From failed rice cooker to PlayStation triumph: the story of Akio Morita

In 1945, amid the ruins of post-war Tokyo, a 24-year-old physicist reads in a newspaper that a makeshift radio repair shop has opened in a dilapidated department store. The founder is his senior colleague from the military laboratory. Within a few days, the young man quits his prestigious job as a physics teacher, packs his bags and leaves for the capital. He has almost no money. The country is in ruins, with food shortages and no hope of economic recovery. But in this radio repair basement, a company is being born that will change music and television in a few decades and launch the perception of the "Made in Japan" brand into the stratosphere. The physicist's name is Akio Morita, and he does what sounds like a challenge to the gods for the son of a traditional Japanese family - he refuses to inherit his father's business and goes into electronics. In a letter to his family, he writes that he wants to create new things, not repeat old ones. The decision is perceived as a betrayal. But this step will be the first in building the Sony company that will later take over the world.

This text is about how a small start-up in a war-torn country was born into a global company, and why Sony has become an icon not only of technology but also of lifestyle. Which of its products launched a chain reaction of success and which could have ruined everything. It's about big decisions and unfortunate (but instructive) failures. And, most importantly, it's about why Akio Morita's legacy still lives on, even when Sony is no longer the same.

A quick transition

• From sake maker's heir to physicist
• The birth of Sony: post-war chaos, a soldering iron, and $375 at the start
  
  • Technician and strategist: how Ibuka and Morita complemented each other
  • First products and challenges
  • The Sony name: Creating a global identity
• The Transistor Revolution
  
  • The era of the Walkman
• Morita's philosophy: how the entrepreneur who taught the world to buy Japanese thought
  
  • Global expansion: how Morita took Sony beyond Japan
  • Morita's management style: not a boss, but a crew chief
• Betamax vs VHS: when technical superiority is not a victory
• Sony buys Hollywood: how Morita combined technology and content
• The birth of the PlayStation
• Morita's legacy
• The bottom line: what Morita's story can teach us

From sake maker's heir to physicist

Akio Morita was born on 26 January 1921 in Nagoya, in a world where the word "tradition" meant more than a diploma. His family had been in business since 1665, when they began brewing sake, making miso paste and bottling soy sauce in the village of Kosugaya. Morita was the first son in the family and the fifteenth (!) heir to the family, which meant that his path was already set: to continue the business, not to spoil the name, and to keep the bar high.

Morita Kyuzaemon and his 4-month-old son Akio. Illustration: akiomorita.com

His father, Kyuzaemon, raised him to be the successor to the business - from childhood, he taught him discipline, quality and long-term thinking. It was a kind of corporate academy built into everyday life. And although Morita would later criticise Western companies for their obsession with short-term profits, it was the financial cushion from his family that allowed him to take the risk of building a company in the wreckage of post-war Japan.

Another influence came from somewhere less expected - his mother. She instilled in him a love of classical music. The family was one of the first in the country to purchase an RCA Victrola, a record player that not only played records but also sparked Morita's interest in electronics and sound. Thus, the future founder of Sony grew up with a combination of a tough business school at home and a soft passion for technology. A combination that made him dangerous - for templates.

An RCA Victrola record player. Illustration: Flickr

Although he had been trained for sake barrels all his life, Morita's heart had long wandered in a different direction - towards formulas, wires and signals.

He was not drawn to commerce, but to precision: mathematics, physics, electronics.

When he was a teenager, he built his own amateur radio station - not because he needed to call someone, but because he wanted to understand how it all worked.

His passion was so deep that his studies almost went to waste. But after a sharp switch to the "cramming" mode, he eventually entered the prestigious Eighth High School, where he took a course in physics. In 1944, Morita graduated from Osaka Imperial University with a physics degree in hand and at least a few ideas in his head. And it was this scientific background that later allowed him not only to manage the company, but also to understand what it was creating and why. At Sony, he was never "just a manager" - he was a person who knew what the future sounded like at the frequency level.

There was a war going on. While the other guys were getting draft notices, Akio Morita - already with a physics degree in his pocket - joined the Japanese navy. He was given a lieutenant's uniform and, given his technical education, was assigned to a technical unit at the Yokosuka air base and instructed to work with thermal guidance systems and night vision devices. War is a horror, but for Morita, it was a time when physics suddenly turned from theory to practice.

