Ari left us today. 
Those words.
I’m heartbroken. 

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write. 
I keep coming back to it. 
I want to make him proud. 
Because it’s him. 
It needs to be good. 

What if it’s not good enough? 
He’ll hate it. 
He’s going to have notes. 
He’s in my head right now; he wants it to be better. 

It can be better. It will have to be enough. 
I can let go, because he finally did. 
He didn’t want to. 
He had too much to live for. 

His amazing family. His wife. A rock. Dara. 
A living saint for how she’s walked Ari towards his transition with grace. For how she’s raised her children. 
She wanted him to find peace. 
I hope he’s found it. 

If you sent him a text over the course of the last few weeks, know he received it. 
He knows how loved he was. 
He was loved. By so many. 

Thank you for letting him know. 

Also read: Ari Weiss, acclaimed creative leader, dies at 46

I first met Ari on the award show wall at the Creative Circus. It was his name, not him. It was on all the work on that wall. Already a legend. Too good for school. Not a metaphor. He left after four quarters. It was too easy for him. It was insane. 
Everything smart, simple, brilliant. 
My first thought was, I would have to beat him.
He got a job and went to New York, and I kept chasing his brilliance. 

I could never quite catch it. 

I’d win student awards. 
I’d get on that wall finally. 
Then I won a best of show at the Addys, in the student category. He won for a real ad that night. He wasn’t even there.

He was busy, in New York, working on his next thing that would win. 

He and his partner, Aaron Adler, got in with the legends at Cliff Freeman, working for Eric Silver. Like any good boss, you hire good people and get out of the way. You didn’t have a choice with Ari. He was good, but within him was a steadfast determination to be the best. Eric knew this. He and Aaron thrived under him. Between Ari and Eric was a special connection. Father/son. Brothers. The universe wanted them to know one another. The universe always wins. Eric would say to me, “Ari is like me but good with people.” 

I got a job at BBH and moved to New York. I’d hang out with Ari and Aaron. Always Ari and Aaron. Those two. The Farmhands, they were called. Frick and frack. It was an art nerd buddy cop movie with pot smoke and Madden. Aaron and Ari were joined at the hip those years. They were a great pair. I was drawn to Ari, like so many. We were frenemies at first. Brothers in the end. 
A healthy dose of respect with a little bit of “fuck that guy.” 
We had so much fun. 

I’m going to quote Pop Smoke because Ari would like that I used someone relevant: “I remember the days/same fit for a week straight/I used to eat 50-cent cake...” 

We were young and broke. But it didn’t feel that way. We were passionate. Dreamers. Delusional in our optimism. Daydreaming of success as we wore the same clothes every day. The same jeans. 
That CBS Sports Club Boston T-shirt. The black denim Levi’s jacket. We chased the night in the streets of the East Village.

Max Fish. Those guys always started shit and I’d try to jump in and they’d disappear. We had no money but we had our imaginations. We loved to talk ads. Creativity. Hanging out with him and Aaron was the best. His ambition was so real. He wanted to be one of the best. He would be. I couldn’t help but love him. I ran into his crew the night he met his wife at Fiddlesticks. 

We were at Milady’s in SoHo. He was excited. Then came new jobs and new cities. I left. He left. We kept in touch. We worked together at 180 LA. We grew closer. I’d go to their house all the time and Dara would cook for me. They became like family. 

I would deal with my own demons, and Ari sensed it. He wouldn’t let me be alone sometimes. I had some dark thoughts. One day he just knocked on my door and he took me to his house to smoke weed and watch TV. He never asked. He had a sense about him. He knew things. He could feel what you were feeling. He absorbed. He made you feel seen. That was Ari. Quiet. Confident. Supportive. Thoughtful. A listener. Always three steps ahead of you. I’d spend the night sometimes even though I lived a mile away from their Venice bungalow.

We’d work. We’d pitch things. I would try, but he was better than me. Faster. Smarter. Sharper. I couldn’t beat him. I left to be a director. He kept going. Winning. 
I’d draw my storyboards and show them to him. 
He wanted me to succeed. He always wanted to help. 

Then the first time he told me about his cancer. 
They got it. He figured it out. No problem. He kept going. 
He annoyed me my whole life by always figuring everything out. 
I figured this would be no different. It came back a few years later, and he held it at bay. It would grow, it would recede. There would be complications. But he’d win just like he always did, I was sure of it. He was so fucking tough. He always figured everything out.

