Amy McVey

THE EARLY YEARS

The truth is, some bad shit went down when I was a kid. And ‘70s kids didn’t go to therapy; they went to grandma’s.

My grandmother was a poet who smoked Pall Malls while she knitted words into feelings, and she knew a thing or two about what a girl would need to survive in this world. Purpose. So, she sat me down in front of her electric typewriter and told me to write.

I can still feel it today, the hum of its steady engine under my fingertips. The clicks and snaps of letters exploding on those linen pages. It was powerful to be able to take pain and translate it into art. When I was done, she sent a few of my poems to publications. One poem came back saddle-stitched in the middle of a poetry magazine. I was a writer.

THE COLLEGE YEARS

I pursued journalism at KU and wanted to be a war reporter. One year as a crime reporter changed my mind.

THE ‘20S

After smelling up Europe with a backpack of hand-washed clothes for three months, I headed to Minneapolis. A CD at Ogilvy took a chance on me. (My book was crap. He told me to go sit in front of a Payless store and write 100 headlines. I did. He gave me the job.) Some years later, I took a job as Payless' first copywriter — life is strange like that.

OVER THE YEARS

I've developed into an empathetic leader who is passionate about inspiring environments where creativity thrives. I believe good ideas come into this world messy — and usually from a team that trusts one another to share a bad idea every now and then. (I know this is how it works for me.) I also understand the tremendous amount of vulnerability that comes with sharing a new idea, and I strive to be a leader who delivers what my team needs to take risks and grow.

I dislike egos and Oxford commas. I've published a few poems and short stories along the way.