It was there, amidst the schemes and deadlines of the "must have it by yesterday" style, that he met the man who would change everything - Masaru Ibuka. A 13-year older, more experienced engineer, already well-known in technical circles, Ibuka was the industry representative on the Military Scientific Committee. From their first conversation, the two struck up something more than cooperation: it was an intellectual chemistry.

Morita saw Ibuka as an inventor with fire in his eyes, and Ibuka saw Morita as a guy who understood both the scheme and the market equally well.

Together, they analysed not only the equipment but the war as a whole. Their joint conclusion was simple and painful: Japan lost not only because of strategy, but because of technological backwardness. This thought never left his mind even after the surrender. When it was all over, Morita returned to the classroom for a short time to teach physics, but he already knew that too many ideas had gone unused. And when Ibuka decided to start his own electronics business after the war, Morita didn't just agree. He was already ready.

The birth of Sony: post-war chaos, a soldering iron, and $375 to start

The real story of Sony begins not with glossy logos or conference rooms, but with wreckage. In September 1945, when Tokyo was still steaming after the bombing, Masaru Ibuka opened a small radio repair shop right in the ruined building of the Shirokiya department store in the Nihonbashi district. Dust is in the air, anxiety and hunger for information are in people's minds. Ibuka and his team are repairing radios and assembling shortwave converters to give people a chance to hear the world beyond the ruins.

Around this time, Akio Morita, who has just returned home from the war, reads a newspaper article about an old navy acquaintance of his who has taken up electronics. He immediately writes a letter. Ibuka replies briefly and to the point: "Come to Tokyo." Morita quit her teaching job at the Tokyo Institute of Technology and joined the business. On 7 May 1946, they founded a company called Tokyo Tsushin Kogyo K.K. - Tokyo Telecommunications Engineering Company. The world does not know it yet, but in a few years it will become known as Sony.

Akio Morita and Masaru Ibuka, 1946. Illustration: Sony

They started out with 20 employees and a start-up capital of 190,000 yen, which was about $375 at the time. A significant portion of this amount was provided by Morita's family, which automatically made her the largest early shareholder. The first president of the company was Ibuka's father-in-law, Tamon Maeda, a former minister of education. But the real manifesto, the company's first document, was written by Ibuka himself. It was not about profits, markets, or dominance. There was an idea: to create a place where engineers work freely, with an open mind, and create something that will help rebuild the culture of the whole country.

"establish an ideal factory that stresses a spirit of freedom and open mindedness that will, through technology, contribute to Japanese culture".

Sony was not born as a business. It started as an ambition to create a new Japan - with a soldering iron, an idea, and a very limited budget.

Techie and strategist: how Ibuka and Morita complemented each other

In business, many partnerships end at the stage of "mismatched visions". In the case of Masaru Ibuka and Akio Morita, it was the opposite - they came together so well that historians call it one of the "most productive and interesting business collaborations in the twentieth century".

Ibuka was a techie to the core - an inventor, an engineer, a man who saw electronics before they were even on the shelves. He was the driving force behind all the breakthroughs, from the transistor radio to the first portable tape recorders. Morita also had a technical background, but his element was finance, strategy, and global ambition. He didn't think about how a device worked, but about who would buy it and why - and how to make sure that purchase was remembered.

This duo was the main engine behind Sony's rise.

Ibuka created the product, Morita created the market.

One was a genius in the laboratory, the other a visionary in presentations, connections, and understanding the culture of other countries. Morita provided financial stability (including through family ties) and a strategic focus that allowed Ibuka's inventions to get into storefronts around the world rather than stay in a drawer. Individually, they were strong. Together, they were the combination without which neither Sony nor everything we today mean by "Japanese quality" would exist.

First products and challenges

In the early years of TTK (the future Sony), there was nothing but a soldering iron, a few determined engineers and a lot of enthusiasm. No machines, no real start-up capital. But there was the main currency of the time - ingenuity. And it paid off. Among the company's first products were an electric rice cooker (an unsuccessful prototype that never went into mass production - the rice it produced was either raw or cooked into concrete) and heating pillows. Household solutions for a country that lacked even electricity. None of these gadgets was a breakthrough, but they showed that the team thinks outside the box and tries to anticipate a need before it becomes apparent.