Early December. I got the call. 
Come up here. It’s not good. Dara picked me up. He was in bed, in a lot of pain. 
He told me it was back.
He wasn’t sure he’d make it this time.
We sat in his bedroom. His 49ers were on. 
I cried. He cried. Brock Purdy threw an interception. 

I asked him what matters.

He said none of this but friends and family. 

Forget the things. The work. Skittles. McDonald’s. Netflix. PlayStation. Coke. Sprite. FedEx. Guinness. Fox Sports. Nike. Coors. Miller Lite. Sony. The NBA. Twix. BBC. Tonal was the latest. It was him. Craft. Detail. Precision. The attention to detail. 

It was a Quality Experience.

He made great ads, yes. 

But it’s not what he was remembering. It wasn’t things. 

It was who was important and the memories you have with them. 
I went back and forth a few times from the city as things progressed. Eric came up for a weekend and we all hung out and played cards. Eric cheats at Crazy Eights, but that’s a story for another time. A week later, on Jan. 9, he and I sat at his dining room table as his son, Luca, was fussing about a kid who kept scoring higher than him on tests. He’d get a 98. The other kid would get 100. It kept happening. He was upset that this kid kept besting him.
 
Ari told Luca there’s always one guy you have to chase.

I told Luca that his dad was that guy for me.

Our eyes welled up. He knew he didn’t have long.

He didn’t want to believe this was it.
None of it matters. Your friends, your family, that’s it. 
I left that morning from the city to see him with my own set of problems. He gave me the perspective when I went back that they weren’t problems at all. They were all a gift. That was the last time I saw him.

I had lunch with Aaron the other day as he shared so many photos from a time before smartphones. Ari felt otherworldly. Spaced out. Taking in the world. He was so connected to the present moment. Often the quietest guy in the room. “He’s waiting for his moment,” Aaron said. Maybe he already was able to access something the rest of us couldn’t because it came so easy to him. He had that intuitive sense. He started so close to the solution and needed very little time to get to it. If he were an athlete, they’d refer to him as a generational talent. Indeed, that’s exactly what he was. 

He is survived by his wife and their amazing children. Layla, Luca and Lev Weiss. His loving mother, Marilyn. His dad, Abe, who’s not a fan of the latest Bob Dylan movie. His sister Lara. His brothers Adam and Ilan, mother-in-law Ellen and sister-in-law Alicyn.

He will always be our friend. Our brother. Our colleague. Our guiding light of greatness. That guy some of us had to chase. He will be remembered as one of the best to ever do it, because it’s true. I’m not the only one who felt this way. 

———

Eric Silver

Ari was like no other. Naturally brilliant; a very quick study. And also incredibly kind. He always found a way to flourish with kindness in an industry that usually rewards the sharks first. He had a gift to instantly put you at ease. 
His smile was the passport. 
He was my best friend for a quarter-century. I’ll miss him more than words can say.

Aaron Adler

Ari was our pilot, and I was his co-pilot who never had to take the controls. We were both in the cockpit, but he was the one navigating. I sometimes wondered: Could I even fly this thing on my own if I had to? Such are the concerns of someone with a partner so gifted.

Patrick Milling-Smith

Ari Weiss. My friend. Brilliant, loyal, loving, kind, rare, relentless, inspiring, relentless. (Did I say relentless already?) Ari was relentless. Somehow, I believe he will find a way to continue to be so somewhere. 
Ari made life feel more precious, more exciting. He made us all appreciate friendship and love more profoundly. He was indeed relentless, but he was the brilliant, “Fuck yes, let’s do it, we can do anything” kind of relentless. 
Ari could make anything better, Ari would hate all the fuss right now but would also probably be texting a few of us asking why there is not more fuss and why we used “that picture” in “that aspect ratio” with “that terrible grade.” 
Ari was and always will be the best of us. He will be loved, missed, thought of often and live on through his beautiful and brave family. 
I miss him. We miss him. He is so very missed.

Cristina Rodriguez-Reina

Ari approached everything with an open mind and an endless curiosity, always exploring, always pushing, until unlocking the most perfect expression of an idea. This relentless pursuit of excellence, combined with his ambition and deep love for this industry, made him a true inspiration, to me and to so many others. The impact he had on all of us will never be forgotten.

