Generic GTM is dead → Go to my featured section for actionable GTM insights and elevate your marketing game 🔥| Co-Founder of TACK | Creating the category of People-first GTM 👥| 13+ Years in B2B Marketing 📈

I help B2B companies build go-to-market strategies that prioritize real connection because relationships, not just reach, drive growth.

After 14 years in B2B marketing, I’ve led field marketing, demand gen, community, and influencer programs. I know what works, what doesn’t, and what’s changed.

Too many companies still treat buyers like leads. That’s not how modern GTM works.

I’ve helped 35+ B2B brands shift from transactional tactics to connection-driven growth, building scalable strategies, launching communities, running 30+ webinars, and rolling out on-demand models that replaced bloated in-house teams.

Today, I work directly with brands, founders, and marketers to build go-to-market engines that scale—without the spam.

What I do:
→ Build integrated campaign strategies that drive pipeline
→ Coach creators and brands on influencer marketing
→ Design community-led and field programs that actually work
→ Speak on GTM, content, and creator-led growth
→ Act as a fractional marketing leader or advisor

📚 Author of B2B Influencer Marketing: Work With Creators to Generate Authentic and Effective Marketing (Kogan Page, 2025)

👋 Let’s work together: DM me or visit https://linktr.ee/NickBMarketing

Nick Bennett

In March, I walked away from TACK.

A 7-figure business I co-founded. We crossed a million in revenue in our first 6 months together. I'd never seen anything like it in my life.

I also learned that revenue does not equal pay. Different lesson for a different post.

35+ clients. A book. A community. Two incredible years with Mark.

And honestly? I had no idea if going solo would work.

Everyone has opinions when you make a move like that. Some people thought I was crazy. Some thought I'd be back in a "real job" within 6 months. A few just asked why I'd leave something that was working.

Here's what actually happened:

I had my best year ever.

Not because I scaled. Not because I hired a team. Not because I built an agency.

Because I stayed small on purpose.

9 months in, here's what I learned:

𝟭. 𝗕𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗳𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗹 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁.

The first few months were weird. No co-founder to bounce ideas off. No team Slack. Just me, my laptop, and a lot of "what the hell am I doing?"

But then clients started coming. Referrals picked up. And somewhere around month 2, I stopped holding my breath.

𝟮. 𝗦𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝘆, 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲.

I don't want 10 employees. I don't want an office. I want to do great work with a handful of companies I actually believe in.

That's not a limitation. That's the whole point.

𝟯. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣&𝗟 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆.

Yeah, the numbers worked. Better than I expected, honestly.

But the real win? I end my day every day at 4pm. I make it to school pickup. I watched my three daughters grow up instead of watching Slack notifications pile up.

That's the ROI nobody puts in a spreadsheet.

𝟰. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳.

I spent 15+ years building a career in B2B marketing. Then I co-founded something. Then I walked away from it.

None of those chapters required anyone's approval. Neither does yours.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗵?

Going solo isn't for everyone. Some months are lonely. Some weeks are slow. And there's no one else to blame when things don't work.

But for me? This was the move.

If you're sitting on the fence about betting on yourself, here's what I'd tell you:

You probably already know the answer. You're just scared to admit it.

I was too.

What's holding you back from making your move?

15+ Year B2B Marketing Leader Turned Founder | ABM, Field Marketing & Events, Influencer Marketing & More | DM Me to Learn More

When I was coming up as a marketer, I had nobody to ask.

No mentor. No network. Just Google and a lot of guessing.

I figured it out eventually. But it took way longer than it should have.

Now I get DMs every week from marketers asking for advice. And I love it. But I can't get to everyone.

So I'm trying something new.

Every week, I'll answer a few marketing questions that are submitted. 1:1. Free. No calls. No pitch. No catch.

Whether you're a first-time marketing hire trying to figure out ABM or a CMO wondering why your pipeline dried up, I'll do my best to help.

This platform gave me everything. The clients. The community. The career I have now.

Time to give some of it back.

Drop your question here → https://lnkd.in/eqPW4MD5

I'll tackle as many as I can each week.