Experimental rice cooker: a simple structure made of aluminium electrodes in a wooden tub did not do the job - the rice turned out either raw or overcooked, depending on the type and amount of water. Illustration: Wikipedia

The first real breakthrough was to be the first Japanese tape recorder, the Type-G, introduced in 1950. Based on Ibuka's early designs, the machine actually worked, recorded sound - and looked like a piece of laboratory equipment. It was heavy, cumbersome, and too expensive for the mass user. Sales were... let's just say, modest.

The first tape recorder, the Type-G model, was introduced in 1950. Illustration: Sony

The Sony name: Creating a global identity

But it was this failure that became a key moment for Morita. He realised what would become the basis of Sony's entire marketing philosophy: technology alone is not success. If you want an innovation to be bought, you not only have to make it, you have to explain it, sell it and, most importantly, create a market for it if it doesn't already exist. This painful experience forced Morita to ask not only technical but also marketing questions before starting product development - and that is why Sony would later become a master of not only electronics but also desire.

When TTK began to look beyond Japanese borders, Ibuka and Morita quickly realised that the name "Tokyo Tsushin Kogyo" sounded like a spell to the global market - long, clumsy and unmemorable. Even within the country, it was shortened to Totsuko, and for foreigners, it was a no-go. Ideas such as TTK or Tokyo Teletech were rejected, either because of conflicts with other companies or because they were simply boring. They sat down with dictionaries and started inventing.

That's how the word Sony was born.

It came from a combination of the Latin "sonus" (sound) and the American slang word "sonny" - as smart guys were called in the 50s. In Japan, this nickname was also popular, and Morita and Ibuka sincerely believed that it was about them.

The first product with the new logo was the TR-55 transistor radio in 1955. And in 1958, the company officially became Sony Corporation. It was a wildly bold decision for Japan at the time, and, of course, it provoked resistance. The Mitsui Bank, for example, wanted something like Sony Electronic Industries, so that everything would be clear and consistent. But Morita stood his ground: the brand should be short, international, and not tied to a specific industry.

The first product under the Sony brand is the TR-55 transistor radio. Illustration: Sony

Thus, Sony became not just a name, but a strategic choice. It was the first loud signal that Morita was thinking not as an internal entrepreneur but as a global brand architect. And the fact that the name was coined from a dictionary only adds to the depth of this story.

The transistor revolution

In the 1950s, Sony did what would become its signature move: it took a technology that everyone thought was military and turned it into a mass product that changed the habits of millions. Following Masaru Ibuka's visit to the US in 1952-1953, the company obtained a licence from Bell Labs to use transistors, the latest microscopic components at the time that promised to revolutionise electronics.

Other companies at the time were looking down their noses at transistors - literally: they were seen as a component for the army. Ibuka and Morita saw them as a chance to create something for the civilian world. In 1955, the TR-55, Japan's first transistor radio, was introduced, followed by the TR-72 and TR-6, even more successful models. But the real breakthrough came in 1957 with the TR-63, which Sony positioned as the world's first "pocket" radio.

The Sony TR-63 was the manufacturer's first "pocket" radio and the first successful export model - at the time, the smallest in the world. Illustration: Sony

There was only one small problem - this "pocket" radio did not fit into a standard shirt pocket. Morita found a way out - he gave his salespeople shirts with enlarged pockets. In this way, marketing became not just an accompaniment, but a tool for shaping new behaviour. Thanks to the TR-63, Sony broke into the American market and hit the audience that others had not even noticed - teenagers. A personal, portable device that could be taken anywhere - this was the beginning of the era of microelectronics for consumers. For the first time, Sony did not just sell a device. It created a market, anticipated a desire, and convinced people that life would not be the same without this radio. And Japanese electronics are not a compromise, but the future. And then it did it again and again.

In 1968, Sony again went beyond the standards by introducing the Trinitron colour TV (model KV-1310), one of the most successful products in the company's history. At a time when televisions were at best a muddled mess of colour, the Trinitron produced a picture that was truly impressive. It was a breakthrough in both technology and perception: Sony was no longer just competing - it was setting the bar.

The first Sony Trinitron TV: twice as bright as standard models and a key breakthrough in colour television. Illustration: Sony

The Trinitron was not just a commercial hit. In 1972 (some sources say 1973), the technology won Sony the first-ever Emmy Award for Engineering Achievement, an event that officially established the company as a technical leader. The president of Sony at the time was Akio Morita, and it was he who was behind the strategy that transformed the TV from furniture to emotion.

