In my recent conversation with Toscan Bennett, an automotive executive who had worked on 11 different brands, I was reminded how profoundly a global upbringing shapes the way a person sees the world. Toscan’s story is not only compelling on a personal level. It also illuminates broader truths about cultural adaptation, global leadership, and the persistent tension between headquarters and local markets. In many ways, I saw myself reflected in our conversation topics.

As someone who has spent much of my own career navigating international environments, I found myself reflecting on how his experiences align with what we know about third culture kids, cross cultural fluency, and the realities of global business.

For more than a century, auto shows have served as the grand stages upon which the global automotive industry introduced its most ambitious ideas. The earliest exhibitions in the early 20th century were celebrations of engineering progress and national pride. Paris, Detroit, Frankfurt, and later Geneva became annual rituals for consumers, journalists, and industry leaders. These shows were not simply marketing events. They were cultural markers that reflected the aspirations of their eras: the optimism of post‑war mobility, the glamour of the jet age, the technological bravado of the 1980s, and the global expansion of the 1990s and early 2000s. I went to my first auto show in 1985, in Philadelphia, eagerly looking at the gleaming new Porsches and Ferraris. As for photos, I still have one in a decidedly more affordable vehicle.

When Chinese culture trend forecaster and brand strategist Grace Mou stepped off the plane in Milan, she wasn’t just arriving in Europe. She was entering a world that would challenge her assumptions about beauty, utility, technology, and time. Her reflections, shared in a recent episode of The Auto Ethnographer podcast hosted by John Jörn Stech, offer a rare and intimate look at how familiar things can feel radically different when seen through new eyes.

In early September, a sprawling EV battery facility in Georgia became the epicenter of a diplomatic and cultural rupture. Nearly 500 South Korean nationals - engineers, technicians, and students - were detained by U.S. immigration agents in a surprise raid. Despite holding valid business visas, many were shackled and treated as criminals. The incident, which unfolded at a Hyundai-affiliated site, sent shockwaves through South Korea and raised urgent questions about dignity, trust, and the treatment of foreign professionals in the United States.

My Personal Awakening

Reading Hofstede’s dimensions was like turning on a light in a dark room. I could finally see why I felt different from my friends growing up. For example, the individualism vs. collectivism scale helped me understand why my instinct for independence sometimes clashed with the group-oriented expectations around me. The uncertainty avoidance dimension explained why I was comfortable with ambiguity while others sought rigid rules and predictability. 

This wasn’t about right or wrong—it was about perspective. Hofstede gave me a framework to interpret those differences without judgment. Instead of feeling isolated, I began to see myself as part of a broader cultural pattern. That realization was liberating. It allowed me to embrace my identity while also appreciating the values of those around me.

Volkswagen’s recent struggles in China aren’t just an auto-industry headline. They’re a useful study in intercultural agility for any legacy brand operating across borders. The lesson is straightforward: reliance on brand equity and historical technical expertise alone won’t win fast-moving local markets. Success now requires cultural connection, faster feedback loops, and people-level integration.