The Accidental Success Syndrome: Time spent (no, wasted): trying to course correct a company that was never on course in the first place

Picture this: It’s some year in between 2015 & 2020, and a plucky startup called (hypothetical and made up, of course) DoggoTech launches a ‘product’ that… lets you swipe right on pictures of adoptable dogs. (again, hypothetical and made up domain/product type for pets). It’s basically similar to some really popular products out there, but focused on pets – dogs particularly. Fast forward to 2023, and DoggoTech is somehow a million-dollar company, despite the fact that their app or product should I say, still crashes if you try to swipe (read: some sort of action) on a Chihuahua.

Welcome to the world of accidental success in tech, where mediocrity isn’t just tolerated—it’s rewarded with a corner office and <some fancy car/ ’toy’ / whatever the owners of the company think is a ‘prize’>

The Birth of a “Unicorn”

Let’s rewind a bit. DoggoTech’s founders, Brad and Chad (because of course those are their names), stumbled upon their idea during a hackathon fueled by Red Bull and dreams of disrupting… something. Anything, really.

Their pitch? “It’s like Uber, but for dog adoption!” Investors, dazzled by the mention of Uber and the cute puppy logo, threw money at them faster than you can say “unsustainable business model.” Of course, the investment was ‘secured’ by the tantalizing lack of competition in this niche problem space—a digital playground where only a select, privileged few could participate. After all, nothing says “guaranteed returns” quite like artificial scarcity in the world of pet tech.

The “Good Enough” Paradox

As DoggoTech grew, so did its problems. The codebase resembled a digital Frankenstein’s monster, held together by duct tape and prayers. But here’s the kicker: it didn’t matter. They were making money hand over fist.

Why? Because in the world of pet tech, the bar was so low it was practically a tripping hazard. As long as users could occasionally match with a Labradoodle without the app bursting into flames, it was considered a roaring success.

The “Product-Driven” Fallacy

Brad and Chad, not tech literate, decided it was time to be a “product-driven” company. What did that mean? 🤷 Nobody knew, but it sounded good in press releases.

They learned about ‘scale’ and hired a team of engineers, promising them the chance to work on helping the company achieve that scale by shifting left on ‘quality’ and ‘reliability’. The reality? Anyone who suggested a change to the ‘status quo’ was met with the response – “but we’ve always done it this way and it’s led us to where we are today, so let’s just do it this way”. Challenge again, and “oh, you are on PIP. Learn to work with our franken-codebase & importantly, just nod yes to ‘product manager’, else, we are happy to offer a ‘kind’ severance”.

Toxic Positivity: The Corporate Kool-Aid

As problems mounted, DoggoTech’s leadership embraced a culture of toxic positivity that would make a motivational poster blush. Constructive criticism was met with cries of “But we’re changing the world, one swipe (read: some action) at a time!”

In one particularly cringe-worthy “let’s-all-learn-how-doggotech-works” workshop, the engineer they hired to ‘fix’ and help ‘scale’ suggested adopting tried-and-tested practices from established platforms. Chad’s response was a masterclass in startup exceptionalism:

“Established practices? We’re not here to follow, we’re here to disrupt! Our users don’t want some boring old adoption process (read: a process that actually works and is used by millions across the globe). They want… uh… <some BS here – which confirms that DoggoTech wants to assume the gadgets/devices users own and has built their entire product around that>”

The ‘challenger’ (aka the engineer hired to improve things) later found their performance review dripping with Chad’s special brand of toxic positivity. It praised their “undeniable technical skills” but criticized their “lack of team spirit” and “antagonistic attitude towards our visionary product teams.” The review concluded with a gem of doublespeak:

“While we appreciate your attempts to ‘improve’ our battle-tested architecture, your constant challenges to our way of working show a fundamental misalignment with DoggoTech’s culture of innovation through chaos. We believe in your potential to grow, which is why we’re offering you the opportunity to participate in our Performance Improvement Plan (PIP). Should you feel this growth opportunity doesn’t align with your career goals, we’re more than happy to discuss a generous severance package. Remember, at DoggoTech, every ending is just a new beginning!”

Translation: “We hired you to fix our mess, but how dare you try to actually fix our mess? Here’s a PIP for doing your job. Don’t like it? There’s the door, but we’ll call it a ‘career transition opportunity’ because we’re all about that positive spin. Welcome to DoggoTech, where gaslighting is an art form and cognitive dissonance is a job requirement!”

The Illusion of Innovation

Innovation at DoggoTech meant adding a “Cat Mode” that just turned the app upside down. It was heralded as revolutionary, despite being completely useless and mildly nauseating.

Their product roadmap was less of a strategic plan and more of a fever dream scribbled on a napkin during a boozy lunch. Features weren’t added because they solved problems, but because Brad saw them in a Black Mirror episode and thought, “Why not?”

The Bitter Taste of Success

As I sit here, nursing my overpriced latte and trying to suppress the PTSD from my stint at DoggoTech (yes, I was there, and no, it’s not worthy enough to make it to my CV or LinkedIn profile, so it’ll remain a secret), I can’t help but laugh at the circus I escaped from.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to actual tech companies, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Especially the ones on my resume. Really.