Tom Suharto, global strategy lead, Forsman & Bodenfors

Belonging is the elusive white whale for me and many other Asian Americans who grew up

navigating multiple cultures. As a mixed-race Indonesian American growing up without people who looked like me in popular media and my own community, I found myself constructing an identity in the gaps between the cultures I existed on the fringes of. 

Within this context, the campaign that I’ve been most moved by was Call It COVID-19, Titania Tran’s visceral and personal reaction to the AAPI hate we witnessed during the onset of the pandemic. While I’m not of Chinese descent and didn’t personally experience acts of aggression, the film still deeply affected me. Asian Americans have been broadly painted as subservient and docile, so the anger expressed in the film, and the confidence it took to make it, felt audacious.

It was encouraging to see the campaign resonate with many upon its release, but at the same time, it was challenging to read the comments of those who hated on it. That disconnect — my pride and others’ disgust — is why identity will always be such a complicated topic for me.

Ultimately, I’m both grateful for and inspired by this campaign. It spoke for so many people, me included, who couldn’t find the words to meet the moment. While I’d spent all this time hoping for belonging, here was Tran’s voice demanding it.

Noeli Acoba, senior creator, VaynerMedia Los Angeles

I was 25 years old when I first saw my culture truly and faithfully represented in mainstream media. To my surprise, it was in an ad. 

It was the holidays and I was living abroad, longing for my family and our Filipino-American traditions. My cousin shared this Disney campaign with me along with the note, “It’s nice to feel included for once.”

I was flooded by emotions as I saw my own lived experience represented and celebrated in culture. As a Filipino-American, I had never felt Filipino enough, American enough or even Asian enough. What made this film so moving was how it perfectly captured my own family dynamic and the distinct, intricate details of a Filipino holiday household — like the making of star-shaped lanterns called parols.

Now that I work in advertising, I know this video was conceived by someone who has lived my same Filipino diaspora experience. And undoubtedly, there was a team around them who decided that this culture should be lifted up and celebrated as an exemplary holiday message.

Representation matters on screen and behind the scenes. It is only by passing the mic to diverse voices that we can create truly authentic work — and then we start to make ads that connect and move us as humans and as cultures.

Vidhi Shah, group creative director, Havas New York

When it comes to creating work that speaks to the AAPI community, representation isn’t enough. We need to look beyond casting and build work around the community, putting us in positions of influence and building narratives around our experiences. 

Jessie Chen, SVP, strategy director, Le Truc

Eight years on, SK-II’s Marriage Market campaign still strikes a chord. It confronts the demeaning label “leftover women,” assigned to unmarried women over the age of 27 in China — at best, viewed with pity and at worst, as undesirable and unworthy of love. 

The campaign draws inspiration from the People’s Park in Shanghai, a real park where parents advertise their “leftover” daughters for marriage. SK-II turns this narrative on its head by reframing what it means to be leftover, celebrating it as a choice. Rather than it being a passive consequence, it’s a decision to prioritize self-worth and reclaim agency over societal expectations. 

The campaign not only brings a new dimension to the portrayal of modern Chinese women, but also challenges us all to appreciate the complexities of navigating life caught between tradition and progress without resorting to oversimplified and harmful labels and tropes.

It’s a familiar tension for me, especially. I am moved by how the campaign rips apart these labels, humanizing women’s stories and celebrating their choices. In an era marked by rising Sinophobia in the western world, where these stereotypes and labels have taken an ugly turn, it’s a helpful reminder to humanize each other through our stories.

Tiffany Mei, art director, Arc Worldwide

Every Chinese American kid can relate to the tradition of giving and receiving red envelopes around Lunar New Year. Elders give red envelopes to the younger generation to send well wishes, so we should be receiving them with open arms. But out of politeness, we’re expected to decline the red envelopes.

What I love about this ad from Nike is the clever storytelling around this tradition. We see a niece running away from her aunt’s red envelope — unsuccessfully, until she gets new Nike shoes. She’s now able to run away from her aunt with success.

But the ad’s twist is what makes it so authentic. When a person gets married, they become a giver of red envelopes. So, when her niece got married, it was time for the aunt to be on the receiving end of the yearly gift. Now that the tables have turned, it’s the aunt who is running away from her niece — with the help of her shoes.

Why the aunt runs away is also worthy of recognition for its authenticity. She has gotten older and is now receiving good wishes from her niece, who is no longer a child. She’s almost in denial that they’ve both grown up. In our culture, our elders take care of us and support us when we’re kids.

