that “You are powerful” nonsense. This calendar wakes up every day and chooses violence. “You can’t pour from an empty cup. But you will try.” 

*Wide dramatic sweep of the desk.*
Look at the real estate. A museum of controlled mania.

*My shrine to cats (must be updated for our newest family member Thomas O'Malley)
*The generational photo montage.
*The grammar aggression.
*The cult literature.
*The whale transportation system.

The whole thing says:
“I will nurture (at least one) child."
“I will pet cats.”
“I will enforce grammatical justice.”
“I will read parody memoirs.”
"I own a monitor that has never once monitored.”

MTV, thank you for pulling up.
#ThatAshleyAmber

I’ve been sleeping under your bed for 11 years just waiting for you to say “we should totally go camping...."

You ever sit on the toilet and feel like something is watching? That’s me, pressed against the porcelain, licking the condensation, whispering the name you stopped using in high school.

I remember everything you forget on purpose. The kid that bullied you in fourth grade? I braid their hair now. The dog you pretended didn’t get hit by the mail truck? I tuck it in at night.

Sometimes, I sit in your guest bathroom just rearranging the Q-tips. Sometimes, I tuck your laundry in tighter than you ever did because I know you’ll never feel clean again.

When someone says “it’s giving spooky,” I grow another tooth. I’m up to 183 teeth. They’re all somewhere. Most of them are in you...

Anyway, now I'm back in the woods. Waiting...

You think it’s all just a silly scary day. You posted a meme. You joked about “surviving the week.”

 Cool.  Let’s see how well you survive the next 14 minutes...

Someone left an air mattress behind and I carved “don’t come back” into it before I even had coffee.

No coffee, actually. I don’t drink it anymore. It shakes my hands too much and I like to keep steady when I’m working...

I didn’t choose this path but was summoned by the sound of laughter too close to the edge of the woods. By people kissing with their eyes closed and their throats exposed. 

Disgusting.

I only speak in gasps. In the crack of a twig beneath your shoes. In the wet thud of bad decisions.

Last night some over-lotioned meat puppet knocked over my bones-in-a-bucket. I made that bucket. With skin still under the nails. And they laughed.

One of them took a selfie with it.
 
I don't know what a "close friends story" is but I hope it's the last thing she ever posts.

So today, I walk. Not run. Walk.

Because you will always tire first. Your lungs will betray you before I do. And your flashlight will flicker the exact moment your ankles give out.

Your thighs slap like wet ham and your sneakers are squealing. I can smell the guilt leaking from your pores. Or is that vanilla oatmilk deodorant? Still. Revolting.

I love when the WiFi goes out. I love when you split up to “cover more ground.” I love when you think “he’s gone.”

I wear this mask so you don’t have to see what happens when grief goes septic. I wear this mask because your mom liked it...

People think this life is glamorous. They think it’s all jump-scares and dramatic violins.
 
No one talks about the cleanup. The absolute viscera casserole left behind in a canoe. The brain matter in the BBQ pit.

The one boot, still warm, sitting inside the tent like it’s waiting for its owner to come back and apologize.

Happy Friday the 13th, sluts. Sleep tight tonight. If your eyes stay shut, maybe I won’t peel them open just to say "hi."

Whatever you do, don’t look behind you.

No really. Don’t.

I hate when they look. I like it better when they still have hope. 🪓
#ThatAshleyAmber

Something is very wrong if your posts are so boring that LinkedIn has to write the replies for the people reading them.

“Great post!”
“Thanks for sharing!”
“Totally agree!”

You’ve been outperformed by a system designed to comfort you while highlighting that you're not interesting enough to elicit real responses.

LinkedIn posts often feel like reading the diary of someone who survived corporate natural selection by being AGGRESSIVELY unremarkable and inoffensive. There is overlap between people who post this stuff and people who have never once in their life been the most interesting person in a room.

Here's the career arc.

STEP 1: Graduate with a “marketing” degree so you know the acronyms and have some credibility. 

STEP 2: Get hired somewhere small but growing fast enough that you have a shot at a promotion if you're obedient enough.

STEP 3: Show up. Smile. Never disagree. Laughs at the jokes of those above you. Learn the ancient art of ass-kissing. “Love this direction.” “Totally aligned.” “Great call.” Be smooth. Be agreeable. Be mayonnaise.

