The idea of fame goes way, way back. Cavemen would beat the hell out of each other until an alpha-male was victorious — acquiring fame through violence, intimidation, and a heavy, blunt instrument. Ever since, we take every opportunity to tout our freakishness — launching ourselves on motorcycles over school busses parked end-to-end, eating 30 hotdogs in a minute, and hanging ourselves by our skin with fishhooks over a bed of nails. All in the name of being recognized by someone on the street, who, in the end, we half-heartedly pretend to avoid.

Plain and simple, that romantic vision was shared by Larry Asher, Fred Hammerquist and Tracy Wong when they founded the Seattle Show in 1997.

Now, you might hear different versions of the same fable. Some sort of "we wanted something to showcase the truly brilliant creative in this market" and "reward creative integrity" and "use great work to get new business."

Oh, weave that web, gentlemen.

It boils down to this: We want to be famous. We want our peers to hate us, we want to deny we ever should have won, we want to be accused of stacking the jury, we want to eventually sell out to ourselves and be called sellouts. So we made up this little show. And with it, built the ladder to Fame. Even if it's just within our own minds! Brace yourselves for the burden.

In the immortalized lyrics of Irene Cara:

"Fame
I'm going to live forever
I'm going to learn how to fly
I feel it coming together
People will see me and cry.
I'm gonna make it to heaven
Light up the sky like a flame
I'm gonna live forever
Baby remember my name.
Rememba, rememba, rememba. (fade out)"