Every foundational narrative begins not with a solution, but with a shift. A crack in the world. Something fundamental has changed—technologically, culturally, economically—that makes the old way of doing things suddenly, profoundly obsolete. Your job is not to invent this shift, but to name it. To hold it up to the light and show everyone the fracture they’ve been feeling but couldn’t articulate.
Consider Salesforce. When Marc Benioff launched his company, the enemy was not another CRM software. If it had been, he would have been just another vendor fighting for scraps. Instead, Benioff saw a deeper shift: the internet had matured from a simple communication tool into a reliable, secure platform for computation and data storage. The old way—buying, installing, and maintaining millions of dollars worth of software on your own servers—was suddenly slow, expensive, and backward.
Benioff’s narrative wasn’t, “Our CRM is better.” It was, “The world has changed. Software is no longer a product you buy, but a service you access over the cloud.” He evangelized this shift relentlessly. He named a new category—Cloud CRM—and in doing so, made the old model feel like an artifact from a bygone era.
Or look at HubSpot. They didn't start by saying, “Our marketing tools are more integrated.” They started by identifying a profound cultural shift: people were tired of being interrupted. Technology had given them the power to ignore ads, screen calls, and fast-forward commercials. The old way—"outbound marketing"—was an engine built on annoying your customer into submission. It was broken. The shift was a change in power, from the seller to the buyer. HubSpot simply gave it a name: Inbound Marketing.
Your first task is to find your crack in the world. What has changed that no one is talking about? Is it a change in who holds power? A new technology reaching a tipping point? A new economic reality? A new set of expectations from a new generation? Articulate this shift with clarity and conviction. This is the inciting incident of your story. It’s the event that sets the hero’s journey in motion, because it creates a new kind of problem, a new kind of dragon that needs slaying.
Name the Dragon
Every great story needs a great villain. In a foundational narrative, the villain is never a competing company. The villain is the “old way.” It’s the process, the mindset, the compromise that your audience has been forced to accept because they believed it was the only way. Your job is to give this dragon a name and show them exactly how it has been holding them captive.
This is a critical step, because people are far more motivated to move away from a problem than they are to move toward a solution. You must make the status quo seem not just inefficient, but dangerous. Sticking with the old way must feel like a risk.
HubSpot’s dragon was "Outbound Marketing." They painted a vivid picture of a world of frustrated customers and desperate marketers, shouting into the void with cold calls and spammy emails. Gong, a company that records and analyzes sales calls, didn’t just sell "call recording software." Their enemy was opinion-based sales coaching. Their narrative highlighted the absurdity of multi-million dollar decisions resting on fuzzy memories and subjective feedback from a sales manager. The "old way" was a gamble; the dragon was ignorance.
To name your dragon, you must connect with the visceral, emotional frustration of your audience. As the strategists at Play Bigger advise, you must "aim for the gut." Don't use jargon. Don't cite endless statistics. Speak in plain, powerful language about the frustration your customer feels every day. The problem isn't that cell phone batteries don't last long enough. The problem is the gut-punch of anxiety when you’re lost late at night and can’t call for a ride.
Frame the old way as an antagonist. It’s the frustrating process that wastes their time. It’s the lack of information that forces them to guess. It’s the gatekeeper that blocks their progress. Give it a name, make it real, and show them that its reign is over. Only then will they be ready to hear about a different future.
The Promised Land
Once you’ve established the shift and named the enemy, you must paint a picture of the destination. This is the “Promised Land”—a vision of the future that is now possible because of the change you identified. Crucially, the Promised Land is not your product. It is the customer's success. It's what they can achieve, who they can become, in this new world.
Tesla’s narrative isn’t about battery specs and horsepower. The Promised Land they sell is a future powered by clean, sustainable energy—a world where you don’t have to choose between what’s good for you and what’s good for the planet. Their cars, solar panels, and batteries are simply artifacts from that future, brought back to the present. You aren't just buying a car; you're stepping into that better world.
