What the Cannes Jury room teaches you (that no brief ever will)

One of my favourite things about the judging process is when someone changes their mind about a piece of work. Not to be polite. Not to avoid a migraine-inducing debate. Not because lunch is delayed. But because the work simply earned it. That’s when you know you’re in the right room, where people are actually listening and not just waiting for their own voice to echo back at them.

Judging at Cannes is not glamorous. It’s fluorescent basement lighting, chairs designed by someone who hates the human spine, and case films that start blending into one mega-script narrated by the voice of transformative storytelling. By Day 3, you can’t tell if you’re judging work or if the work is judging you. You start saying things like ‘authentic storytelling’ and ‘emotional whitespace’ out loud. To yourself. In the bathroom. Most entries just end with someone asking, ‘so what was the point of this again?’

The work that sticks doesn’t explain itself to death. It’s clear. It has a point. Like Caption with Intention (Grand Prix). A simple idea, executed with care. It didn’t reinvent anything. It just fixed a thing that needed fixing, and did it beautifully.

Plastic Blood (Gold) was another one. Strong visual, smart use of tech, and just the right amount of horror. Holding that cup, straw, or poster made from blood full of microplastics was the first time a jury room collectively said ‘ew’ and ‘wow’ in the same breath. But what really made it land was the way it turned a stat into something personal. Suddenly it wasn’t about the environment. It was about you and the small changes you could make in your life.

Kama-Chan (Bronze) was one of my favourites from day one. A washed-up fish ball mascot, somehow turned out to be one of the most moving entries of the year. It could’ve been ridiculous. It should have been ridiculous. But instead, it made the entire jury sit there in silence, feeling feelings for seafood. The kind of idea that proves heart will always beat budget (and occasionally logic).

One of the few moments of real pride, especially as a first-time Indian juror, was seeing Titan Eye Test Menu earn a Bronze. It was smart, rooted in culture and beautifully right for its context.

And then there was AI. Yes, it was everywhere. Like coriander. Sprinkled on everything whether it made sense or not. Some entries used it beautifully. Others used it like a party trick. The good ones didn’t lead with ‘We used AI’. They led with a human problem. And you could smell the difference from a mile away.

You learn a lot in that room. Not just about the work, but about yourself. Your biases. Your taste. The things you’ve been applauding for years that, in the cold light of a jury room, feel deeply average. You start questioning everything. It’s less a judging process, more a full-blown creative identity crisis. Highly recommended.

By the end of it all, the work that we awarded wasn’t the loudest or the flashiest. It was the honest stuff. The weird stuff. The work built with care and actual thinking. If your work knows what it stands for, it’ll find its place in the world. And eventually, in a jury room. Between two very strong opinions.

For future jurors, here’s the best advice I can give - come in with your opinions, but don’t be too precious about them. Because someone will change your mind. Probably a sad little fish ball mascot or an eye-test hidden in a dhaba menu.

This article is penned by Cannes 2025 Design Juror Mahima Mathur, Creative Director, DDB Mudra.

Disclaimer: The article features the opinion of the author and does not necessarily reflect the stance of the publication.