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This summer I had the pleasure and the honour to travel to Onitsuka Tiger’s hometown of Kobe and interview five of the men responsible for the founding of the brand and its early growth. From the birth of some of our most iconic products to the design of the logo script, I got to hear so many first hand stories about where Onitsuka Tiger comes from, which will hopefully play a big part in where we’re going.

Please take some time to view the first episode of the series we worked on in Kobe, “Roots,” which explores the connection between Onitsuka Tiger and Kobe.

Thanks also go out to Ian Lynam, the team at AQ, Toshiki Senuoe and the ASICS team at Headquarters for helping this come together.

This is why HBO’s Face Off was created.
It takes so little effort to sell a fight when there is so much enmity between the fighters.
If this was scripted drama, all three men would deserve some type of short-form Emmy, that’s how well this 15 minute conversation encapsulates complexity of the rivalry between Miguel Cotto and Antonio Margarito.
I’m challenging myself to think of a more perfectly cast rivalry and I honestly cannot. Nowhere else in sports will you find two men so capable of bringing out the best and worst in each other inside and outside the ring.
While their rivalry isn’t as storied as some of the more revered series the sport has produced, it fulfils the core element that makes any boxing rivalry great; the almost romantic codependence between two men whose personalities and skill sets complement each other to the point of creating a contrast that can create legendary fights inside the ring, and the type of interactions outside of the ring that become part of boxing’s rich canon of lore.
As Max Kellerman states during the interview, their first fight was a modern classic, one of the top-five fights of the last decade and arguably the best big money fight of the last 10 years. At that time, Cotto was a hot undefeated young bull who had ground down a succession of credible opposition in a way that recalled a smaller Jake Lamotta with nimble feet that had grown up dancing Salsa and Bomba in Caguas. Margarito was seen as the sport’s most avoided fighter, standing at nearly 6’ tall, he presented an imposing figure to most welterweights and his granite chin and unbelievable punch output had writers and fighters calling him unbeatable in the division. Unbeatable and Unbeaten met in a classic war that would become a worthy iteration in the lengthy rivalry between Mexico and Puerto Rico.
On that night, despite excellent lateral movement and underrated ring generalship, Cotto–the body punching grinder–was ground down by the larger, better conditioned Margarito, submitting in the 11th round and taking a knee before his trainer and uncle Evangelista Cotto threw in a white towel to save his fighter.
What should have been Margarito’s crowning moment was quickly marred in controversy when in his next fight; the Tijuana Tornado was caught with illegal handwraps by the veteran eyes of “Brother” Nazim Richardson before a welterweight title fight against Shane Mosley where he suffered his first knockout defeat. Banned for over a year, Margarito became a pariah in the boxing community, and the fairness of his greatest victory would now be questioned.
Many, including Cotto, still believe that the hand wraps that were confiscated the night of the Mosley fight were the same ones he used the night of the clash with Cotto, with the pink discoloration on one side suggesting as much, but we’ll never know. Was Cotto’s face shredded, to the point that his late father recalled the tears of blood his son shed in the locker room after the fight, because of legal punches or by the slowly hardening plaster in Margarito’s gloves? Was Cotto grimacing at each uppercut to the body due to fatigue and discomfort, or was there something unnatural about each punch that he could not reconcile?
While we’ll never know what exactly happened the night of their first fight, both men now attempt to gain closure with this second, and maybe definitive chapter of their rivalry. With a new trainer, and a more fundamentally sound technique, Cotto hopes to silence the ghosts of his first defeat, where Margarito hopes to clear his name and reclaim his greatest victory by definitively defeating his Puerto Rican foil.
Even though, when boiled down to its fundamental elements, boxing is a spectacle created when two people are given legal sanction to beat each other to a state of near unconsciousness with complete legal immunity, fights are rarely heated personal affairs. To most fighters it’s a sport, and that’s why much of HBO’s reality-based boxing program can fall flat so spectacularly. The last Face Off was between Manny Pacquiao and Juan Manuel Marquez, two sublimely skilled fighters who just completed the third iteration of their rivalry this past Saturday. Fiercely competitive inside the ring, Marquez and Pacquiao generated so little intensity during their Face Off that Kellerman was reduced to using them as life-sized dolls to teach boxing techniques.
It was just as exciting as it sounds.
There were no personal issues brewing between Marquez and Pacquiao, no sense that one had wronged the other. There was no smoldering clash of personalities and no heated words exchanged. This is a sport, one they take immense pride in, but nothing to hold grudges over.
