This was my first trip back to Cannes since Covid. More than once during the week, I found myself wondering whether it might also be my last.

Maybe it was because my usual partner-in-crime, Si Goodall, wasn't there this year (don't worry, he's having a much more relaxing time on holiday). Or maybe it was because enough time had passed for me to see Cannes with fresh eyes. Either way, I found myself in a reflective mood.

I first went to Cannes in 2009 with Saatchi & Saatchi when we had our Guinness 250 work shortlisted. Back then, the Palais was the beating heart of the festival. Almost everyone had a pass. I spent my day watching talks, walking through the galleries of shortlisted work and debating the winners over dinner before heading back for the awards in the evening. The work was the event.

Of course there were lunches, dinners and meetings. Business was still being done. But they were the supporting acts, not the headline. Conversations revolved around creativity - what deserved to win, what had surprised you, what was brilliant, what was rubbish and, inevitably, what looked suspiciously like a scam entry.

Most importantly, creatives were everywhere. Not just people who happened to work in creative agencies, but the people making the work. Cannes felt like their festival.

This year it felt very different to me. The Palais no longer feels like the centre of Cannes. In many ways, it feels like a small event happening inside a much bigger one.

Outside, the focus has shifted almost entirely to the beaches, the hotels, the yachts, the villas, the bars and the endless branded experiences lining La Croisette. Every square metre that can be sponsored has been sponsored. Every available space has become a stage, a lounge or an activation.

The beach disappeared first. Is creativity following? 

The strangest part is that you can barely see the beach anymore. We've literally built over the thing people came to enjoy! 

It struck me that this has become a metaphor for the festival itself. We've become so good at commercialising attention that we've started doing it to our own celebration of creativity.

That's not to say the branded spaces are inherently bad. Many of them are beautifully produced and host genuinely interesting conversations. But increasingly those conversations aren't about the work. 

They're about AI, media platforms, commerce, creators, tech ecosystems, agency models, measurement. All important topics but not the reason Cannes exists.

Perhaps this evolution was inevitable. Cannes has grown far beyond advertising agencies. Today it attracts technology companies, media owners, consultancies, platforms and brands from every corner of the marketing industry. If you're investing millions in a beach takeover, you're understandably there to build relationships and generate business.

Last week I'd been speaking about the proposed social media ban for under-16s. In Cannes I couldn't shake an uncomfortable comparison.

Have we over-optimised social connections?

Social media began as a way to connect people. Then we optimised it. We monetised every interaction. We chased engagement, scale and commercial opportunity until the original purpose became harder to recognise.

I wonder whether we've done something similar to Cannes…we've optimised it for networking, visibility and business development. In doing so, we've unintentionally pushed creativity away from the centre of its own festival.

Having said all that, I didn't leave disillusioned.

Because the thing that still makes Cannes special isn't the yachts or the beach clubs or the celebrity speakers…it's the people. Brilliant people from across the industry and all over the world.

The conversations I had with people I'd never met before were still the highlight of my week. Whether over a glass of rosé, watching the football (groan) or somehow still ending up at Gutter Bar at 2am, I was reminded how generous, curious and optimistic this industry can be when you strip away the bullshit.

The highlight of my week was the Nurture Island lunch organised by Dan Cresta and Gemma Greaves. Tables full of people sharing rather than selling. That single afternoon was worth the trip on its own. 

Maybe that's the lesson. Creativity has never really lived in the Palais, or on a beach or inside a branded activation. It lives in the people.