Let's see how this goes.

80% of your event ROI happens before your flight takes off.

Most teams obsess over what happens at the event. The booth. The swag. The badge scans.

We obsess over what happens before.

The single most underestimated step? Getting the prior year's attendee list.

No list = No leverage.

That list is how we filter by ICP, pre-book meetings, and personalize every message. Without it, you're just showing up and hoping.

Here's exactly how we run it:

𝟰-𝟲 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁:
Before you sponsor anything, ask for a sample of last year's attendee list. This is your filter...if the list doesn't match your ICP, don't waste the budget.

Once you have the full list, build a simple GPT to cross-reference it against your target accounts. It'll score ICP fit, flag priority titles, and surface insights in minutes. No more spreadsheet hell.

𝟮 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁:
Send a gift. As a former field/event marketer, I always like going with a spa voucher with a note: "Events are exhausting. Here's something on us to enjoy after."

It's not about the gift. It's about showing you get it before you've even met.

𝟭 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗼𝘂𝘁:
Follow up with specific time slots. "I'll be at [Event]. Free Tuesday 10am or Wednesday 2pm. Where works for you?"

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗼𝗳:
Skip the booth. Your job is the meetings you already booked.

At a recent MarTech event, we ignored the booth entirely.

Instead:
→ Asked for a sample attendee list before sponsoring
→ Used a GPT to cross-reference against our target accounts
→ Pre-booked 13 meetings with ICP-fit prospects
→ Sent gifts the week before
→ Co-hosted a dinner with another vendor
→ Walked away with 3 new pipeline deals

Meanwhile, the booths around us were scanning badges and giving out frisbees.

Our numbers across events:
• 50-60% response rate pre-event
• Near 100% attendance to booked meetings
• 10+ meetings before we land
• 4-5 new opps added to pipeline per event

And that's before follow-up even kicks in.

The brutal truth?

Most teams treat events like lead gen. We treat them like relationship acceleration.

The ROI isn't in the booth. It's in the prep.

What's your pre-event playbook look like?

Just chatted with an Event Marketer that spent ~$300k on events & conferences in 2025. I had to ask them which one's performed best 👇

"Well, my boss would probably get mad at me for saying this, but we go by gut feeling.
If our sales reps say it went well, we kind of just trust them lol."

I've watched this play out at dozens of companies. Same story.

Team flies to a conference. Scans 200 badges. Dumps them into the CRM. Moves on. Three months later someone asks what pipeline came from that ~$300K spend.

Crickets.

Not because events don't work. Because the data never made it anywhere useful. Here's what breaks every time:

The badge scanner.

You get a name. Maybe a company. A wrong email & phone number. No context. No notes. No way to remember why they mattered.

The CRM black hole.

Leads sit in a spreadsheet for a week. Half get tagged wrong. Half don't make ever make it to the CRM.

The follow-up gap.

By the time sales reaches out, the prospect forgets who you are & they end up going with a competitor. 10 days of silence will do that.

Your event ROI problem isn't an event problem. It's an attribution problem.

Been using Popl. It changed how I think about this entirely.

Scan a badge or business card with a full name & company. Then it enriches the contact automatically. Tags the lead for attribution. Pushes to your CRM with notes.
Sends the follow-up while you're still on the floor.

Every event marketer I show Popl to says the same thing. Where has this been?

The gap was never the event. It was everything between the handshake and the CRM.

Fix that and suddenly you have ROl you can actually point to.

What's your biggest event attribution headache?

Tomorrow I turn 39.

One year from "I'm in my 40s" and I'm not ready.

Before I disappear (birthday + NFL playoffs = zero LinkedIn), 39 things I've learned:

𝗖𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗿:
1. Revenue ≠ pay.
2. Build your network before you need it.
3. People remember how you made them feel, not your title.
4. Titles are rented. Skills are owned.
5. Most meetings should've been emails.
6. You don't need permission to reinvent yourself.
7. Small on purpose beats big by accident.
8. LinkedIn gave me everything.
9. Betting on yourself is terrifying until it isn't.
10. The people who helped me most asked for nothing.
11. Say yes to things that scare you.
12. The loneliness of solo work is real. So is the freedom.
13. Your career is a marathon with a few sprints that matter.