The era of the Walkman

Perhaps no device embodies Morita's intuition and Sony's spirit of innovation more than the Walkman. The idea was born out of a simple desire: Morita himself wanted to listen to music while walking - not to drag a radio to the park, not to disturb others, but simply to have a personal "sound bubble". Masaru Ibuka also had a similar desire, and he used to carry a portable cassette player with him on his trips. So they decided it was time to make something smaller, lighter, and more personal.

Morita insisted on the concept of a simple player with no speakers and no recording - just headphones, batteries and music. The idea aroused resistance even within Sony: "Who would ever buy a player that doesn't record?" But Morita took the toughest possible stance: according to legend, he promised to resign if the device did not sell. On 1 July 1979, the Walkman TPS-L2 was launched in Japan, and it was not just a good thing, but a huge success.

The first Walkman: despite scepticism due to the lack of recording, it became a worldwide hit and set a new lifestyle. Illustration: Sony

After the launch, the company began to promote the player under different names: Soundabout in the US, Stowaway in the UK, and Freestyle in Australia. Morita was furious: this strategy diluted the brand. He insisted on a single name - Sony Walkman - and launched a campaign where devices were distributed to celebrities and musicians - the influencers of the time.

The Walkman became a global cultural phenomenon. For the first time, people were able to carry music with them - not as background noise, but as a personal soundtrack to their own lives. Hundreds of millions of devices were sold, and the brand itself became an icon - not just a technical success, but a lifestyle. This was not a victory for the market, but a victory for Morita's intuition, which was able to hear the desires of consumers even before they realised them.

Morita's philosophy: how the entrepreneur who taught the world to buy Japanese thought

Behind every Sony product that has become an icon was not only technical know-how, but also a whole system of principles - what was later called the "Morita Way" or "Sony Way". It's not just a business course, but a set of beliefs that have kept the company going for decades.

Innovation is at the centre. Morita believed that you shouldn't ask the consumer what they want - you should create something they don't even know about. Sony has consistently invested 6-10% of its revenue in RD - not because it's fashionable, but because there is no future without it. The second pillar is quality.

Morita set himself the task of changing the world's attitude to the "Made in Japan" inscription: from a "cheap" sign to a symbol of reliability and engineering excellence

Another principle: the market does not wait for you - you have to create it yourself. After failures at the start, Morita realised that classical market research only shows the past. So instead of following demand, Sony launched products and then adapted them after feedback. All this was in line with the long-term vision: not to chase quarterly profits, but to build leadership for years to come. Unlike many Western companies, Morita criticised "paper profits" and disconnection from real production.

Education is another topic. In his book Gakureki Muyō Ron (Never Mind School Records), he wrote directly that school certificates are not an indicator of potential. Morita valued initiative, motivation, leadership, and practical thinking rather than grades. And he embedded this philosophy in the very culture of Sony.

Akio Morita. Illustration: akiomorita.com

Global expansion: how Morita took Sony beyond Japan

From the very first days of Sony's existence, Akio Morita saw beyond the Japanese market. The country had just emerged from the war, domestic demand was scarce, and Morita clearly understood that if you want scale, look to the United States. After a trip to Europe in 1953, where he was impressed by Philips' global reach, he cemented this decision. The strategy was as simple as anything brilliant: either you build your own brand or work for someone else's.

It was a real breakthrough for Japan at the time: Morita refused lucrative OEM contracts (production under someone else's logo) and insisted that the Sony name always stood large and proud on the product. For him, the logo was not just a font - it was the life of the company, which had to be protected. He actively used American marketing methods, developed advertising, and insisted that the company should speak directly to the customer, not through intermediaries.

Morita's ambitions for global expansion were not on paper - he acted quickly and strategically. Already in 1960, Sony created two key structures - Sony Corporation of America and Sony Overseas S.A. in Switzerland. And the following year, the company took a step that looked like a national breakthrough at the time: it became the first Japanese company to list on the New York Stock Exchange. Shares are registered through American Depositary Receipts (ADRs), opening up access to foreign capital and raising the company's profile on a global scale.

In 1963, Morita moved to the United States with his family for a year - not as a tourist, but as a student. He studied language, behaviour, and business thinking to speak to America in its language. His approach was ahead of its time: to combine global thinking with local understanding, to create a world-class product, but adapted to a specific consumer. For him, marketing was not about selling - it was about explaining the value of a new, not yet obvious product. And this is what ultimately made Sony not just an exporter, but a global brand that could dictate prices and set the tone - not only in technology, but also in culture.