STEP 4: Survive long enough that everyone cooler quits. The talented ones burn out. The weird ones get pushed out. The honest ones get labeled “difficult.”

But you, you great human wallpaper, you're keeping that seat warm. 

STEP 5: Get a better title by default. “Wow, you’ve been here five years. Better give you that VP title."

Yes. Because mold grows slowly.

Now you're “Head of Growth.” You've never shipped anything risky. You've never pissed anyone off with a bigger title. You've never bet your reputation on a real idea. Your biggest career moment is successfully running a meeting guaranteed to bore the masses.

And on LinkedIn, this shows up as building alibis with terrifyingly dull content. What gets posted are the receipts for why they "deserve" their title.

Look! I think thoughts!
Look! I mentor!
Look! I leadership!

They love talking about AI, but they do not understand AI. They love talking about “engagement," but they panic when someone actually comments. They don’t have enough knowledge to be specific. Specificity requires experience. Experience requires risk. Risk requires courage.

They have none of those. So they live in Abstract Land.

You could swap their posts between industries, and nobody would notice. Their entire feed is Mad Libs. “Marketing in [YEAR] vs. Marketing in [YEAR]”

They are terrified of being wrong, so they are permanently vague. Because what if someone smart chimes in?

Suggested Replies can't parse nuance, risk, anger, humor, horror or grotesque specificity. It can’t hold a sentence that bends and tangles and spits in the face of corporate aphorisms. That’s why I get real comments with dozens of thoughtful responses, screenshots, people DMing me to argue and someone threatening to quit their job over my opinion.

The "Suggested Reply" feature cannot compute a post like mine. It is useless. It is irrelevant. It is ashamed. 
*laughs wickedly*
#ThatAshleyAmber

Does anyone else have a full-blown stadium tour happening in their brain during long meetings and presentations, or is that just my specific neurological curse?

I am LOCKED IN. Eyes forward. Listening like a court stenographer for capitalism.

And then my skull opens like a jukebox...

I did not press play. No one asked me. My brain commands: "We're doing a concert now. Pack light."

Why does focus do this to me? This doesn't happen when I'm multitasking. It's like I'm TOO present. So present my subconscious is like: "Cool, now let’s DJ."

It will not stop.

Certain words said at the meeting can ignite an immediate shuffle, though.

Is this a shared condition? 

Endorse me. 
#ThatAshleyAmber

Okay. I know. LinkedIn is not “Ashley’s Austin Yellow Pages.”

BUT.

I have spent years building this chaotic, brilliant, unreasonably well-connected corner of the internet… and if there is ONE place I can crowdsource a “my uncle runs a charter fleet in Texas” situation, it is here.

So here’s the deal:
I need to move a dozen unhinged but enjoyable adults
Austin → Dallas
Leave around 8 a.m.
Max four-hour event
Back to Austin same day
Friday, March 27

The quotes I’ve gotten so far feel like:
“Would you also like to purchase the vehicle?”
“Does this include ownership equity?”
“Is the bus handcrafted from rare Italian oak?”

I might be wrong. Maybe that’s market rate. But before I set our budget on fire, I’m asking you...

Do you have:
*A charter bus connect
*A sprinter van company that isn’t pricing like ACL weekend
*A “text this guy, he owes me a HUGE favor” situation
*Someone who has a party bus that they want free marketing for?

And let me be clear: we are an excellent group to transport. We are loud in a funny way. We will absolutely bring snacks. The right driver will laugh a lot.

We are a rolling bus of content and creative goblins. We will film things, tag you, probably make a Reel about the journey, absolutely shout you out if you save us from highway robbery and turn the ride into lore.

Save me from explaining to finance why our roundtrip team outing required a small capital raise!
#ThatAshleyAmber

The Human Species, in no particular order, as the horror it actually is:

1. We excrete performance art.
Poop, sweat, pee, snot, spit, phlegm, tears, it’s a grotesque theater of chemical warfare. Our intestines are alchemists turning what we call food into stinking, living sludge. You flush, you pretend it’s gone, but your legacy is still in the pipes, singing lullabies of decay.