𝗟𝗶𝗳𝗲:
14. Your kids don't care about revenue. They care if you showed up.
15. Health is the asset nobody talks about until it's gone.
16. Sleep won. I stopped fighting it.
17. The friends who stay when things suck are the only ones that matter.
18. Time is the only thing you can't make more of.
19. Therapy isn't weakness. It's maintenance.
20. Your 20s: figure out what you don't want. 30s: build what you do.
21. Saying no is a skill.
22. Nobody thinks about you as much as you think.

𝗥𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺:
23. Coffee is non-negotiable.
24. Never trust someone who doesn't like dogs.
25. NFL playoffs AND Pats are back? Rough few years since Brady. This one hits different.
26. Marry someone who makes you laugh.
27. Best ideas come in the shower.
28. Stop comparing your chapter 3 to someone's chapter 20.
29. Your gut beats most spreadsheets.

𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆:
30. I peaked athletically at 17.
31. Hangovers after 35 are a 2-day event.
32. Still don't understand TikTok.
33. Fantasy football causes more stress than most jobs.
34. Dad jokes are mandatory once you have kids.
35. 39 feels like 38. The math isn't mathing.
36. Youth sports cost more than my first car.
37. 9pm is basically midnight now.
38. I've accepted I'll never fold a fitted sheet correctly.
39. 40 is just a number. A terrifying one. But still just a number.

Go Pats! See you Monday.

Chaos tolerance is an underrated skill that only shows up when things break.

I hired someone once with a perfectly linear career path. Great resume. Steady climb. No gaps.

First time a campaign flopped? They froze.

Couldn't pivot. Couldn't adapt. Just stared at the data like it personally betrayed them.

Meanwhile, the person with three failed startups on their resume? They just shrugged and said "okay, what's next?"

Same problem. Completely different response.

The brutal truth?

Resumes don't tell you how someone handles chaos. They tell you how someone handles success.

And success is easy. Anyone can look good when things are working.

But when the campaign tanks. When the launch flops. When the plan falls apart at 3pm on a Friday.

That's when you find out who you actually hired.

I've stopped looking for perfect trajectories. Now I look for scar tissue.

The person who's been through it. Who's failed publicly. Who knows what it feels like to rebuild from nothing.

Because that person? They don't panic when things break.

They've already been there. They know the way out.

Your next hire's biggest red flag might be a resume with no failures on it.

What's the most underrated skill you look for when hiring?

In my last post, I said revenue doesn't equal pay.

A lot of you asked what I meant.

So here are 9 things I've learned running a solo business that nobody tells you until you're in it.

𝟭. 𝗥𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝗲 ≠ 𝗽𝗮𝘆.

You can invoice $50K in a month and take home way less. Taxes. Software. Contractors. That big month shrinks fast.

The flip side? I run at insane margins now because I have almost zero overhead. No office. No employees. Barely any software.

From April to December 2025, I spent $550 total on business expenses. Five hundred and fifty dollars. I use what my clients have when working with them versus needing my own stuff. I don't even have a CRM haha. 

That changes everything.

𝟮. 𝗥𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝗲 ≠ 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗻.

With Mark, we hit $100K-$150k months sometimes. Still felt stretched thin. Growth adds complexity. More clients = more deadlines, more deliverables, more stress.

Bigger isn't always better. Sometimes it's just bigger.

𝟯. 𝗟𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗲𝗱𝗜𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗯𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗲.

I don't have a website. Not joking. No landing page. No funnel. No email sequence.

Just this platform. Six years of showing up here. That's it. Oh, and a Linktree, I guess.

𝟰. 𝗭𝗲𝗿𝗼 𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱. 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿.

I've never sent a cold email. Never ran ads. Never hired a BDR.

Inbound just finds its way to me. That's not luck. That's 6 years of compounding. Showing up when nobody was watching so I don't have to chase when it matters.