But Morita did not stop at finance. In 1972, Sony opened its first factory in the United States, relying not only on sales but also on local production. And in the same year, in a gesture towards trade balance, it launched the Sony Trading Company to promote the export of American goods to Japan. This was not only a step towards globalisation, but also a demonstration: Sony wants to be not just a player in the international market, but a partner that builds bilateral relations.

Morita's management style: not a boss, but a crew chief

At Sony, Akio Morita didn't create a company - he built a vibrant ecosystem where engineers, marketers, and managers worked as a team, not as cogs in a bureaucratic machine. His management style was atypical for Japan at that time: instead of a strict hierarchy, he had a sense of common purpose, and instead of rigid roles, he had the freedom to look for himself within the company.

Morita believed that motivation is not about money, but about a challenge, especially for engineers. They need to be given direction, not an order. That's why he valued initiative, open discussion, and was not afraid of a conflict of ideas - in his opinion, a clash of views leads to stronger solutions than a consensus that stifles individuality.

In 1966, the company introduced a revolutionary system for Japan: internal mobility, which allowed employees to move to other departments without the consent of their direct supervisor. This not only helped people unlock their potential, but also served as a litmus test: if everyone wanted to leave a department, it meant that something was wrong with the management there.

Morita also did not distance himself from his employees: he visited the plants and talked to everyone, from the top managers to the newcomers. He personally greeted young specialists and constantly emphasised that the future of the company is people, not reports for investors. That is why he did not rely on diplomas - he was interested in practical skills, charisma, and leadership qualities. At times, Morita even invited trade union activists to join the management team because they already had natural authority.

His philosophy contrasted with the American model: he criticised the focus on quarterly profits, over-reliance on consultants, poor staff security and unwillingness to make long-term investments in RD. For him, people were an asset, not a variable cost item.

This is how theSony Waywas born - a corporate culture that combined Japanese loyalty and long-termism with flexible, human HR practices. This became the company's invisible but very real advantage - and the basis for all its breakthroughs.

Betamax vs VHS: when technical superiority is not a victory

In 1975, Sony entered the market with the Betamax SL-6300, the first successful home video recorder. The company had big plans: to make the format a standard, as it had previously succeeded with the U-matic professional system. However, a year later, JVC (a subsidiary of Matsushita) launched a competitor, VHS, and the format war began, which would become a classic case study for anyone who had ever tried to impose a standard on the market.

The first Sony Betamax SL-6300 video recorder. Illustration: Sony

Despite Betamax's superior image quality, VHS won - and here's why:

• Recording time: VHS could record for 2 hours at a time, Betamax only 1. For watching films and recording programmes, this was critically insufficient. Sony didn't want to sacrifice quality for length - and lost out on speed.
• Price: VHS players were simpler and cheaper to produce and to buy.
• Licences: JVC opened up the format to dozens of manufacturers(Panasonic, Hitachi, Sharp, etc.), while Sony kept Betamax in a strict framework. As a result, VHS simply filled store shelves.
• Content: studios, distributors, and even the 18+ industry were more active in supporting VHS, so more films were released on it. Consumers simply chose what was easier to find and watch.

By 1981 , VHS already had 70% of the market, while Betamax had only 25%. Sony held on for a few more years, but finally gave up in 1988, releasing its own VHS player.

This failure taught a harsh but useful lesson: it's not the best technology that wins, but the one that better understands the market needs, builds an ecosystem, and finds allies. And even Morita, with his talent for branding, could not save the format, which was not supported by the industry. In subsequent projects, Sony did not repeat this mistake, for example, when creating CDs with Philips.

Sony buys Hollywood: how Morita combined technology and content

In the second half of the 1980s, Morita realised his vision of "convergence" - combining electronics with music, film, and entertainment. He believed that the future belongs to those who simultaneously create both devices and what is watched or listened to. And he went all-in.

In 1988, Sony acquired CBS Records Group, one of the world's most famous music holdings with the Columbia and Epic labels, for $2 billion. This asset would later become Sony Music Entertainment. And the following year, an even more high-profile deal was made: the company bought Columbia Pictures Entertainment (along with TriStar and other film assets) for $3.4 billion plus debt. This is how Sony Pictures Entertainment was born, and the Japanese corporation got its own film front in the heart of Hollywood. At the time, it looked like a gamble.

Analysts had doubts, the integration was difficult, and the costs were enormous.

