Known, or unknown?

A few thoughts on cities, small towns, and the strange business of building your own brand.

One of the things I loved most about living in Sydney was the anonymity. You could walk down any street on a Tuesday and be nobody. No one knew your name, your business, or who you'd had coffee with that morning. There's a real freedom in that. You could try things, fail at things, and start again the following week with a clean slate.

One of the things I love most about living in Central is the exact opposite. You walk down the main street and everyone knows you. They know your name, your family, what you do, and they'll stop you outside the supermarket to talk about it. When something goes wrong, people show up. That's not a small thing, it's the whole thing, really. It's why I chose Central as home, and why so many others are choosing it too.

So here's the dichotomy I've been sitting with: do I want to be known, or don't I?

It's come to a head this year as I've been building sparcgap advisory. Because here's the uncomfortable truth of my job. I spend my working life telling other people to be more visible. I've managed personal brands for CEOs, radio announcers, politicians and rugby players, and built stronger business brands for everyone from multinationals to solopreneurs. I'm completely comfortable doing that for other people. I think I'm pretty good at it, and I enjoy it, especially when I see them reach the goals they set for themselves.

Doing it for myself? Deeply uncomfortable.

And yet I know exactly what I'd tell a client in my position. Familiarity is what wins the work. People buy from people they know and trust, and you can't be trusted if nobody's heard of you. Being known isn't vanity. It's the mechanism. It's how the business grows.

The reason it's hard isn't a mystery either. Being known means being available for criticism. There are people who don't love watching others succeed, and in a small place that's louder, because there's nowhere to put it down. I know (logically, completely) that it says far more about them than it will ever say about me. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't sting. And when it stings, you ask the honest question: is it worth it?

I've decided it is. Not because I've stopped caring what people think, but because the alternative is staying small on purpose.

And I see the same hesitation in almost every business I work with. Excellent operators, doing genuinely good work, who are functionally invisible outside their existing customers. When I ask why, the answer is rarely strategy. It's I don't want to blow my own trumpet. It's the small-town reflex to keep your head down and let the work speak for itself.

The work doesn't speak for itself. It never has. The businesses winning the contracts, attracting the good staff and surviving the quiet quarters aren't always the best in town; they're the ones people can name.

Three questions worth asking yourself this week:

1. If someone needed what you sell tomorrow, would your name come to mind, or would they have to go looking? That gap is the whole game.

2. What do you know more about than anyone else around here? You don't need a personality, you need a position.

3. What's actually stopping you - time, or fear of what people will say? Be honest, because the fix is completely different depending on the answer.

If we want Central to keep growing, we need to get more comfortable with people being visible. Back the ones who put their hands up. Be generous with the ones who get it wrong on the way through. Being known should be an asset here, not a liability. Criticism always seems to find the people having a go; encouragement has to be volunteered.

So consider this a standing offer: if you're brave enough to put yourself out there, to be visible, to be comfortable with the uncomfortable, you'll get a hi-five from me. I'll be right there beside you, still finding it uncomfortable. My challenge is that you do the same for someone else.