𝟱. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹.

No one to riff with. No one to blame. No one to celebrate the small wins with.

I miss having a partner to bounce ideas off. Some weeks are just quiet.

𝟲. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴.

Inbound exploded before I had systems. I was taking money and figuring it out live.

Great for speed. Terrible for sanity.

𝟳. 𝗦𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 ≠ 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀.

Even when things are going well, it's hard to sit still. There's always another idea. Another project. Another thing to chase.

Learning to enjoy the win is harder than getting the win.

𝟴. 𝗡𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝗲 𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿.

People ask how's business and expect a number. But the number doesn't tell them if you're happy. If you're present for your kids. If you're burning out.

The life you build matters more than the number you hit.

𝟵. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗼𝗺 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗶𝘁.

All of the above is true. And I'd still choose this every time.

I end my day at 4pm. I make school pickup earlier if needed. I work with people I actually like.

That's the ROI nobody puts in a pitch deck.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗵?

Running solo isn't passive income and laptop lifestyle. It's real work with real tradeoffs.

But if you design it right, it's the best job you'll ever have.

What's the one thing about running your own thing that surprised you most?

Most pre-event playbooks assume you have an attendee list.

You don't.

Unless you're a sponsor or exhibitor, nobody's handing you a spreadsheet of who's coming. So you build it yourself.

Here's exactly how:

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟭: 𝗕𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 (𝟯 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁)

→ LinkedIn search "[Event name]" and filter by your ICP titles. People post "see you at [conference]!" constantly.
→ Check the speaker list and sponsor list. Those companies are definitely sending people.
→ Search the event hashtag on LinkedIn and X.
→ Look for an event Slack or community app where attendees introduce themselves.
→ Ask your sales team who they want to meet.
→ DM 5 people in your network: "Who else is going to X?"

Target 20-30 people. Not 500.

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟮: 𝗦𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁 (𝟮 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁)

$25 coffee card. That's it.

Message:
"Hey [Name], saw you're heading to [Event]. I'll be there too. Would love to buy you a coffee and hear how you're thinking about [specific challenge]. No pitch. Just a conversation."

Coffee cards, DoorDash, lunch vouchers. Small and useful wins.

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟯: 𝗙𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝘂𝗽 (𝟭 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗼𝘂𝘁)

Short message with 2-3 specific time slots:
"Still on for [Event]? I'm free Tuesday 10am or Wednesday 2pm. Happy to meet wherever works."

No response? One more nudge 3 days before. Then stop.

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟰: 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘂𝗽 (𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝗼𝗳)

Skip the booth. Your job is the meetings you already booked.

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟱: 𝗖𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗽 (𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿)

People who showed: Thank-you note + next step.
People who didn't: "Sorry we missed each other. Here's a coffee on me anyway."

That second group converts more than you'd think.

Total cost: ~$500
Meetings booked: 15-20
Pipeline created: More than most $50K booths.

What's your pre-event play?

Yesterday I mentioned using a GPT to cross-reference event attendee lists against target accounts.

A bunch of you DM'd asking how.

Here's the exact setup. Copy it.

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟭: 𝗚𝗲𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆

You need two CSVs:
→ Attendee list (name, title, company minimum)
→ Target account list (company name, tier, target titles)

Clean both first. Standardize company names (Salesforce vs Salesforce.com will break matching). 10 minutes here saves hours later.

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟮: 𝗕𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗣𝗧

Go to ChatGPT → Explore GPTs → Create.

In the instructions, paste this:

---
You are an event prospecting assistant. When I upload an attendee list and target account list:

1. Match attendees to target accounts by company name (fuzzy match for "Inc" vs "Inc.")

2. Score ICP fit (1-5):
   - Title: C-suite = 5, VP = 4, Director = 3, Manager = 2, IC = 1
   - Department: Marketing/Sales/RevOps = 5, Ops/Finance = 3, unrelated = 1
   - Account tier: Tier 1 = +1, Tier 2 = +0, Tier 3 = -1

3. Flag priority contacts (4+) with ⭐

4. Output: Name | Company | Title | ICP Score | Priority Flag

5. Summarize: Total matches, priority contacts, recommended outreach order
---

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟯: 𝗖𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱

Selling to engineering? Swap department relevance:
→ Engineering/Product = 5, DevOps = 4, IT = 3

Enterprise only? Add:
→ "Exclude companies under 500 employees"

The GPT is only as smart as the criteria you give it.

