A couple of years ago, I was an art director at a local creative agency; branding, digital campaigns, websites, the usual. One of our bigger accounts was a well-known travel site (let’s call them Big Travel Co.), and my point of contact was their country marketing manager.

One afternoon, my phone lights up.

Client: “I looked at the mock-ups, and the colors are all wrong. Especially our core brand color, the [main brand color] is completely off!”

Me: “Got it. Could you send me the mock-up you’re looking at so I can check?”

I’d built that mock-up myself. I was certain I pulled the exact RGB/hex values straight from their brand guidelines. Still, I open the file, sample the swatches, compare against the guidelines, and even cross-check their website and recent campaigns. Perfect match.

I call her back.

Me: “I double-checked. These are precisely your brand colors; same values as the guidelines, same as your site.”

Client: “No, they’re wrong. I’m looking at them right now. They look… off. Like, washed out.”

Washed out? A terrible suspicion starts to form.

Me: “Could you check your monitor settings?”

Client: “I don’t know how to do that.”

We spiral into a long, circular debate about color, where I (patiently) troubleshoot and she (confidently) implies I don’t know my job. My creative director drifts in and out of the conversation like a concerned weather pattern. Eventually, we agreed to meet in person.

A couple of days later, she arrives at our office, sets down an ancient, battle-scarred ThinkPad, and opens the file.

Client: “See? The colors are all wrong!”

I glance at the screen. It looks like the 1990s called and asked for its VGA palette back.

Me: “Your display is limited to a very narrow color range. That’s why everything looks washed out. On a modern monitor, the [main brand color] renders exactly as specified. Here—look at it on my screen.”

She peers at my monitor. The <main brand color> is bright, brand-correct, and blissfully not-sad.

Client: “…I see.”

We delivered the full campaign shortly after. Feedback was minimal.

When brand colors are “wrong,” sometimes it’s not the branding. It’s the time machine you’re viewing them on.

I had just moved to Tokyo during my studies at the university, and I soon realized that taking the metro every day was going to take a large toll on my limited student finances. So, I decided to purchase a cheap bicycle and use it for my daily commute. I went to the cheapest shop I was aware of (the one whose name reminds me of a Spanish literature hero) and bought the bicycle-shaped object that they had in stock.

Important thing to notice is that I am 1.95 meters tall (6 feet 4 inches), and for sure that thing I bought wasn’t made for my size: I soon realized that I looked (and felt) like the Japanese version of Krusty the Clown when riding his miniature bicycle, my knees hitting the bar every time.

I decided to stop at a bike mechanic near my place and try my luck with a higher post. Of course, not speaking any Japanese, I could only mimic my question to the old man who welcomed me:

– Point at my body
– point at the bike post
– sit on the bike
– point at the knee, hitting the bar
– moving my hands from the current length of the post to something longer

There is a stereotype of Japanese customer service being super friendly, but the old man could not help but burst in laughter, and with his hands gesturing something which I interpreted as, “Young man, I can do some stuff, but I am not equipped for miracles yet!”

He gave me a taller post and kept the old one, without asking for any money. As long as I lived there, every time I passed in front of his shop, I always waved at him for his amusement.

I’m an American on vacation in Tokyo.

I’m at a stall in a mall that offers free samples. The lady attending the stall hands me a small sample on a toothpick, but I’m in the middle of eating something else.

I keep chewing, but before I can swallow, a young Japanese woman in a business suit appears out of the seething masses of shoppers and uses her mouth to bite my sample off of the toothpick.

She poses like a J-Pop star, says “yoink” then vanishes.

I turn to the woman running the stall, and in my most hangdog voice, I say:

Me: “She stole my sample.”

The lady running the stall laughed so hard she couldn’t stand up behind the counter and kept having to crouch to catch her breath, stand back up, look at me, and then started laughing again.

This happened in June of 2024 in Ginza, Tokyo. Being a famous shopping district, you can find many brand corners there, and that includes [Casual Clothing Brand]. The store is twelve stories tall, filled to the brim with everything [Brand] has to offer. It feels like a museum, especially on the first floor with displays of their products.

I wanted to go there the moment I learned of it and finally went shopping later in the evening to avoid the crowds. On my way back with bags, I wanted to snap photos of a rotating sock display they had on the first floor.

I kid you not, the moment I aligned my camera with the rainbow circle of socks, two kids no older than twelve rushed to it and started RIPPING socks from the stand.

When the initial shock passed, I said loudly:

Me: “What are you doing?!”

The kids gave me a dirty look and made an about-to-cry-face, summoning their mother. With a speed that is certainly missed by an Olympic team somewhere in the world, Mother came to save her poor little babies from a “mean aunty”.

Quickly assessing the situation, [Mother] promptly told me:

Mother: “Shut the f*** up and mind your own business, b****!”

She decided to finish me with:

Mother: “Children deserve to experience the world!”

I was not impressed, so I ignored the woman and gave the kids a stern, expecting look. Under that gaze, the kids started to put their socks back in the installation. Mom was still fuming behind my back, rumbling that “no one respects motherhood these days!”

I wonder why, lady? Maybe a mirror can help you to learn why?

My time in Tokyo had come to an end. My buddy was helping me bring my luggage to the airport, going through various train stations along the way. At one point, we were near the top floor of a station and needed to get to the ground level, so we headed to the elevator.

The elevator had just let a group of people off and we could clearly see the interior. It had an extra set of buttons in the back corner and was otherwise empty save for an old lady on the opposite side. As she saw us approaching this woman promptly lunged toward the buttons in the back and mashed the “door close” button.

She was long gone from our sight after we had to wait for the elevator to make an extra round. I feel like I should’ve been offended by her action, but honestly, seeing how rapidly she moved to close the door on us was a sight to behold.