Sarah Yu Santos, senior art director, 72andSunny NY

One of the most impactful Asian American cultural moments for me wasn’t a campaign, but the release of the TV show Beef. It’s one of the first shows that really understood the complexities of Asian American culture by showing that there isn’t a singular experience. At the same time, it hit so many relatable chords — from Asian church culture to the pressure of growing up with immigrant parents. 

Honestly, it was the first time I felt truly represented in the media. 

That level of authenticity wouldn’t have been possible without personal insights from the director, Lee Sung Jin, and the diverse Asian American cast and crew. It shows the magic that can happen when you have representation both in front of and behind the camera. 

I’d love to see that same push in advertising so we can start seeing more nuanced examples of what it actually means to be an Asian American.

Evan Horowitz, co-founder and CEO, Movers+Shakers

As an Asian American, Chinese New Year was a fun part of my childhood. We celebrated with traditional cuisine and money-filled red envelopes to symbolize good fortune. 

These days, I look forward to seeing how brands mark the occasion. I appreciate the companies that integrate Lunar New Year into their product portfolio and annual marketing moments. Done well, it’s a fun way to tell the community, “we see you,” but without being ostentatious. 

One of my favorite examples of this is done brilliantly by Starbucks, which every year offers a limited edition Lunar New Year gift card. These cards are only available at select stores, and it’s always a competition between my mom, my brother and me to see who can find them. Each year is uniquely themed around that year’s zodiac animal, making them collectible. They also develop merch, with coffee mugs and tumblers featuring unique designs, this year specific to the Wood Dragon.  

Authenticity and consistency are key for these programs, and if done well, consumers watch for these celebrations each year, as we do in my family.

Giancarlo Pacheco, CEO and founder, PCA

P&G’s The Name resonated deeply with me. Many of us can relate to the feeling depicted — that awkward pause, the butchered pronunciation. It might seem like a minor thing, but it chips away at a sense of belonging. 

The Name finally addressed this experience head-on. For many AAPIs, their names hold a deeper connection to their heritage. The Name sparked a wave of self-discovery within the community, prompting people to share their stories and reclaim their cultural heritage. It sparked conversations I never expected, where people shared their stories and reclaimed their heritage through their names. It was a movement of self-discovery and belonging within the AAPI community. 

A campaign like that isn’t just about advertising, but also a movement for recognition and belonging.

Tesa Aragones, president, AKQA North America

The Name’s powerful narrative connects names to heritage, family and identity while addressing the challenges of diversity caused by mispronunciation and misidentification. By shedding light on the issue of name mispronunciation, it not only inspires but also demands collective action toward greater inclusivity and acceptance, paving the way for a more understanding and respectful society.

What truly resonates with me is how the campaign portrays confidence, strength and hope passing from a resilient mother to her daughter. It’s a poignant tribute to all the strong Asian daughters paving the way for future generations. As a first-generation woman, I’m acutely aware of the pressure to assimilate and blend in, yet there’s undeniable strength in embracing one’s unique identity and heritage while navigating belonging and acceptance.

The nod to allyship with the line, “I promise, there will be those who try,” particularly strikes a chord with me. It emphasizes the importance of allyship within diverse communities, with the mother instilling faith in humanity in her daughter.

The ending rings true to me. In a moment of mispronunciation, the young girl chooses to assert herself and take pride in her heritage. It’s a powerful reflection of the resilience and dignity of the AAPI community.

This campaign serves as a powerful reminder of the role of storytelling in nurturing empathy, understanding and unity across diverse communities. Through campaigns like this, we can actively build a more inclusive world where everyone’s identity is celebrated and respected — a vision we all should strive for.

Rachel Yoonsun Kim, senior strategist, Colle McVoy

Born in South Korea and moving to the U.S. when I was young, P&G’s The Name campaign has resonated with me over the years. It echoes my own journey of wrestling and feeling burdened by my given name: Yoonsun. I struggled with people mispronouncing it, especially during roll call in school, so I started going by Rachel — my legal name now, but merely a chosen “nickname” back then.

Watching the ad, I couldn’t help but wish I had the confidence to correct people when they got my name wrong. Even though I go by Rachel now, I’ve kept Yoonsun as part of my name. It’s been a journey to embrace my identity and culture; as an Asian American woman, both names hold deep meaning for me.

Looking back, I wish I understood the significance of my Korean name. It’s heartening to see immigrant parents having conversations with their kids about their names. P&G’s ad captures that essence, reminding us to take pride in our identities and our given names. I can’t say that any ad released since has resonated with me in this way.