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟰: 𝗥𝘂𝗻 𝗶𝘁

Upload both files. Ranked list in under a minute.

Pro tip — ask follow-ups:
→ "Which Tier 1 accounts have no attendees?"
→ "Who should I prioritize if I can only meet 10 people?"

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝟱: 𝗔𝗰𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘁

4s and 5s: Gifts + personalized outreach. Book before you land.
3s: Add to nurture. Don't force it.
1s and 2s: Skip entirely.

20 minutes to set up once. 2 minutes per event after.

What's your ICP criteria? Drop it below and I'll tell you how to tweak the prompt.

Your CRM is misleading you.

Not maliciously. Just slowly. One outdated email at a time.

I've seen it happen at every company I've worked with. You build a beautiful segment. Launch a campaign. Get excited about the targeting.

Then 6 months later you realize half those contacts have changed jobs. A quarter have duplicate records. And your attribution is telling you stories that aren't true.

The worst part? You don't even know it's happening.

This is what CRM data decay actually looks like for marketing:

𝗔𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗳𝘁.
That ICP segment you built last year? It's not the same people anymore. Titles changed. Companies merged. People moved. But your CRM still thinks they're the same contacts.

𝗔𝘁𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗯𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀𝘆.
When one person has 3 records in your CRM, which one gets credit? All of them? None of them? You're making decisions based on data that's fundamentally broken.

𝗖𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗴𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲.
You think you're reaching decision makers. You're actually emailing people who left months ago. And nobody flags it because the emails don't hard bounce.

The brutal truth?

Manual cleanup projects don't fix this. They just hit pause on the problem.

You clean everything up. Feel great for a month. Then the decay starts again. Because every new tool, every enrichment source, every signal layer you add creates duplicates, conflicts, and more mess.

The answer isn't more rules. It's a different approach entirely.

You need an identity layer that sits outside your CRM. One that continuously resolves who someone actually is. Merges the duplicates. Verifies the emails. Treats your CRM as context, not the source of truth.

It's one of the reasons I've been spending time in Common Room lately. Open any contact and you see multiple CRM records rolled into one person. Verified emails. Merged identities. It changes how you think about routing, outreach, and trust.

Because if your data isn't trustworthy, everything else breaks.

Before workflows. Before AI. Before scale.

How are you handling CRM data decay on your team?

#CommonRoomPartner

Most B2B influencer programs fail because they chase attention.

What should you do instead?

Pursue trust.

At the DemandShift Summit, I’ll break down 5 Steps to Build Pipeline with B2B Influencers.

It’s the exact framework I’ve used to build programs that turn creator partnerships into actual revenue.

You don’t need more reach. You need the right people saying the right things to the right audience.

Grateful to Logan Lyles for inviting me to share this.  Hope to see you there.

To make that happen, just grab the link in the first comment down below.

Ashley Amber Sava

Content, Editorial & Employee Communications Leader | Recovering Journalist | Storyteller | The Editor | Unpopular Opinion Podcast Host | Incurably Cheerful

There’s a moment in every LinkedIn scroll where you feel it—a slow, gnawing nausea. It creeps in with the motivational TED Talk masquerading as a post. You know the one: a guy in an ill-fitting blazer whisper-screaming about “unlocking potential." Keep scrolling. Enter the grind-bro. Eyes bloodshot. Skin like a haunted drumhead. He’s been awake since 2:47 a.m. for...reasons. His post reads like a deranged love letter to burnout culture, all caps yelling about “discipline."

