We’re looking forward to introducing you to Hon Hoang. Check out our conversation below.
Good morning Hon, we’re so happy to have you here with us and we’d love to explore your story and how you think about life and legacy and so much more. So let’s start with a question we often ask: Would YOU hire you? Why or why not?
Yes, I would. Not just because of the technical skills I bring to the table, but because of the way I approach storytelling.
Through my film and photography, I’ve developed a creative practice that’s driven by curiosity, empathy, and a deep respect for the people and cultures I document. Whether I’m directing short films that explore identity and memory, or photographing street scenes in unfamiliar cities, I aim to create work that feels honest and human.
I care about the process as much as the final product. I show up prepared, I listen closely, and I build trust with the people I collaborate with. I don’t just take photos or make films, I work to understand the story, then find the best way to tell it.
So yes, I’d hire me. Because I bring more than deliverables, I bring perspective, follow-through, and a genuine investment in the work. And that’s what I look for in anyone I want on my team.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
Hi, I’m Hon Hoang — a filmmaker and photographer based in Los Angeles with a passion for telling quiet, emotionally driven stories that explore identity, memory, and the unspoken moments between people. My work often centers on the tension between vulnerability and distance, and how culture and personal history shape the way we connect.
My short films, including Breakdown, Calling, and Taciturn Tango, have screened and received awards at film festivals such as Viet Film Fest and ECAASU. Each project reflects my interest in introspective storytelling, often grounded in the everyday but layered with emotional complexity. Whether I’m working with actors or observing strangers through my lens on the street, I try to find moments that feel honest and human.
Right now, I’m continuing to develop narrative film projects and personal photography series, always searching for stories that challenge perception and deepen understanding.
Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
Yes, there are days I feel like giving up. Creating in an age of clicks, algorithms, and endless scrolling can feel exhausting, sometimes even meaningless. You spend months on a short film, pouring your thoughts, fears, and questions into something that might disappear in someone’s feed within seconds. The pace of attention doesn’t always match the depth of the work. And that disconnect is hard.
But what I’ve come to realize is this: the value of the work isn’t always tied to how loudly it echoes back. Some of the stories I’ve told—Breakdown, Calling, Taciturn Tango—found small, quiet audiences before they found recognition. They lived in the background before they ever showed up on a screen at a festival. But they still mattered. Because they were honest. Because they helped me understand something I couldn’t have put into words otherwise.
Art doesn’t always demand a massive audience. Sometimes it just asks for a witness. Sometimes that witness is one person who sees themselves in your work. Sometimes it’s just you.
So, when I feel like giving up, I try to remember that I didn’t start this to chase numbers. I started because I wanted to capture something real. Something I couldn’t let go of until I turned it into a story. And that part, the making, the quiet devotion, that still matters. Even if the world scrolls past it.
Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. Whose ideas do you rely on most that aren’t your own?
Honestly, I pull from everywhere. It’s never just one person or one voice. Sometimes it’s a photographer whose use of shadow stays with me. Other times it’s a film that lingers because of how quiet it let a moment be. I take bits and pieces of what inspires me, whether it’s a scene from a movie, a lyric, or something I overheard on the street and try to filter it through my own experience and sensibility.
I think a lot of creative work is like that. You’re borrowing, intentionally or not, but the goal isn’t to copy. It’s to internalize what moved you, break it down, and then reshape it into something that feels honest to who you are and what you’re trying to say.
So while I don’t rely on one singular source of ideas, I rely on the constant act of observing, listening, and reinterpreting. That’s how I stay open, and how the work keeps evolving.
Okay, so before we go, let’s tackle one more area. What will you regret not doing?
I’ll regret not trying. I’ll regret letting the fear of failure or rejection silence something that could have brought me joy. There’s a kind of loss that comes from not creating, not because you had nothing to say, but because you were afraid no one would care, or that it wouldn’t be good enough.
That fear can be paralyzing. It convinces you to hold back, to keep the idea in your head instead of letting it live in the world. But the real regret comes from knowing that the story, the image, the film, whatever it was, never had a chance. It never breathed. It never reached anyone, even if it could have meant something.
So what I’ll regret most is not the failure itself, but the decision to stay safe instead of honest. I’d rather look back and know I gave it a shot than wonder what might’ve happened if I did.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://honhoang.com
- Instagram: @honnnhoang
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVsGIZlz40lomLPxKYrv6dQ
Image Credits
Hon Hoang
