Carrie Bickner

When I was a kid, I heard the phrase “winter tires” and immediately imagined something extraordinary. To me, winter tires were like snowshoes for cars—just as snowshoes expand a person’s ability to navigate deep snow, I imagined winter tires as specialized, oversized creations designed to master snowy roads. What I didn’t yet know was that winter tires were simply regular tires with a deeper tread. But my imagination didn’t stop there.

I envisioned a commercial featuring these magical tires. In my mind, they weren’t just rolling through snow—they were eating it. The tires would be animated in a sleek, stripped-down cartoony style, chomping their way forward with a determined ferocity. The ad would feature two cars—a couple—plowing through the snow together. Their headlights would blink at each other like winks, their grills would smile, and their snow tires would eat the snow. It was whimsical, dynamic, and unlike anything else.

The commercial would be narrated by a warm, conversational voice—someone like Mason Adams, whose everyman tenor made commercials feel both trustworthy and memorable. He would deliver a simple, direct line in the third person: “When it snows, you want the best snow tires.” It was the perfect concept.

“Dad, you should make this commercial!” I told him. “It’s such a great idea!”

He listened with a kind smile and nodded, acknowledging the creativity behind it. But then he said something that stopped me cold: “It is a great idea, honey, but I don’t have any tire clients.”

I was floored. How could he not see it? The idea was so good it transcended client lists. I couldn’t believe his limited thinking. To me, the solution was simple: find a tire company, sell them the idea, and bring it to life. It didn’t occur to me that this wasn’t how advertising worked, or that there might be constraints beyond the brilliance of the concept.

Looking back, I realize this moment reflects a tension that every creative faces—especially in collaboration. Creativity thrives in boundless possibility, but it must also navigate the practicalities of clients, budgets, and scope. It’s the tightrope walk of advertising: balancing outsized ideas with the realities of billable hours and a client’s buy-in.

At the time, I thought my dad was missing the point. Now, I see that moment as a reflection of the ongoing dance between vision and reality. And yet, it’s taken nearly fifty years, but today I finally get to publish something involving those tires eating snow. Maybe it wasn’t the commercial I envisioned back then, but the idea still found its way into the world—right here, right now.