With Cotto and Margarito, you have two fighters evenly matched inside the ring, and diametrically opposed outside of it. Inheriting the legacy of Puerto Rican great Felix “Tito” Trinidad, Miguel Cotto became an instant star on the boxing-rabid island, however his personality stopped him from hitting the transcendent level of fame that Trinidad achieved. Where Tito was as admired for his god-given punching power and fierce instincts as a finisher he was loved for his gregarious personality and cheerful candor. Cotto has always been much more workmanlike in the ring and on the microphone. Taciturn and aloof, Cotto pursued champions and tomato cans with the same dispassionate focus, this was his job, and he did it with the efficiency of a Caribbean Terminator. Uninspired by post fight interviews delivered in a dull baritone that recalls a Spanish-accented Arnold Schwarzenegger, Puerto Rican fight fans never elevated him to the level of their more vocal and charismatic champions.
It seems that the only person in boxing with the ability to bring a note of emotion out of Cotto is Antonio Margarito. Boxing narratives often cast fighters as heroes and villains, and no fighter in the sport today so readily embraces his role as the black hat than Antonio Margarito. A hard man from a hard city, Margarito’s jet black hair, Satanic goatee, and beady eyes evoke the image of a vaudeville villain, and his relentless, physical style in the ring make him an entertaining fighter, but a difficult one to like.
Good villains always display two personality traits. The first is an unshaking belief that they’re actually the hero of their own story. After the hand wrap controversy, Margarito was destined to play the bad guy in every promotion he’s involved in, mainly because he refuses to take any responsibility for the wraps. He vehemently maintains all these years later that he had no idea what was being put on his hands. A prizefighter not knowing what goes into his hand wraps is as plausible as a football player not knowing what goes into his helmet, but Margarito will probably swear to his dying day that he was completely ignorant of the contents of his wraps at the Mosley fight (he’s not above joking about it.)
The other key trait of a great villain that Margarito personifies is the ability to humanize the hero by demonstrating heroic qualities that the white hat lacks. In their first fight, whether by legal means or not, he was able to break Cotto’s will, and give us our first look at the man behind the poker face. In those last few rounds, Cotto appeared distressed, at times afraid and ultimately resolute in his defeat.
He quit.
When asked by Max Kellerman if he was willing to die in the ring, Margarito claimed that he would proudly do so, while Cotto approximated a smile.
Die!? For the fans!? This is my job.
Rationally speaking, Cotto is right, boxing is just his job, and he sees no honour in leaving his children fatherless for the sake of a highlight reel. Unfortunately, boxing is a demands its own rationale and I’m sure many of the fans and writers who lustfully bayed for Margarito’s blood after the hand wrap scandal played out can appreciate Margarito’s dedication to boxing as a blood ritual if not his understanding of the rules.
That’s what makes this type of rivalry so vital to the sport, two fighters who could have lived out their careers as flat archetypes have now turned one another into nuanced characters with enough depth to generate genuine drama. Cotto is the proud champion, wounded by the memory of an unjust loss, who thinks he should be judged by the winces he puts on the faces of other fighters, not the smiles he puts on the faces of the fans but becomes bitter when they fail to cheer him. Margarito is the outcast looking to claw his way to redemption or die trying, having repeated the same transparent lies so many times that they’ve become a mantra.
Cotto’s poise, class and presence make Margarito look like a shifty, barbarian, as he slinks in his chair, venomously dismissing the handwrap allegations. Margarito’s courage and reverence for the legacy of Mexican ring gladiators make Cotto’s workmanlike approach to the sport look indifferent to the point of disrespect.
This is that golden moment when both villain and hero offer fans so much to cheer for, and unlike many other “event” fights this year, Cotto and Margarito will not leave the fireworks at the press conference. They’re bonded in the most important way, equally skilled, equally limited, equally vulnerable, equally fearless, and equally desperate to exorcise the specters of their last encounter.
I can’t wait.

I’ll upload real images once I get back to Amsterdam and can upload the photos and video from my camera

Capping off an incredible homecoming weekend, I was lucky enough to attend the second stop of the Watch the Throne tour at the Greensboro Coliseum in Greensboro, North Carolina. Even with the high ticket prices, pretty much everyone I talked to this past week was buzzing about the concert, by bringing together two of music’s living legends on one stage, “The Throne” had created a “be there” moment; either you were talking about what you hoped to see, or what you expected to miss out on.

