How do you even start to write about somebody not being here when it feels so unjust, them, not being here?
Ari Weiss passed away on Friday night surrounded by his loving family at the far too young age of 46. Forty-six, wtf is that about? In a desperate attempt to make sense of this, I dove head first into the innumerable tributes to this brilliant man. So many touching and personal stories talking of his obvious creative brilliance, his tenacity, but most of all, the indelible effect he had on everyone he met. So, this seems like an obvious place to start when trying to find the right words to talk about Ari.
I first met Ari in New York on a snowy January evening. I was told we were going for dinner at an achingly trendy West Village establishment and we would meet at eight. Now, he had just taken the North America CCO role for DDB and his creative reputation preceded him and so I was a little intimidated to meet him. I, on the other hand, was the gobby one from the London office whose reputation (I hope good) also preceded me.
It was clear on meeting that we were both a little apprehensive, although we did our best to hide it in shit small talk. I most definitely judged him on his pristine white Yeezys (in New York’s yellow snow, who does that?). And he wasn’t too sure about the scruffy gent sitting before him, talking at a pace in an accent he clearly didn’t understand. Although I did catch some admiring glances at my box-fresh Nikes.
We were like two cocker spaniels sniffing each other in the park: not sure, yet also intrigued. Then, as the conversation progressed and we started talking about work, family and the world, it just clicked, and we realised we were two peas in a pod. Two little kids, wracked with Jewish neurosis, who both loved this industry. That was the beginning of a friendship/mutual mentorship that I will always hold dear and has helped guide me so much over the years. It’s important to note that I’m not special, because Ari did this with everyone he met. His generosity of spirit and time is something that will stay with many, many people long after these intense, sad days and should be a lesson to all of us.
I think next thing we should talk about is Ari’s creative brilliance and incredibly good taste. That really needs no explanation, as it is there for everyone to see in the work that he created. Work for Nike, Skittles, Netflix, Molson Coors, Twix and, most recently, Tonal. And there is so much more. He’d talk for hours about what makes a good idea a great idea. How the harder you make it, the greater the reward is. Stage an actual Broadway musical about Skittles instead of making a Super Bowl ad. Yep, not easy to do, and yet he did it, and did it so very well. That was Ari through and through: not making anything easy.
Now this, not making anything easy thing, also made Ari so very f@£€&^g irritating. As Ari would always, always have “builds”. Even when you are showing him something that is completely finished, going out the door and, in reality, all you want him to do is sound the klaxons and declare you a genius, you’d get that pause, that long excruciating pause, then the “builds”. He was never satisfied. Anything could always be bettered, and 9/10 he was right, and man, am I going to miss that.
The last time Ari and I spoke was three weeks ago, when I received a phone call out of the blue for a chat. He was talking about the great things that Quality Experience (the agency he founded last year) was up to and the ups and downs of start-up life. He was waxing lyrical about how exciting it was and how excited he was for me to be doing the same. He wanted to let me know all the lessons he’d learned and to stress the importance of finding amazing partners. We laughed at some of the stupid stuff over the years and generally put the world to rights, which we did so well. Yet all the while, he knew and never let on about the reality of his situation. Even when asked, his response was: “Yeah, you know, brother, each day at a time.” What I wouldn’t give for five minutes more of that phone call.
And so here we now all find ourselves, shell-shocked, a bit empty and so very sad. Ari, you would’ve hated all this fuss. You would have definitely had “notes”, but I know you leave this world a better place for having you. Go well, my friend. We are all so lucky to have known you, and you will be missed. Boy, will you be missed. You leave an amazing legacy that Dara, the kids and the rest of your family should be very proud of.
And Ari, if you want to send me some builds from up there, I’ll be listening…
Richard Brim is outgoing chief creative officer at Adam & Eve/DDB