And then, the fluff prophet/AI oracle. Their face is slack, mouth twitching as they whisper, “AI is going to disrupt everything,” like a doomsday preacher on a street corner with a cardboard sign. “We’re living through the next industrial revolution,” they declare, conveniently ignoring the fact that their entire strategy is pasting ChatGPT outputs into Canva templates.

The clap emojis pile up. The buzzwords snowball. And you sit there, wondering why we're applauding this nervous breakdown.

Welcome to my profile. I don’t do that here.

Here, you’ll find stories that make you laugh, flinch, maybe even even stop mid-scroll to reread. I write to jolt you awake—not to whisper sweet nothings about KPIs. My posts are jagged, human and unapologetically real. They’ll linger like a scar you can’t stop tracing. Because that’s what good writing does—it takes your attention hostage.

I’ve been called irreverent, abrasive, “not for everyone.” I take that as a compliment. My words are a protest against the beige corporate sludge clogging up this platform. I write for the people who hate white noise, and who crave a voice that’s sharp, raw and distinctly human. My content is for those who want something real, even if it stings. If that’s you, stick around. If it’s not, go back to clapping for the guy trying to sprint through his midlife crisis.

Here’s what to expect: Stories about the absurdity of modern work culture. Rants about the dumbest trends. Tactical advice wrapped in cynicism. And maybe, just maybe, a small dose of hope—wrapped in barbed wire, because I’m not a monster.

Because while this platform loves its safe, saccharine posts about “growth” and “hustle,” I’d rather talk about the messiness of actually trying to get there. The fumbles, the failures, the outright catastrophes. It’s not pretty, but it’s honest. And honesty’s in short supply these days.

If you’re tired of scrolling through LinkedIn posts that feel like a bad infomercial for someone’s personal brand, stick around. Let’s be human, even when the algorithm begs us not to be. 

And yes, I still use em dashes. Fight me.

Head Of Content

Your urgency is not my emergency (you left a pile of half-baked plans on my desk and now expect me to pole-vault through them naked.)

Your urgency is not my emergency (you planned poorly, I clean bodily fluids, metaphorically, off your deadlines.)

Your urgency is not my emergency (you dropped a blueprint of incompetence in my lap and I am now performing emergency brain surgery with a pencil.)

Urgency Vampire (n.): An irresponsible human that lets weeks rot in the dark while humming softly, then leap out with fangs bared, dripping panic and claiming it’s now your problem. 

You thought your inbox was safe. Silly human. The Urgency Vampire sees time as a buffet, and you are the main course. Tasks you thought were optional are now torches lighting your personal purgatory.  By the time they leave, you are answering emails with one eye sewn shut, gnawing on a conference room table like a cornered rodent and swearing allegiance to the first god that will answer.

Here’s an email template to fight back:

Subject: Containing the metastasizing emergency

Dear [Urgency Vampire’s name],

Thank you for forwarding the urgent matter. I see how it may have seemed benign from the cocoon of your week-long inaction, but it has now erupted into a full-scale hemorrhage in my domain. 

To prevent further outbreaks of spontaneous necrotic panic, future tasks must be communicated before the hour of self-immolation.

Procrastination is not a magical time machine. Delayed action cannot transmogrify into my emergency without formal ritual acknowledgment of its carnage. 

Responsibilities must be clearly delineated, so your black-molded, time-eating fungi do not infest my bloodstream again.

Failure to heed this warning may result in a polite but surgical dismemberment of your timeline in full view of leadership, HR and anyone else’s butt you are typically seen puckering up to. 

Following the white rabbit, 
The Human Who Refuses to Make Your Urgency My Emergency
#ThatAshleyAmber

Content Anarchist | Recovering Journalist with a Vendetta | Writing What You’re All Too Afraid to Say | Keeping Austin Weird | LinkedIn’s Resident Menace

Okay so apparently my family and I have been wasting our lives doing literally anything else because we are CLEARLY meant to be a full-time, unionized, overly dramatic, Disney-adjacent acting troupe.

We have range.
We have commitment.
We have a child who can cry on cue (because she’s a child).
And we have an adult man who can do “confused but protective” like he trained for it.