I wasn’t overwhelmed by Watch the Throne the album, I think it will come to represent a significant change in how hip-hop music is produced, recorded and arranged in years to come, however at times I–like many others–was alienated by the number of luxury rap references and toasts to opulence. That said, I was excited to see how two of rap’s best performers, could bring their deep catalogues and enormous production budgets into a single show.

After an almost 2 and a half hour wait, almost an hour of which was spent in line at “Chick Fry Fry” who employed the time-honoured “keep-them-waiting-for drinks-long-enough-to-convince-them-they-could-actually-use-some-chicken-tenders” business model of concert concessions, the titans finally arrived to the album’s doddering leitmotif, before launching into “H.A.M.” whose blaring strings and powerful drums were in fact hard as a motherfucker.

The first few songs of the set were flawless, as the duo fired off a selection of Watch the Throne’s more energetic cuts, with “Who Gon Stop Me” being the definite highlight. Backed up by an impressive stage set-up that featured video montages of nature films, lasers and smoke machines, the concept looked like it would deliver on the album’s attempt to bring together “high” and “low” art in a way that felt vital despite the obvious calculation.

As the night wore on, Kanye and Jay began to take turns performing mini-sets of their hits, and that’s when the cracks started to appear. As an album, Watch the Throne felt like a Kanye West album laden with Jay-Z features, as a tour–at least in partisan Greensboro–Jay-Z felt like the headliner, with Kanye acting as a sometimes unwelcome guest to the festivities. The generational gap became apparent every time one exited the stage to let the other perform. When Jay took the time to reach deep into his bag of hits, the entire enraptured stadium dutifully raised their diamonds and followed every cue he sent in the audience’s direction. On the other hand, Kanye’s solo sets were hit and miss, and many of his attempts to draw the audience in failed to connect with the masses.

This was most evident when Kanye ascended an LED-lit pillar in the centre of the crowd to perform “Runaway” and “Heartless.” Bathed in red lights wearing a red motorcycle jacket, black leather jeans, black and pink Nike Yeezy 2’s and a grunge-style plaid shirt tied around his waist, an autotuned West crooned and ranted while advising concert goers to appreciate their loved ones in what in sincere displays of emotion that just didn’t resonate beyond his glowing totem pole.

In concert, Kanye seems to relive the moment that each song was conceived as he performs them, and in the right setting, that type of catharsis can be transcendent and powerful, but he is rendered impotent when the audience refuses to join him. Many in the crowd last night were clearly there to see Jay-Z and West’s more emotional moments at times felt like intermissions from Hova’s hit parade, which was a shame.

If the crowd came to party, Jay was more than happy to oblige them as he strung together, hit after hit, and never appeared to be having less than a ball. Hip-Hop’s first truly timeless figure delivered on every front, lyrical street tales (“Where I’m From,” “You Don’t Know”) radio hits (“Big Pimpin’,” “H to the Izzo,”) hits that shouldn’t be hits (“Public Service Announcement,”) and late career highlights (“On to the Next One,” and the surprisingly well-received “Empire State of Mind.”) The ageless God MC was pitch-perfect all night and by the time he returned to close the show with The Black Album’s “Encore,” the breathless crowd chanted his name even when he graciously tried to start a “Kanye” chant. Whether this trend continues as the tour moves forward remains to be seen, but at least on this night, the kilt-clad “Little Brother” deferred to “Big Brother.”

Our last interview for the GENTEN project was with the man arguably closest to our Founder, Kihachiro Onitsuka. Before joining what was then called Onitsuka Corp, Yoshida-san served as one of the most senior members in the Japanese Athletics Association, working with Japan’s best athletes and coaches. In Japan, working directly under a high-ranking official is seen as an extreme honour, so Yoshida-san’s move from leading the JAA to working as Onitsuka-san’s executive assistant was in many ways a promotion.

Dapper, gregarious and energetic, Yoshida-san immediately lit-up the room when he arrived on our makeshift set at the Onitsuka Tiger Planning office in Tokyo’s Harajuku district. I can’t lie, I’m planning to steal his entire style, his Savile Row-tailored suit, Henry Poole suspenders, linen pocket square, and especially his pocket watch all blew me away. The man had style and carried himself like a classical gentleman at all times.

