A Mad Man Gets His Head Together

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Right and Left Brain From left to right: Maurice Lévy, Davig Droga, and David Kenny at Droga5 offices in Manhattan.

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The new shop's first project was a sensation right out of the box: a viral campaign for Marc Ecko's apparel line that appeared to show Air Force One being tagged by graffiti artists. Some 87 million people watched the film online, and it was mentioned in 100 million news reports. It also won a Grand Prix in Cannes in 2006. Last June, he followed that by winning a Titanium Lion for his campaign called Tap Project, which encouraged New Yorkers to spend $1 for tap water in restaurants for one day in March, and is projected to raise $5 million for UNICEF's clean drinking water effort by the end of 2008.

As successful as Droga had been in the traditional advertising space, it always bothered him that his work -- and that of his peers -- was perceived as a distraction by viewers. Honeyshed, which Droga and his pals at an L.A. production studio called Smuggler had been incubating for years, would be "the show itself." (Honeyshed is jointly owned by Droga5 and Smuggler, with Publicis a majority shareholder, having kicked in more than $25 million to get it up and running.)

When we first talked, back in May, Droga was breezily confident that he could create a place online that replicated the collegial fun of shopping, one that celebrated "the sell." He essentially wanted to build a nonstop interactive variety show -- the virtual equivalent of a cool Saturday in SoHo, with Sephora next to Uniqlo, around the corner from the Apple Store, and just down the block from Nike. "It's really key to us that we launch with several types of brands: larger, iconic brands and feisty, up-and-coming brands," he said then, outlining a spectrum from Toyota to American Apparel. "And within those two things, we want different types of categories. Things you can touch and feel, and those that are more emotional." He thought he could launch with 15 clients and was targeting the end of July for a beta rollout. And if the first iteration was a smash, he'd roll out other "channels" pitched to electronics nuts, for example, or frazzled moms, or the Gucci-loafer contingent.

But by August it was clear that strategy was a nonstarter. There had been lots of talk, lots of enthusiasm, but a conspicuous lack of commitment from clients.

"The main thing we had with clients," Droga says, "is they'd say, 'Love it, love it, love it. When are you launching?' It was a tragically valid question." There were the inevitable technology hurdles ("I know more about wireframes now than anyone should," Droga says wearily), plus unexpected legal issues -- can you use a celebrity's name in commentary without clearing it? -- that sucked up more energy than anticipated. "It's a big idea, but to bring it together requires deal after deal after deal. You're constantly spinning plates," he says.

"I know more about wireframes now than anyone should."

Lévy was resigned during our talk over breakfast in October: "The spontaneous response was so great; we have been a little too optimistic," he says of Honeyshed. "The reality is, clients were enthusiastic, but from being enthusiastic to writing a check, there was a difference. We are in a business. We understand that."

Still, he thinks the Droga folks are finally ready to plunge ahead. "There's a French word, tâtonnement," he says. "It's when you are in a dark room and don't know where the armchair is, or the table is, and you bump your knees. Boom! Boom! In the end you find your way, and the light is on. I believe the light is about to be on."

But he says, as we're leaving the restaurant, "Give me a call when you get back from L.A. An honest assessment. Please?"

A Long, Slow Launch

Nobody's even bothering to break for lunch at the Honeyshed production studios on a hot afternoon a few days later. Set on a side street near Melrose Boulevard, the place looks like your typical startup in countdown mode: random bagels, a jar of peanut butter, and other breakfast detritus lie on the counter; the young staff, in jeans, T-shirts, and earbuds, are hunched over laptops, grinding through the chores leading up to launch.

Yet despite the endless hours, there's a remarkable cheerfulness about the place. All of the Shed's little bees are convinced they're present at the creation of something groundbreaking, mind-blowing, or, if all that's a little hyperbolic, just baseline hilarious.