Let me know if you’re casting.
#ThatAshleyAmber

My intrusive thoughts lean in close enough that I can smell hot pennies and bad decisions, so I started naming them. Because if you don’t name them, they start running meetings.

Consider it pest control. This is me standing in my own skull with a clipboard and a cigarette, tagging wild animals before they maul the furniture.

Once you name something, it stops pretending it’s God.

Meet the residents.

The Meat Siren: Sings when you’re tired enough to confuse rest with disappearance. Her voice smells like rusted railings and old blood and relief. She never says “die.” She says “lie down.” Big difference. Legally...

The Exit Sign Flicker: A strobe light in your peripheral vision that suggests an escape hatch where there is only drywall and consequences.

The Wet Matchstick Choir: 30 identical voices rehearsing catastrophes that never ignite but never go out. They believe preparedness is a virtue.

The Highway Median Evangelist: Preaches impulsive salvation at 75 mph. Wants you to believe revelation happens fast and sideways. Keeps pamphlets made of static.

The Spicy Brain Bees: Tiny, furious, paprika-dusted thoughts that only activate when you lie down. The moment your head hits the pillow they unionize.

The “Do It For The Plot” Demon: Doesn’t care if the plot is a tragedy. Doesn’t care if you’re the body. Believes character development requires at least one irreversible mistake. Per quarter.

The Wet Concrete Urge: Heavy. Cold. Wants you to stay perfectly still until you harden into whatever this feeling is. 

The “I Could Ruin Everything In 3 Seconds” Button: Always warm. Always glowing. No safety cover. Just sitting there like it’s bored and waiting for you to brush past it with a sleeve.

And those are just the loud ones...

There’s also:

The Catastrophe Sommelier: Swirling potential disasters, sniffing, saying “ah yes, notes of humiliation, a bold aftertaste of unemployment.”

The Social Autopsy Intern: Replays every interaction frame-by-frame like it’s evidence in a murder trial where you are both suspect and corpse.

The Bathroom Mirror Prosecutor: Only speaks when you’re naked and vulnerable and legally unable to leave.

The Gas Stove Curiosity Committee: Asks questions it already knows the answers to and hates you for noticing.

The Funeral Daydream Concierge: Plans services you are not attending yet. Very detail-oriented. Weirdly polite.

The “Say Something Unhinged Aloud Right Now” Imp: Shows up in elevators. Weddings. Quiet rooms. Lives for timing.

I am not calm. I am outnumbered but literate.

Some people say “my anxiety is acting up.” I say, The Wet Matchstick Choir has booked another residency.

They can knock. They can scream. They can stage a full dress rehearsal of my demise.

But they don’t get the pen. 
 
If you’re haunted too, good. Start naming the ghosts.

Monsters hate paperwork.
#ThatAshleyAmber

Ideas are what committees cling to when they want credit without consequence, or when they’re terrified of choosing. 

Ideas are abundant. Anybody awake can generate them.

Levers? Fangs. Jawbones. Teeth in the neck of the system.

The world rewards levers pulled violently, purposefully and unapologetically.

Pick one. Pull it like you mean it. Pull it like you’re willing to be wrong in public.

Pull it like you’re done asking permission.

I know it seems like the people who win should be the ones with the best thoughts, but they’re really the ones with the most teeth.
#ThatAshleyAmber

taplio

The Battle

Nick Bennett

Ashley Amber Sava

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Performance ScoreNick Bennett's LinkedIn Performance

Performance ScoreAshley Amber Sava's LinkedIn Performance

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taplio

The Battle

Nick Bennett

Ashley Amber Sava

Followers

Posts

Engagements

Likes

Performance Score.css-goub6s{font-size:var(--chakra-fontSizes-md);font-weight:500;color:var(--chakra-colors-gray-600);display:block;margin-top:var(--chakra-space-1);}Nick Bennett's LinkedIn Performance

Performance ScoreAshley Amber Sava's LinkedIn Performance

Ready to grow your LinkedIn presence?

Performance ScoreNick Bennett's LinkedIn Performance