Yoshida-san's watch next to mine

Yoshida-san worked with ASICS and Onitsuka Tiger from 1969-2009 and in his 40 years of service, he got to see the greater part of the brand’s evolution as a high-perfomance, high-technology sports brand, and it’s rebirth as a sports fashion brand. At Mr. Onitsuka’s side during every business trip and major decision, there wasn’t much that he missed during his tenure. Amongst the standout stories from our talk was the development of the Kirimomi-sakusen philosophy. Literally “The Spinning Drill Tactic” this was an idea born when the Russian Olympic wrestling team refused to wear Onitsuka Tiger shoes because at the time, the company didn’t create any apparel or equipment to go along with their footwear. Under the guidance of Onitsuka-san—who was inspired by a nameless, but hilariously pronounced Italian fashion brand—the team began creating products with a laser-like focus that recalled the traditional kiri woodworking tool, which creates a pinpoint hole by being spun in place.

Mr. Onitsuka in the 80's

Yoshida-san’s energy vacillated throughout the day. At times he was thoughtful and reverent, as when he discussed Mr. Onitsuka’s leadership style and unique ability to adjust his internal clock to any time zone in a matter of minutes and at other times he was bubbly and giddy.

The Onitsuka Tiger Marathon Anthem

I’m not sure if it had to do with nerves, excitement or a mixture of both, but from the moment he stepped into the make-up chair, he started singing, and pretty much never stopped. Singing, not humming, not mumbling, but full-bodied singing, singing songs written to welcome tourists as they arrived at Japan’s major airports, traditional Japanese soul songs, and most important, the Onitsuka Tiger Marathon Anthem. The Marathon Anthem was written as a rallying call for runners before they began a marathon, that was sung in the 1970′s and 80′s across Japan. Yoshida-san was more than happy to give us his best rendition, and it was awesome.

This interview was bittersweet to say the least, while it was one of the more comfortable and fun parts of the process, it actually signalled the end of my project in Japan, which came with a heartbreaking realisation. Reflecting on the trip now, I’m extremely grateful for this opportunity, and at the same time, feel the burden of telling all of these stories in an honest way.

More photos below, and more to come.

Wise words from a decent man.

Tokyo is a special city. Exhausted from our whirlwind week in Kobe, I slept most of the 3-hour train ride. When our train arrived at Shibuya station, overwhelmed by bright lights and loud sounds, I felt like I had awoken on an alien planet.

Shibuya Station

Emerging from my red-eyed, sleep-deprived, zombie-like state in the back of a cab I began to see the correlations between Tokyo and New York. Based on my first impressions, I would describe Tokyo as the more humble, more considered wing of the same bird as my adoptive hometown. Where Kobe was very metropolitan and very international, there was still a sense of quaintness exuded by the people; they were sometimes too considerate, too helpful and too nice to be believable as urban dwellers. Tokyo, like New York, seemed to race at the speed of light, and despite the time we arrived it seemed like life was in full swing on the still crowded streets.

I briefly stopped by my hotel in Aoyama, which I later found out was known as the “Beverly Hills” of Tokyo (the hotel I stayed in still hasn’t found out), before leaving to explore Shibuya more thoroughly.

As bright as Times Square but as rebellious as Camden, Shibuya on a Saturday Night was definitely a visual experience, with Goths, Punks, Hip-Hop heads and of course the world-famous “Shibuya Girls” milling from club to club. One thing that surprised me right off the bat was the number of foreigners on the streets of Tokyo: not just the expected tourists, but also Nigerian club promoters, Russian ballet dancers and no shortage of white guys dressed like Japanese cartoon characters.

The next day, I tried to take advantage of the Summer Sale season and visit the extensive list of stores that I got from Kwon (the guy that brought you this, this, and these amongst others.) In addition to the usual suspects like Alife, Supreme and UNDFTD, the deep, deep itinerary he gave me included a lot of homegrown stores like Okura, Silas&Maria and the flagships for Japanese brands like Visvim and White Mountaineering. Each neighbourhood had a very distinct character that was reflected in the character and curation of its stores: Harajuku is all flash, and focused on the new, Daikanyama’s boutiques communicate class and subtlety, and Ueno’s “stores” –like the legendary Mita Sneakers–feel more like stands in a Third World flea market.

I can’t talk about Tokyo without talking about the great people that I got a chance to hang out with who all helped make the experience as comfortable as possible for me.
Thank you to:
My new homegirl Aya for showing me the sites and putting up with me while I played The Ultimate Tourist.

