Lost in Translation, Found in Advertising
One Bar, One Carton of Camels, and the Start of a 20-Year Adventure.
Before I left for Japan, everyone told me the same thing: Bring gifts. Gifts for meetings, gifts for introductions. Apparently, in Japan, showing up empty handed was like showing up naked. And since it seemed like everyone smoked like it was part of the national identity, I decided to bring three cartons of Camel cigarettes. Worst case scenario? I’d have a nice stash for myself. Funny enough, it is pretty much illegal to smoke in public now in Japan.
Quick rewind for context:
Remember that post where I talked about meeting the guy wearing the Palomar T-shirt in a bar, while I was suppose to be out “scouting” for the hostess club. Well, That’s where I met a group of guys who turned out to be ad creatives from Wieden+Kennedy. One drink led to another, and before I knew it, I was in a conversation about ads instead of hostesses, a random twist of fate that would change everything. You can read the post below.
So, when I arrived at Wieden+Kennedy, yes, that Wieden+Kennedy, the Nike Michael Jordan ad wizards of the world, I showed up with a carton of Camels tucked under my arm. I needed to sweeten the deal a bit because, well, I may have told a teeny tiny lie about having already attended ArtCenter. Spoiler alert: I hadn’t gone yet. But hey, I was accepted! That counted for something, right?
I met everyone at the agency, and when it came time for a real sit down, I came clean. I told them straight up that yes, I’d been accepted to ArtCenter, but no, I hadn’t actually started. But I was here now, foot firmly wedged in the door, ready to cut paper with plastic scissors if that’s what it took.
They laughed, thankfully, and were immediately intrigued by my night job at the hostess club. They decided to give me a test. If I did well, they’d let me work there as a sort of intern / assistant. They were working on a commercial and needed music. Perfect. This was my moment, and I absolutely couldn’t mess it up.
Let’s pause for a second: I had just landed at Wieden+Kennedy, one of the biggest and baddest agencies in the world at the time. Larry Frey, yes, that Larry, the creative director behind those legendary, time stopping Michael Jordan spots, was running the show. They showed me the commercial they needed music for, handed me the equivalent of 100 dollars, and sent me off to find the perfect tracks.
I made a beeline for Virgin and HMV, combed through stacks of CDs (remember those?), picked up what they’d asked for, plus a couple extras I thought might work. Four hours later, I was back at the agency with a bag full of music, asking if they needed anything else. They asked if I’d be okay working two jobs: days at the agency, nights at the hostess club. I said absolutely. And if it got too crazy and they were happy with me at the agency, I’d happily ditch the hostess club gig. They nodded, “Alright. See you tomorrow.”
Holy shit. Here we go.
From that first day on, I was beyond excited, practically vibrating, every time I stepped into the office. I mean, I was in the epicenter of the ad machine that churned out award winning Nike commercials. The office itself was in a towering skyscraper, shared with another agency McCann Erickson, still figuring out if they could crack the Japanese market. I definitely didn’t look or feel like a creative yet, more like a wide eyed kid who’d accidentally stumbled into the coolest place on earth.
Most days, I spent hours scouring photo books for reference images to help the creatives build treatments. Through that, I got an all access pass to watch ideas spark, evolve, and catch fire, witnessing firsthand how the minds behind iconic commercials conjured stories out of thin air. It was like discovering magic was real, and it was happening right in front of me.
And holy shit, did I want to be a film director. Seeing Brazil and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen with my dad as a kid had cracked my brain open. Later, My Own Private Idaho convinced me I wanted to create surreal, powerful stories. Then Larry, the creative director, introduced me to the work of directors like Chris Cunningham and Michel Gondry, whose commercials felt like miniature cinematic masterpieces. This was 1996, before viral videos and YouTube, so watching these reels felt like peering into a secret world.
Back in the States, commercials were mostly bland and safe. But what I was seeing in Tokyo was bold, weird, emotional, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, all packed into 30 or 60 seconds. That was a challenge I couldn’t resist. The energy in the agency was electric, all this creativity and knowledge swirling in one room, ready to burst.
The place reminded me of the hostess club, oddly enough: on one side, the foreigners; on the other, the Japanese team. A glorious cast of misfits, weirdos, and brilliant oddballs, the exact kind of people who make advertising such a bizarre and thrilling universe.
This experience changed everything for me. Larry and the team would hand me stacks of three quarter inch tapes of directors’ reels, and I’d devour them, studying every camera move, edit, and musical cue that created an emotional punch.
It was the best damn education I could’ve asked for.
Looking back, it’s wild to think how a random night at a bar in Tokyo, a carton of Camel cigarettes, and a tiny white lie about art school turned into the start of a 20 year adventure in advertising. It taught me that sometimes the best paths aren’t planned; they’re stumbled into with a bit of curiosity, a dash of guts, and a willingness to say yes when life hands you an opportunity you never saw coming.
Thank you for reading, supporting and inspiring me to continue my writing journey. I am super grateful for all of you and sharing this adventure. We have had quite a few new subscribers recently and I am so grateful.
LOVE & LIGHT;
MM