Tanner Leigh, associate digital producer, Saatchi & Saatchi

As a Korean American kid raised by immigrants, I never saw a campaign that hit home until P&G’s The Name. The main character in the spot is named Yeong-Joo, a Korean name that means “strong and resilient.” But it makes her feel isolated from the kids around her. 

Most, if not all, Korean Americans are given a Korean name at birth. My grandparents gave me the name Hae-il, which means “The Sun of the Sea.” I was also given the American name Tanner. My parents felt that if I had an American name, I would assimilate smoothly and eventually have a higher chance of getting into a better college and landing a job. 

Honestly, I was ashamed of my Korean name and had a hard time pronouncing it myself. That shame pushed away one of the only things that connected me to my Korean background.

The campaign’s tagline, “belonging starts with a name,” speaks to a lot of us immigrant children who are ashamed of our ethnic names, and reminds us that we belong to something much richer and deeper than our lives in America — and that is something that deserves to be celebrated.

Maria Hea Jin Lee, creative director, Droga5

When P&G’s The Name debuted, I felt truly seen and represented for the first time in my career — heck, in my life. The spot delicately balances the intimate experience of a Korean American family while educating the masses about the impact seemingly harmless mispronunciations have on our sense of belonging — in a way that instills empathy and understanding, rather than blame.

In our diverse culture, your given name isn’t just a name; it carries your heritage and a deeper meaning that signals who you were born to be. Your identity and purpose are embedded in those syllables and characters. It’s also a reminder of your parents’ love and hope for your future.

When my family immigrated from Korea, there was immense pressure to assimilate. My Korean name, Hea Jin, which means wise and true, was quickly Anglicized to cater to a homogenous Western society. 

While the goal was to help me “blend in” and feel less like a perpetual foreigner, the name change ended up causing an identity crisis. It felt like my sense of self, who I really am, was taken away. Caught between two cultures, I had to figure out who this “Maria” was supposed to be. 

It wasn’t until I saw this spot that I took the time to pause and reflect on perhaps the biggest lesson of my life: What’s in a name? 

Olyvia Chac-Nguyen, social copywriter, Dentsu Creative

There’s a scene in The Myth where the actress faces a mirror, speechless. Then her anger and tension boils over, and she screams into the mirror — it appears that it’s the only space where her reflection reveals all her inner emotions. 

It’s a brilliant visual depiction of the slow burning anxiety, inner suppression and soul-crushing realities that many Asian Americans continue to experience in the U.S. We are forcibly appointed by society to be the “model” minority, to be an aspirational symbol of what success looks like for all minorities. It’s a strange feeling to be appointed the “model minority” yet still feel so invisible and treated as “other” in society. 

The film resonates and aligns with the Asian American community on its themes of resiliency and hope. Despite the seething anger around feeling unseen, we prevail in adversity and believe that hope will unite us — and other communities.

Clara Lee, creative director, Glow

As a Chinese American, I remember getting emotional over seeing the Asian American experience accurately depicted, even in a fantastical setting, in the trailer for Everything Everywhere All At Once. 

The shots of Michelle Yeoh dressed in a traditional Chinese Opera gown, a visual generally unknown to the rest of the world, and hearing songs my parents would play for us growing up, made me sob. We’re finally being seen in a way that feels authentic to us.

The film went beyond tropes and inside jokes within Asian storytelling to tell a universal story of a young woman who needed more from her family. She needed support, acceptance and to hear that her mother loved her — themes anyone can relate to. It makes us realize our experiences are all not that different from each other.

This film is poignant to the culture because not only does it portray authentic family dynamics, themes and adversities that most first-generation Asian Americans can relate to, but it shows us there’s a lot of healing and connection to be done within our nuclear families and beyond. Personally, it opened up a much better dialogue with my mother and helped us grow closer. 

Vikkal Parikh, founder and creative director, Ataboy

In recent years, the Indian and the South Asian community has shifted away from a very male-oriented culture, where respect for women comes within the confines of the home. Women are looked upon as homemakers and men are the breadwinners. 

As Indian society gets more “worldly,” the younger and better educated India sees women differently. This spot hits home on the idea of this new India. It is not just about sharing domestic responsibilities, but stripping away the gender biases and seeing women as real partners. 

This change is not about being woke, but realizing that traditions need to evolve with the cultural landscape. A patriarchal society does not need to stay that way. India was founded on secular and democratic principles that need to permeate into the fabric of its society, then carry forward to how we treat one another.

This new India is what excites me. I really see this as a foundation for a culture that is rooted in heritage, but nimble enough to adjust to the changing world.