My best friend‘s father, the great Philip Woo for inviting me to the New York Bar of Lost in Translation fame to see you play, then taking me out for sashimi.

The view from New York Bar

Thanks to my friend Takayuki Akachi (also known as this guy), Akiko and the Tangram team, it was great to finally meet you all and I hope we get to work together soon.

Thanks to Takashi and the geniuses at Team-Lab for letting me see your mad scientist laboratory, firehouse burgers and taking me out on my last night.

And finally thanks to Ian, Toshiki, Chris and Micke from the AQ extended family for not only showing me a great time, but also helping make this project happen.

A wrap-up of the final interview to come.

After dealing with Inohara-san’s endless energy, our third day of shooting had a completely different feel and pace. My last interview subject in Kobe was one of Onitsuka Tiger’s most heralded athletes, Kenji Kimihara. Despite his many accomplishments, Kimihara-san was humble and quiet, he arrived with his son and grandson and he exuded a nervous energy that was striking considering that, as a Silver medalist and the winner of multiple marathons, I was sure he had done his share of press and interviews.

Through some bizarre twist of logic, this man was nervous to speak to me. An athlete of the highest order who, well into his 60′s still runs at least one marathon a year was nervous about being interviewed by a relative pup like me. Feeling that I should be more nervous than him, I suddenly found myself in a feedback loop of nervousness, his nerves amplifying mine. What resulted was a jittery, sweaty palmed performance of pleasantries on my part in our makeshift green room that did nothing to calm either one of us down.

I was honestly prepared for a horrendous day of shooting, until the cameras actually started rolling and we got into the flow of the interview. Once Kimihara-san was able to speak candidly about his experiences with Onitsuka Tiger leading up to his triumph at the 1968 games, his nervousness melted and gave way to a more easy going energy as he recounted the customisations he made to the shoes that he wore to a silver medal finish in Mexico City. Working hand-in-hand with our product team, Kimihara-san was the catalyst for many of the developments seen in the MAGIC RUNNER pictured above. The holes he cut in the shoes to prevent blisters would give birth to our first ventilation system for runners, where the removal of fabrics on the heel tab and ankle support led to a reduction in the weight and stiffness of the heel of the shoe that made it lighter and more form fitting.

Having already spoken to part of the development team that had worked on the MAGIC RUNNER and other shoes from that era, it was interesting to get the perspective of the athlete whose professional life literally hinged on the product’s ability to perform under duress. Looking at his heavily customised samples, it was clear that Kimihara-san shared Sakaguchi- and Inohara-sans’ view that the product could always be better, and by “better” I mean more efficient, and more practical.

One thing I started to take away from these meetings was Onitsuka Tiger’s early fixation with being The Best. I don’t speak Japanese but the word Ichiban (number one) came up over and over again in each interview. In the West, there is a tendency to paint Asian cultures as demure and humble, but the men I got to meet with in Kobe all seemed obsessed with being the best: the best athlete, the best product designer, the best brand, the best, number one, ichiban. Kimihara-san was a great example of the dichotomy at play in that fixation. On the one hand, he was quiet and nervous at the prospect of being interviewed about his achievements, on the other, his youth was spent in pursuit of the loftiest of goals, and he had no shame admitting he wanted nothing less than Gold.

Kimihara-san and the products he helped create were cited more than once as examples of the idea of Choujyu-saksusen literally “The Summit Tactic.” As one of the core principles of the brand, Choujyu-sakusen could most easily be definited as the idea that starting from the top will yield better results and deepr learning than starting from the bottom. By focusing on making the best product for the best athletes, the brand was able to grow quickly in terms of technology and reputation, much faster than they would have if they had focused on making products for the mass market with the goal of cashing out immediately.

After his gracious interview, we bid adieu to Kimihara-san and to Kobe, as I traveled with the crew to Tokyo for our last week of shooting and our final interview.

More to come.

Some photos from around Kobe, taken with my iPhone and Ian’s 5D that he let me borrow. Kobe is the rare type of city that manages to be quaint and cosmopolitan at the same time. The people are extremely polite and considerate, and the shopping, especially the vintage shopping is insane.

The Vinyl Chamber

Bingo Vintage Store

T-Shirts at Bingo!

Lover's prayers at Ikta Shrine

Kobe Manhole

French Fries and Chopsticks

Kobe from Rokko Mountain

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