When Scandinavian cult members in Ari Aster’s masterpiece “Midsommar” reach age 72, they voluntarily—and with a sense of great honor—hurl themselves off a cliff. If they inadvertently survive, their skulls are smashed with a giant mallet.

Amateurs.

Advertising creatives are hurled off a cliff against their wishes—usually by some shadowy figure in finance—when they reach 50. And it’s far worse in the U.S. than in many Asian cultures, where age and the experience that comes with it are revered.

I was woefully unaware of creative ageism during my agency life at The Richards Group, a private agency, but moving to an agency in L.A. was a rude awakening. The Uber driver on my first work trip to LAX was a laid-off creative director still paying off his ArtCenter student loans and with his oldest kid in college. To avoid awkwardness, I said I was in medical equipment sales.

In the years that followed, I noticed older (40 and above) creatives in their prime entering the freelance pool at the agency, like war casualties entering a Red Cross tent, with a slim chance of ever seeing action again. While freelancing paid well, they felt robbed of emotion toward the work, like mercenaries and nomads who didn’t belong anywhere. There was a deep sense of betrayal, with many wishing they’d used their talents elsewhere.

How does an industry that touts “We’re a creative business" and spends millions on award shows have a culture of treating its creatives so callously?

Ageism is a product of holding companies coping with quarterly pressures from Wall Street and diminishing business margins. The easiest way to meet analysts’ expectations is to jettison older people—who are the main expense—not to mention the savings in health care costs for a younger workforce. Capitalism isn’t going to change its DNA for the creative class.

Few speak up about ageism lest they be identified as being old. There’s little being done to address it. There’s an empathy gap within the tribe itself. Younger creatives often subscribe to ageist views themselves. It’s only when they round the corner at 40 that they wake up to the reality that awaits.

As I traveled in Asia, I saw creatives still working well into their 60s and thriving. The reasons weren’t just cultural. Apart from tougher labor laws, there was one huge factor affecting the longevity of creatives: the limited talent supply.

Asia is more STEM-focused with very few art and writing programs relative to population size, which results in a very limited supply of creative talent. Advertising is not on anyone’s career radar. You fall into it by accident.

The U.S., on the other hand, churns out a ton of art, design and writing talent through hundreds of universities and schools. And then there’s the importing of talent.

Once, the only way an ex-pat creative could land a job in the U.S. was by winning a One Show pencil or going through school here. They still had to find an agency to negotiate the nightmare of U.S. immigration for an H1B visa and green card.

That changed when the networks turned Cannes Lions wins into the common currency of the creative world. Suddenly, any creative could pursue the dream of becoming the next David Droga here—the world’s biggest ad market—by winning at Cannes.

U.S. agencies figured out how to use O-1 visas to import talent and started actively recruiting from the vast pool of hot award-winning talent at Cannes. It put ageism on steroids.

While creatives can’t change these dynamics, they are not without strategies to fight them:

Speak the truth, starve the beast

A campaign to speak the truth about the business could cut the supply of talent to the business, forcing it to value existing talent. Art school costs approximately $180,000, portfolio school $90,000—ridiculous tuition considering that the starting pay at agencies is approximately $50,000 and you’re kicked out at age 50.

Not to mention that most creatives are lucky if they get to produce one good thing a year. The business is plagued by burnout, overthink and projects that go nowhere as the focus is on billable hours.

Stemming the glut of talent is a radical thought, but we have a moral imperative to try.

Remake advertising mountain

One talented writer I’ve worked with said, “I don’t want to climb advertising mountain (i.e., chasing creative titles), I just want to write cool shit and make decent money.” He summed up how a majority of creative people feel: They just want to do cool work, enjoy the process and camaraderie and be paid a decent wage.

But the business forces them to climb the mountain, chase titles and money but with no security guarantee. There is no alternate path other than going freelance, and that robs you of the agency socialization that is vital to enjoying the process. My most cherished memories involve the ratty couch at the coffee shop my partner and I shot the shit on. I miss those days the most. And the current model is designed to rob you of that.

Start your own shop

If you love the business and want to die doing it, make your own Utopia for yourself and others—and start early. There are plenty of success stories to learn from, including Highdive, Terri & Sandy and Erich & Kallman.

Embrace the side hustle

Advertising and agency life will give you an understanding of marketing and a cohort of creative people to collaborate with, so use it to create a side hustle that might become your main hustle. Leave the industry by channeling your creativity into something else—before it leaves you.

Too many of my friends are agency creatives who have been tossed aside with little regard. Creative people mature and do get better with age. My 40-year-old self easily kicks my 20-year-old self's ass.

A young creative team had “Neighbor—geriatric millennial in his 40s” in a casting deck I received. It pissed me off and, in some ways, triggered this article. If you’re a creative in your 20s or 30s, I hate to break it to you, but ageism is coming to get you, too. Awards won’t save you.

It’s time to do something about it and fix the one-sided love affair between advertising and the creatives who make it.