THE STORY

One afternoon, my father left me with a Betamax tape of Herbie. His handwriting was on the label, beside a tiny Beetle he had drawn himself. He taught me rewind. He taught me play. When my parents came home, I made one of my first promises to myself: one day, I would drive a Volkswagen Beetle.

THE STORY

Moving from Saudi Arabia to Egypt left me untethered. Then Mum bought me an orange Porsche 930. It lived in my pocket, travelled through school and became a small metal comfort creature—until a teacher confiscated it for distracting me. She never knew how much it had already taught me.

THE STORY

I bought my first CAR Magazine in 1998, then saved every allowance and travelled 220 kilometres to Cairo for the issues my town did not sell. Dad bought me a pocket translator. Somewhere between road tests and editorials, cars taught me English—and words gave the obsession somewhere to go.

THE STORY

A friend handed me a disc marked ‘Car Videos’. Inside it, Tiff Needell drove a McLaren F1 as though physics had become optional. That night I graduated from magazines to moving images—and began wondering how a feeling could be filmed.

THE STORY

At thirteen, with Backstreet Boys in my headphones, Porsche Unleashed carried me from 1950 to 2000—racing, restoring and selling every generation. I spread the bug through school. Years later, I understood what the game had really shown me: how a brand can evolve without losing its soul.

THE STORY

Middle school rewarded football, beauty and famous fathers. I had none of those. I had magazines, headphones and a contagious knowledge of cars. Somewhere between the bullying and the pimples, I became ‘Ahmed, the car guy.’ Decades before personal branding became unbearable, cars built mine for me.

THE STORY

A green BMW E31 stopped me at a shop window. The detail was exquisite; the price was impossible. I told the shopkeeper I would return, saved everything I could and—with a little help from Mum—did. It has lived on my desk for decades: proof that wanting something can teach you how to wait.

THE STORY

During a Thursday ritual with Dad, my Arabic teacher asked what should replace his Fiat Regatta. I questioned him like a consultant and prescribed a Volkswagen Golf. Weeks later, he held up the keys after class and said, ‘I listened.’ Dad said nothing. The look on his face was payment enough.

THE STORY

Mum once mentioned the MKII Golf she had wanted before work took her away. I searched the town until I found a mint 1990 Manhattan. Then I tore a page from my notebook and left our landline under its wiper: ‘If you ever consider selling this beauty, call.’ When Mum discovered what I had done, she smiled.

THE STORY

A video of a yellow RUF dancing through the Nürburgring introduced me to the Green Hell. Gran Turismo let me enter it—buying, tuning, racing, crashing and beginning again. It was never merely a game. It was access to an otherwise unattainable world, and I still return to it.

THE STORY

I first saw Ayrton Senna driving a red NSX in loafers and Ray-Bans, then went looking for the man behind the lap. I found a mentor in his intensity. Years later, my ‘Inspirational Tuesdays’ at work kept returning to him: lessons in passion and winning, on and off the track.

THE STORY

In high school, I decided reading was no longer enough. My sister designed; Mum became the angel investor; Dad bought the gear; friends became contributors. I handed stickers to tuned-car owners and booked their features myself. Carology-EG was my first newsroom, first company and first creative department.

THE STORY

Classmates’ older brothers began asking how to tune their cars. For a MKII Golf, I clipped references, specified the Wolfsburg nose, Euro wheels, Porsche seats and Audi parts, then hunted for them on weekends. I thought I was helping with a car. I was building my first mood board.

THE STORY

Six months into a respectable bank job, my soul was already bored. Then I saw Xtreme Motoring on a petrol-station shelf, felt an instructive stab of jealousy and sent a cover letter. Soon, ‘Words by Ahmed Moustafa Elsherif’ sat across a double-page spread. The safe job ended. The real work began.

THE STORY

I quit the work I knew, restored my Beetle, cooked at night and sent Dubai applications from a Blackberry. Ogilvy called. The Executive Creative Director said I was either a gem or a complete con, then sent the test. Of every brand in the world, it was Volkswagen. I got the job.

THE STORY

After Dubai, awards and new pages in the portfolio, a friend called with ‘the job you always wanted.’ Not Porsche test driver. Better: leading the creative department behind Ford and Lincoln in the Middle East. The boy who crossed 220 kilometres for car magazines was now responsible for writing the cars themselves into culture.

THE STORY

Cars introduced me to storytelling. Storytelling introduced me to advertising. Advertising introduced me to systems thinking. In Abu Dhabi, the canvas widened—from campaigns to culture, from copy to creative systems. I thought I had spent my life following cars. They had been quietly leading me somewhere all along.