Peter Rosch

In 2012, after working with Ari for just six months, I reconnected with my addiction therapist: “I don’t want to live angry, work angry, or be angry anymore,” I told her. “And if that’s not possible, I want to better understand how to maneuver through those feelings and be able to take the hard and good news and communicate with other humans in a way that is productive, efficient and with care and love and respect. Like my boss, Ari.”

Nathanial Lawlor 

I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve worked with as good at making ads as Ari. When I add to that that he could do it all while being kind, patient and endlessly supportive, I am struck by how rare he really was. But more precious still is that I got to be friends with this beautiful man, to share the joys and pains of life and fatherhood and being human, and for that I’m so grateful.

Ruth Belotti 

Ari was the best boss and friend imaginable. I created the work I’m the proudest of under him, and he made it all feel so effortless and fun. The kindest, most supportive and considerate person I was lucky enough to know. I am so grateful that this beautiful human was such a big part of my life.

David Droga 

WTF, Ari? Honestly, the only real words that come to mind are expletives. Seriously, what the actual f***?
Ari was a marvel. We all basked in his talents, his accomplishments, his relentless tenacity. But that’s not what drew us in. It was his kindness, his enthusiasm, his humility. He made an unforgiving industry not just bearable but better, more exciting, more fun and more human. Ari reminded us that creativity isn’t just about disruption; it’s about connection, potential, audacity—making more of something than what you started with. And he embodied that. A mentor to countless, an inspiration to even more, he left a mark that won’t fade.
Real creativity, real leadership, doesn’t vanish when its instigator does. It lingers in the work, in the people, in the lessons, the precedents and the laughter. And to think he only shared a sliver of his magic with us. The full monty was reserved for his beautiful family. My deepest and most heartfelt condolences to Dara, the kids, and his entire extended family. Ari was a true mensch, a force that left a global trail of goodness. And because of that, he won’t be forgotten.
But still, WTF? 

Noam Murro

All I can think of right now are the words that Leonard Cohen wrote to Marianne:
“And you know that I've always loved you for your beauty and your wisdom, but I don't need to say anything more about that because you know all about that. But now, I just want to wish you a very good journey. Goodbye, old friend. Endless love, see you down the road.”
You are my light and spring and joy and laughter and all.
I love you from the depths of my heart.

Chris Beresford-Hill

Ari was always a winner. He had a rare nose for a great idea, I suspect he never missed one, and then the rarest of superpowers, the drive, willingness and determination to do whatever it took to bring them to life. Because of that, our industry has seen so much great work that the normal course of things would have squashed. He is one of the greats, and we will all miss him and his creative impact.

Joel Simon 

He's just the most genuine, kind, loving, talented person I've ever met. Unique. Caring. Brilliant. Passionate. Thoughtful. Funny. So fucking funny. Professionally, he rose to the highest of heights so quickly, at such a young age. Personally, he was the best friend you could have. Amazing father and husband. Ari was as perfect as a man could be.

Gavin Lester

Ari was 99% fearless, but he purposely held back that 1% so it could haunt him, scratch at him and continuously whisper in his ear, reminding him that anything less than excellence could and would contaminate. Ari cared like no other. Ari was my partner, my teacher, my friend and now my fondest memory.

Rick Brim 

Ari. None of us should be writing any of this. Not for you. Not now. And yet, here we all are. Numb. Empty. Trying to find the right words when there aren’t any. You, my friend, are, and will always be, the real deal. Always pushing for the best, and never settling. Stubborn, but annoyingly always right, with impeccable taste to boot. You did nothing by halves and constantly pushed for the exceptional. It was clear to all, though, that it was Dara and your amazing brood that brought you the most joy and pride. We were all lucky to have you, and boy are we going to miss you. Now get some peace.

Ben Wolan 

I’ve known Ari longer than anyone not related to him. 40 years. The thing that strikes me is his tremendous growth as a person. Over the years Ari really grew into the wise and loving father, husband and friend whom so many of us knew. He became a true mensch: someone who gave to others freely. He gave advice, friendship, an easy laugh, a dose of reality, career and life guidance, and he gave it happily. Ari wanted to be of service. I will miss my friend and mentor, and I wish I could have seen where that growth would have led him. I think he might have become Yoda.

Rob Reilly 

For as wildly successful as Ari was, you never felt an ounce of self-importance when you were with him. It was always a big smile, a genuine “How are you doing?” and that giant, infectious, wonderful laugh. I will miss that laugh dearly.