2. Our mouths are sloppy murder dens.
We kiss, we speak, we laugh, but inside lives a jungle of microbes feasting on the remains of everyone and everything we’ve ever eaten. Our tongues are hunting grounds. Our teeth are covered in plaque jungles. You brush, yes, but that’s really just rearranging the nastiness.  

3. Our skin is a cadaverous quilt.
We’re covered in dead cells, oils and invisible armies of parasites. Every scratch, every rash, every pimple is a battlefield where mites, bacteria and fungus negotiate peace treaties we will never begin to understand.

4. Our blood is a sludge highway.
Pumping waste, hormones and the occasional mutated cell through a network of veins that could double as sewers. Every heartbeat is a pulse of inevitability: we are slowly poisoning ourselves.

5. We die like soft compost.
Eventually, all of this, the sweat, the spit, the shit, the bacterium thriving in our warmth, becomes literal rot. Every breath we take is an advance toward maggots, fungus and worms we don’t see coming.

6. We reproduce like biohazards with forethought.
Bodies rubbing together is microbial trading, organs steaming, fluids dripping, skin sloughing off into the air like fine dust. Every new human is another carnival of vomit, mucus and germ kingdoms, ready to add themselves to the endless parade of our horror show. And we smile, call it love, family, legacy.

Take another minute to think about your insides, wet and writhing. Think more about how your intestines coil like sewage tunnels, slick with slime and colonies of microscopic marauders.

We are ecosystems of rot. And if you try to look away, remember: you are still inside it, still feeding it, still part of the nightmare.

Happy Friday!
#ThatAshleyAmber

Who is coming to hang out with me at SXSW this year?

SXSW is 90%...
*Warm tequila
*Panels you pretend to care about
*“Let’s definitely reconnect”
*Business cards that go straight into a tote bag graveyard

We’re not doing that.

Manychat is building a Creator Club Hub in the middle of SXSW and it’s going to feel less like a conference and more like a controlled collision. 

150 curated creators. In one space. Operators. Sellers. Builders. Culture drivers.

And we’re inviting brands, agencies, sponsors, product partners, (the ones who actually want to do something,) into that room.

This is club-style. Intentional. Energizing.
1. You walk in.
2. You meet creators face-to-face.
3. You talk about real distribution. Real launches. Real money.
4. You leave with partnerships that didn’t require 14 follow-up emails.

We’re designing this space to connect and disconnect.
Connect:
*Brands ↔ creators who convert
*Agencies ↔ talent who move product
*Products ↔ audiences that actually buy

Disconnect:
*From stiff corporate energy
*From awkward “so what do you do?” loops
*From fake proximity to culture

If you're a brand that understands creators are the distribution layer of the internet, you need to be here.

If you're an agency tired of chasing “influencer lists” that convert at 0.3%, you'll kick yourself for not showing up.

If you want to sponsor something that doesn’t feel like you just slapped a logo on a lanyard, this is your opportunity.

This is a “if you know, you know, and you should probably DM right now.”

You want to sponsor? Collaborate? Send your team to meet creators directly? 

We’re actively looking for:
– Brands
– Agencies
– Sponsors
– Product & experience partners
– Smart weirdos who understand that creator relationships > logo slaps

Send your people. Meet creators face-to-face. Test ideas. Start something that outlives the festival.

Comment. DM. Or send someone who actually has budget authority.

SXSW is about to become a networking Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your tote bag.
#SXSW #SXSW2026 #SXSW26

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The Battle

Jess Cook

Ashley Amber Sava

Followers

Posts

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Performance ScoreJess Cook's LinkedIn Performance

Performance ScoreAshley Amber Sava's LinkedIn Performance

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taplio

The Battle

Jess Cook

Ashley Amber Sava

Followers

Posts

Engagements

Likes

Performance Score.css-goub6s{font-size:var(--chakra-fontSizes-md);font-weight:500;color:var(--chakra-colors-gray-600);display:block;margin-top:var(--chakra-space-1);}Jess Cook's LinkedIn Performance

Performance ScoreAshley Amber Sava's LinkedIn Performance

Ready to grow your LinkedIn presence?

Performance ScoreJess Cook's LinkedIn Performance