There’s a curious reflex in business, especially among founders and creators. We feel an immense pressure to narrate our journey, to share our metrics, to broadcast our every move. We think volume and detail signal confidence. We believe that a precise, blow-by-blow account of our process proves we’re legitimate, that we’re winning.
But I want to suggest a counterintuitive approach: embrace the strategic silence. Be deliberately, thoughtfully vague about the details of your business. Because when you are, people will often assume you’re doing badly. And that, surprisingly, can be your greatest asset.Let’s be clear. This isn’t about deception or fabricating a facade. It’s about understanding human psychology and the mechanics of attention. When you loudly declare every client win, every revenue milestone, or worse, every minor tactical pivot, you are feeding a very specific beast: the public expectation. You become an open book, and open books are quickly read, judged, and shelved. You give away the narrative, and with it, your power to shape it.
The moment you stop feeding the beast with a steady stream of details, the assumption, in our noisy, braggadocious world, is that you have nothing good to feed it. The silence is interpreted as scarcity. Competitors may dismiss you. Observers may write you off. The chatter that once surrounded you may quiet to a murmur. And here, in this quiet space, you find something invaluable: freedom.Freedom from the performative treadmill. When you’re not constantly reporting, you are not constantly being measured against your last report. You can experiment without the pressure of public justification. You can pursue a strange, promising idea that doesn’t fit your “brand story” without having to explain why. You can fail, learn, and iterate in the peaceful dark of your own workshop, away from the harsh glare of the commentary section. This is where genuine innovation often lives—not on the public stage, but in the private lab.
Freedom from unsolicited advice. Detailed disclosures invite a flood of opinions. Everyone becomes an armchair CEO, analyzing your choices. Vagarity acts as a shield. It allows you to listen to your own customers, your own data, and your own intuition without the static of a thousand outside voices.Most importantly, this perceived “doing badly” creates the conditions for a truly powerful story: the comeback. Or more accurately, the reveal. By working in the shadows, you allow your results to accumulate in secret. And when you finally choose to speak, it is not with a predictable, incremental update. It is with a substantial, finished, undeniable outcome. The impact is multiplied because it defies the low expectations your silence cultivated. You weren’t struggling; you were building. You weren’t silent because you had nothing to say, but because you were saying it to the only audience that ever truly mattered: the work itself.
This approach is an act of deep confidence. It says, “My validation does not come from your daily approval.” It trusts that the ultimate product, the service rendered, the value created, will be a far more eloquent spokesperson than any mid-quest progress report could ever be.
So, let them assume. Let them wonder. Let the speculation run its course. While they are interpreting your silence as a sign of struggle, you are gifted the quiet, unhurried, and profoundly creative space to build something that, when you are ready, will speak for itself—and it will do so with a thunderous, resonant clarity that no stream of updates could ever achieve. The power isn’t always in being seen. Sometimes, it’s in what you choose to hide while you craft what is truly worth showing.