Gordon Bowen

There is no real greatness without true goodness. Ari exemplified and personified that.
He was a “creative’s creative.” The incisive mind only exceeded by the incessant heart. 
Ari earned and deserved the respect of his peers and the acclaim of our industry. 
Simply, he loved what he did and who he did it with. 
I relished—no, cherished—the depth and breadth of this man. 
His intense desire to live—to live and to love richly, deeply and forever with gratitude for his family, his friends, and his every breath. 
Ari is, and always will be, forever.

John Patroulis 

Ari’s laugh. The one where he just said something knowing and clever and a half-step outside of what you thought was next (which ... happened often) and could come in a moment of deep comedy, or a quieter moment of vulnerability. Even pain, yours or his. It honestly didn’t matter because suddenly there it was—more high-pitched than you might expect, racing past a growing smile, eyes locked to yours like “You get it, right?” and next thing you know he’s really laughing and you’re really laughing and no matter what else is happening everything is OK. What a gift. That’s what I’ll remember most. Thank you, Ari.

Omid Farhang

My last text to Ari: From the moment I met you, you instantly felt like an old friend. In me, you saw a small reflection of your ambitious streak, and you always met my insecure energy with a kind heart. Allowed me to feel like your equal. I’ll strive to do that for others like you did that for me. I wish I could have returned your many gestures of kindness. I wish we could have spent more time together. I wish we could have become old friends. You are beloved.

Matt Woodhams-Roberts

Ari and I go back to our teenage years growing up in Berkeley. How do kids who grow up with Berkeley parents rebel? They go into advertising. Turns out Ari was the biggest rebel of all, and I think that’s why he was such a great creative. His determination to break through, to be obnoxiously funny and to be stupidly smart is what got him to the top of our industry. He was a rebel, a friend, a teammate, a ski buddy, a boss to me at multiple agencies and a mentor always.

Peter Sherman 

My love for Ari is honestly far beyond my ability to express. What I so desperately want to do now is what I have always done: ask Ari what I should say.

Sherrod Melvin

Oh man. Writing copy about Ari without Ari being able to rewrite it 18 times is a very daunting endeavor.
Pretty good basketball player. Really great creative. Even better human. 
Ari saw potential where others saw limitations. He blew past the boundaries. And while his ideas were always a surprise and so unpredictable, he was always so calculated. Always a step ahead.
One of the youngest and certainly most creative minds in our industry. A true problem-solving savant, loyal, generous. A huge loss for everyone who knew and loved him. This is a very sad day. 

———

He was a GOAT. Full stop. 

You may have been annoyed by him along the way, but he challenged everything and fought for the creative. For the idea. For the people around him. For his clients. He got the best out of people. He raised the bar of what you could do in this world just by existing in it. Just by walking among us, we all got better because of Ari. 

I woke up at 3:38 a.m. this morning and saw the note from Dara. 

Ari had left his body a few minutes before 11 p.m. on Feb. 14. 

Valentine’s Day. 

I texted with his partner and CCO, Cristina, as I got up to finish writing this. She was awake, sensing it had happened. 
She just sent me Ari’s final art card, announcing his passing. 

Cristina: He died on the 14th. Half of 28, the day he was born. I appreciate that symmetry, and it’s kind of the detail he did, too.

Me: Only Ari would die on Valentine’s Day. A day invented by the advertising industry. A day I normally hate, but now will love so I will always remember to honor him.

I can hear his voice. And that laugh. I can see that subtle nod.

“Are you sure, dude? Take another pass. It can be better.” 

It can always be better. 
I want to make him proud. 
I know he has notes. 

We talked about the world a lot. The election. The state of everything. How we treat each other. How we express our opinions. He was constantly curious, challenging even his own thought conventions. 

He has notes. 

I know he’s up there, with God. 

He’s in with him right now. 

The angels want to know who the new guy is who has God’s ear. 

Now God’s making some changes. Moving some things around. What’s going on? Who is this guy? 

I hope God humors him. 

I hope he puts his hand on his shoulder and tells him how loved he is. That he can take a beat. His work is done. He can rest.
He can look down on all of us and read this without offering feedback. But Ari has notes. If you know Ari, he’s going to keep his mouth shut for only so long before he starts trying to make things better. 

Ari would question things, even up there. 

Only Ari would be fearless enough to try to creative direct God. 

I am grateful to God for making him and lending us his grace for the last 46 years. 

He has notes. He has to have notes. He always has notes.

I’d give anything to get one more from him right now. 

Love,
Amir