My business is built on fear.
Not performance.
Not data.
Not strategy.
Fear.
That quiet tension that makes your shoulders ache during a Zoom call. That gut twist when you read “Hi, just following up…” That burning sensation when the deck’s not done but the client is.
Fear is the engine. I don’t run from it. I invoice it.
Your budget isn’t for clarity. It’s for calming your nervous system. Your brief isn’t asking for brilliance. It’s asking me to make sure nothing explodes. You don’t want “different.” You want safe. But with the mask of brave.
You say, “We want disruption.” But you mean, “Please don’t make me lose my job.”
I know this. I’ve built decks on this. I’ve built empires of trust on the back of anxiety.
We sell solutions to problems we amplify.
We design safety nets to catch you from the fall we helped manifest.
We invent magic.
And then sell you the magician’s number.
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: I don’t really help you.
I just make your fear more manageable than someone else could.
That’s why I’m trusted.
Fear works.
Fear sells.
Fear keeps the economy going.
Parents do it to their kids. Friends do it to friends. Agencies to clients. Clients to customers. Founders to investors. Doctors. Gurus. Coaches. Even the wellness guy in linen pants does it—“If you don’t detox now, your energy will never realign.”
It’s so baked into everything, we call it love.
We terrify people, then call it “looking out for them.”
We overwhelm them, then say “I’m here if you need anything.”
We scare them with future loss, then give them a product that delays it.
It’s not love.
It’s not trust.
It’s not peace.
But it is profitable.
That’s why we keep doing it.
Even this post? Maybe it scares you a little.
Maybe you’re now wondering if your entire business is just a nervous system hack.
If your brand is an anxiety funnel.
If your purpose is just an emotionally-optimized marketing tactic to make your CFO sleep at night.
I get it.
It’s ugly when you see it.
And beautiful when you learn to dance with it.
Because here’s the paradox: I know all of this—and I still do it.
I still send the deck.
Still suggest urgency.
Still build the “before/after” narrative.
Still position the competitor as a threat.
Still show up as The Average Adman.
Because being honest about the con doesn’t stop the con.
It just makes it art.
And I’m not above it.
I’m inside it.
I’m the guy holding the mirror.
But I’m also the guy selling you the frame.
So if you’re waiting for me to give you an answer—don’t.
If you’re hoping for a hopeful ending—keep scrolling.
If you’re wondering what the world would look like if we did things from love instead of fear—
Then you’re already doing something I’m not paid to make you do.
You’re thinking.
And maybe that’s the beginning of actual trust.
But me?
I’ll still be here.
Sharpening the fear.
Wearing the smile.
Selling the calm.
Billing the revolution.
I’m The Average Adman, after all.