But for Morita, it wasn't about a quick buck - it was about a decades-long strategy. He wanted Sony to be not just a TV or player manufacturer, but a full-fledged multimedia player that controls the entire chain: from content to device. It was these steps that paved the way for what Sony later became - a hybrid of technology, film, music and games. And although Morita was no longer at the helm, his vision continued to work.

The birth of PlayStation

The story of the PlayStation is not only a technical revolution in the world of video games, but also the culmination of a philosophy that Akio Morita had been building for years. Although he was no longer involved in the operational management of Sony when the first console was launched, it was his principles - innovation, creation of new markets, trust in engineers - that created the ground on which this breakthrough project was born.

The key figures in the launch of the PlayStation were the technical genius Ken Kutaragi, considered the "father of the PlayStation," and Sony President Norio Ohga. It was Ohga, Morita's protégé, who gave the green light to develop the console independently after the public breakdown of the partnership with Nintendo. History knows few cases when a partner's betrayal turned into a multi-billion dollar business. But it happened - thanks to the ambition, determination and culture that Morita laid down.

Sony PlayStation, 1994. Illustration: Wikipedia

Although Morita himself suffered a stroke that led to his official resignation as chairman of the board in November 1994, just days before the PlayStation's launch in Japan, his strategy of merging hardware with content (music, films, games) was realised in its purest form with the console. It combined Sony's CD technology with a new form of entertainment, perfectly embodying the idea of convergence that Morita had been promoting since his acquisition of CBS Records and Columbia Pictures.

So, while Kutaragi created the device itself, and Oga championed it behind the scenes, Morita is the one who once made the rules of the game they later played so brilliantly.

Morita's legacy

In 1993, while playing tennis, a sport Morita adored, he suffered a stroke. The consequences were severe: partial paralysis, a wheelchair, and a gradual loss of strength. In November 1994, he officially stepped down as chairman of the board, handing over the company to Norio Hozi, whom he had brought to Sony.

On 3 October 1999, at the age of 78, Akio Morita died of pneumonia in a Tokyo hospital. He was gone, but what he had built - the company, the brand, the philosophy - lived on. And it still does.

Akio Morita was not only a businessman, but also an active public intellectual who willingly shared his vision of the world. In 1966, he published the book "Don'tPayAttentionto School Records", in which he called for not judging people solely on academic achievements, but rather on practical skills, motivation, and character. His most famous autobiography isMade in Japan(1986), which not only tells the story of Sony but also compares the business cultures of the West and Japan and became a bestseller.

In 1989, Morita published the controversial book The Japan That Can SayNo, which he co-wrote with nationalist politician Shintaro Ishihara. It called for a more independent stance in Japan's relations with the United States and criticised American arrogance. Although Morita wrote only a part of the texts (and was not the author of the most harsh statements), he was subjected to a wave of criticism. This episode seemed contradictory, because Morita had previously built an image of a "bridge" between Japan and the West.

Akio Morita's books. Illustration: gagadget

Despite the scandal, Morita played a key role in international economic relations. He was the vice president of Keidanren, Japan's main business association, and a member of the so-called "group of wise men" in the dialogue between Japan and the United States. He was often involved in major international deals, such as helping General Motors invest in Isuzu in 1972. As one of the most famous Japanese businessmen on the global stage, Morita has also left a significant mark on the political economy.

The bottom line: what we can learn from Morita's story

Akio Morita went from being the heir to a family of sake brewers to co-founding the global giant Sony. Together with Masaru Ibuka, he built a company that changed the world's perception of Japanese technology. With products such as the transistor radio, Trinitron TV and Walkman, Morita didn't guess trends - he created them.

His approach - thinking long-term, prioritising innovation, respecting employees and understanding the global context - is still a source of inspiration today. Even the failure of Betamax was a useful lesson: technical superiority does not work without a market ecosystem and attention to consumer needs.

Morita combined what is rarely combined: a physicist by training, a marketer by intuition, a global strategist by vocation. His ideas on management, branding, and working with people are still studied in business schools. After his death, the Prime Minister of Japan called Morita "the locomotive that pulled the Japanese economy" - and this is no exaggeration. His way of thinking, like his company, has stayed with us for a long time.

At a time when businesses are chasing quarterly reports, Akio Morita's principles are an antidote to myopia. Belief in innovation, brand, humanity and global responsibility - all of these remain important in the 21st century. And in this sense, his story is not just another biography of a famous person, but a guide for those who are building the future.

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