For Asana, a task management company, the Promised Land is "teamwork without email." It's a future where clarity and accountability replace the chaos of endless reply-all chains and buried attachments. They sell the feeling of effortless collaboration.
Your vision of the Promised Land must be aspirational and focused on the outcome, not the process. It answers the question: "What will the world look like for our customers when the dragon is slain?"
To define your Promised Land, consider these questions:
* What new ability does our customer have in this future?
* What old frustration is completely gone?
* How has their status or identity shifted? Are they now a leader, an innovator, a genius?
This vision is the emotional core of your story. It provides the "why." It's the reason the struggle is worth it. It creates the longing that your category will ultimately fulfill. People don't buy a product; they buy a better version of themselves and their world. Show them that world, and they will follow you anywhere.
The Vehicle for Victory
You’ve shown them the world has changed. You’ve named the dragon they must defeat. You’ve given them a glimpse of the Promised Land. Now, and only now, do you introduce the solution. But it is not your product. It is your *category*.
This is the most critical and often-missed step in the entire process. You are not selling a thing; you are evangelizing a new *way*. The category is the vehicle that transports the hero from the old world to the new. It's the magic sword, the secret map, the new capability that makes victory possible.
Salesforce sold "Cloud CRM."
HubSpot sold "Inbound Marketing."
Gong sold "Revenue Intelligence."
Spanx sold "Shapewear."
Notice the pattern. They are not company names. They are descriptions of a new game. This is a profound act of positioning. By naming the category, you implicitly define all other solutions as part of the "old way." You move the conversation from "which product is better?" to "which game are you playing?"
When you sell the category first, you force the world to think your way. You educate the market on a new set of problems and a new set of criteria for evaluating solutions. By the time a customer understands the category, your company—as its inventor and exemplar—becomes the obvious choice.
Crafting the category name is an art. It should be descriptive but not generic. It should feel both novel and inevitable. It should solve the problem you named in the second act. The old way was outbound marketing; the new way is inbound. The old way was opinion; the new way is intelligence.
Your narrative structure now comes into full view:
1. **The Shift:** The world has changed in a fundamental way.
2. **The Enemy:** The old way of doing things is now obsolete and dangerous.
3. **The Promised Land:** A new, desirable future is now possible.
4. **The Category:** To get there, you need a new *kind* of solution, a new vehicle for victory.
Only after you have won them over on these four points do you present your product as the best expression of this new category. You are no longer a salesperson. You are a guide, showing them the way to a future they now desperately want.
The Story That Lasts
A foundational narrative is not a slogan. It’s not an ad campaign. It is the central nervous system of your company. It must be true, and it must be lived. Authenticity is the fuel that makes this story run for a decade.
The story must be reflected in your product. If you preach simplicity, your user experience must be effortless. If you preach intelligence, your product must deliver undeniable insights.
It must be reflected in your culture. Your team must understand and believe the narrative. It’s why they come to work. They are not just building software or selling a service; they are missionaries for a new way of thinking. Jack O'Neill, the inventor of the wetsuit, famously said, "I'm just a surfer who wanted to surf longer." His POV was his life. This is what it means to "eat your own dog food."
It must be reflected in your actions. When you live, breathe, and sleep your POV, you send a signal of unwavering confidence. Your content, your events, your partnerships—every touchpoint should reinforce the story. You are not just marketing a product; you are leading a movement.
This narrative is your strategic anchor. When a new competitor arrives, you don’t panic and copy their features. You return to the story. You use it to explain why their approach is still rooted in the "old way" and why your category represents the true path forward. When you face a tough decision, you ask which choice better serves the narrative and moves your customers closer to the Promised Land.
The goal is to create a story so clear and compelling that it becomes the new consensus. A story that journalists, analysts, and—most importantly—your customers repeat for you. When someone can explain your company’s purpose without mentioning your product’s features, you have succeeded. You have not just built a company. You have crafted the future.