#2
The Company We Keep
In my first newsletter, I introduced the two meanings of "company" and why they're inseparable. This week, we begin exploring the five types of company that form around magnetic organizations. We start with Champions because they show what's possible when everything aligns.
What Champions Actually Are
Champions don't just support your brand, they embody it. For them, it’s personal. They're the people who naturally live your values, share your stories and defend your purpose when you're not in the room. But here's what most organizations misunderstand about Champions.
You don't create them, you recognize them.
I guarantee you that Champions already exist within your ecosystem. They're waiting to be discovered among your leadership team, hiding in plain sight on your staff, quietly advocating in your customer base and organically emerging in your broader community. The art lies not in manufacturing Champions, but in creating the conditions where their natural advocacy can flourish.
How Champions Actually Form
Let’s call our main characters Sarah and Marcus. They had been talking about opening a restaurant for years. Finally, they signed the lease. Nine months until opening. When they called us, they wanted to talk about marketing. "Maybe some ads closer to opening? Social media? We're not really sure where to start."
We met them for coffee. They walked us through everything. The organic farmer who was obsessed with garlic. The local butcher who shared their philosophy about ethical sourcing. The designer whose aesthetic perfectly captured what they were trying to create. Even the custom candle holders from a glass blower they'd discovered while on holiday.
"This is incredible," Jane said. "Have you been sharing any of this?"
Sarah looked confused. "Sharing what?"
"This. All of this. The farm. The butcher. The glass blower. The design process."
Marcus shook his head. "We're not open yet. We figured we'd wait until we're ready, then do a big launch campaign."
"What if you started now?" Jane asked.
Sarah looked uncomfortable. "But nothing's finished. The space is a disaster right now, broken windows, torn-up floors. We don't even have final menu items yet. We might change our minds about things.
"Exactly," I said. "Show them that."
"Show them the mess?" Marcus laughed. "That doesn't seem very professional."
The Resistance to Showing
This is a conversation we've had in many different forms over the years. The instinct is always to wait. Wait until everything is perfect, polished and ready for presentation. Wait until you can control the narrative completely.
"Think about it this way," Jane said. "By opening night, you want a community of people who feel invested in your success. Not just customers looking for a new restaurant, but people who've watched you build this and want to be part of it. How do you create that feeling?"
"By letting them in now," I said. "While it's still being built. While you're still figuring things out. Share the broken windows. Introduce the farmer. Show them why you chose that designer. Let them see you making decisions and sure, occasionally changing your mind."
Sarah was shaking her head. "What if we look like we don't know what we're doing?"
"You don't know what you're doing," I said. "Nobody does when they're creating something new. That's what makes the journey worth following."
What They Actually Did
A few weeks after our first chat, Sarah posted a photo on Instagram. Her and Marcus are standing in the gutted restaurant space, broken windows behind them, concrete dust on their clothes. The caption was simple:
"This is where it starts. See you in nine months…."
While some were confused that a baby was on the way, most understood the gravity of the situation. This was going to be almost as difficult. The post got maybe thirty likes. A few comments from friends saying congratulations.
Nothing remarkable. Except that they'd done it. They'd started showing their process.
Over the following months, they introduced the design team for the restaurant, showing sketches alongside photos of the construction disaster. They visited the farm, filming the farmer talking about why he grows garlic the way he does. They documented the search for the perfect candle holder.
Each post revealed something about what they valued. Not through claims, but through demonstration.
Opening Night
By opening night, they didn't need to convince anyone to come. They had hundreds of people who'd followed the entire journey, who understood what the restaurant stood for, who felt invested in its success.
The line around the block wasn't people looking for a discount or curious about a new restaurant. It was a community showing up for something they'd watched being born.
These weren't just customers.
They were Champions.
The Other Restaurant
That same week, another restaurant opened, just two blocks away. The difference was stark. The owners had papered the windows, staying silent for months. Then, about two weeks before opening, they launched their marketing campaign. Social media ads. "Grand Opening" banners. Promotional pricing for the first week.
All announcement. No demonstration.
Their opening night was fine. Some people showed up, drawn by the discount or curiosity. But there was no line. No community. Just transactions.
The cruel irony was that their food was really good. Their space was beautiful. They'd done all the hard work of creating something special. But they'd kept that work invisible until the moment they wanted people to pay for it.
They'd told people they were passionate and committed to quality. Every restaurant says that. They hadn't shown anyone why they should believe it.
What This Reveals About Champions
Sarah and Marcus didn't create Champions through a clever ad campaign. They created the conditions where Champions could recognize themselves.
Every time Sarah posted about the farm or the glass blower or the design evolution, she created an opportunity for someone to think: "Yes, this matters to me too." Or "This isn't for me." Both responses were valuable. By opening night, everyone who showed up had already made their choice.
People don't choose you because you've convinced them you're good. They choose you because they recognize something in you that resonates with something in them. But here’s the secret sauce. Recognition requires visibility. You have to show people what you value, not claim it. You have to live it.
What This Means for You
Your Champions are already out there. The people who would naturally embody your values if they could see them clearly enough. The customers who would become advocates if they felt invested in your journey. The employees who would carry your culture home if they understood what makes it worth carrying.
But they can't see what you won't show them.
The question isn't "How do we create Champions?" The question is "Are we showing what we value consistently enough that the right people can recognize themselves in it?"
In my next newsletter, we'll explore more about values, the foundation that makes Champions possible. But only if they're specific enough to actually mean something. Spoiler: "Integrity" and "Excellence" don't count.
Until then, ask yourself: What are you showing, and what are you only telling? What are you scared to show the world? Remember, a sense of vulnerability is likely a clue to what matters most.
—Steven