As I write this, it’s been two months to the day since I left my well-paid, secure job at an exciting startup to venture into the unknown world of Fractional leadership. I have one open PR on an open-source tool that I’ve been playing around with a little bit, but other than that, I haven’t written any code.
Instead, I’ve been trying, failing, learning, failing some more, and slowly making some inroads into a whole new skill set for me: marketing.
As an engineer, marketing was something I avoided wherever possible, and, if I’m honest, disdained. The idea of selling anything, let alone myself, felt seedy. I knew that I found aggressive marketing tactics annoying, and needing to sell something seemed desperate. I thought I could remain above the fray. My skills, my ability, spoke for themselves - I didn’t need to sell anything.
In fact, this was one of the aspects of engineering that really drew me to the profession. Having done a History degree at an elite university, I saw in my early career how much success and opportunity weren’t about what you knew (turns out having in-depth knowledge of medieval political philosophy wasn’t setting my resume on fire). It was who you knew, and how much you were willing to lean on the university’s reputation to impress people. I hated it.
The chip on my shoulder I had about relying on networks of friends and family and good old-fashioned British elitism to get a leg up is a whole different post and has kept my therapist gainfully employed for years. Needless to say, when I realised there was something I enjoyed and that I was good at - writing code - and I could objectively demonstrate my skill in it without needing to get an intro through my Dad or name-dropping my university, it was a huge bonus for me. No one could say I didn’t earn my place on my bootcamp, my first job, my promotion, or any other achievement. Of course, no one actually cared, but that’s beside the point. I felt secure, in myself, that I was earning every stripe I was getting.
Fast forward to today. I’m pulling on every connection, friend, distant relative, random LinkedIn connection from 6 years ago and stranger at a networking event I can to generate business. I’m realising quickly and sometimes painfully that no one cares about my skills, about what I’ve achieved and how fast I learn and grow. In fact, mostly, no one cares at all. My skills may speak for themselves, but no one’s listening. The Zen koan about a tree falling in the forest and no one being around to hear has achieved its desired effect of granting a blazing flash of enlightenment - no one gives a crap about my GitHub CV page.
Instead, what people do care about is what I can do for them. And there is definitely stuff I can do. I can write code, that’s the easy bit. I can do higher-level architecture and systems design. I can teach habits that help teams move faster and produce higher-quality software. I can translate business needs into tangible requirements that can be delivered by engineers. I can build and lead teams, and teams of teams, to achieve organisational goals. I can resolve conflicts between junior engineers as effectively as I can between C-suite execs. So far, we’re still in the realm of a middling LinkedIn bio.
But this isn’t what people really want. It’s not even about what problems I can solve, although that of course is the rational starting point. “We need help managing our offshore team”. “We need someone to pick up some of the management and mentoring slack”. “We need someone to help us with our first hire”. These are the surface asks, but the need is deeper. They want stuff to be delivered on time and work as expected, and if it’s not, to know early enough that it’s not a shock. They want their teams to be engaged and productive. They want people pulling in the same direction. They want failures to be small, daily learning opportunities, not catastrophes. They want to be surrounded by people they can trust. In short, they want to not have to worry about it, because they have enough other things to worry about.
Back when I was a self-taught web developer styling people’s Wordpress sites for them as a side hustle, I used to collect feedback and review from clients to put in my portfolio.1 One of my favourites was from a client who wrote: “We’re thrilled and it’s been painless, which isn’t normally the way”. As I looked back over my career and tried to distil what I do best into something I could market, this quote floated back to mind.
Throughout my time as an engineer, I have taken difficult, awkward assignments, where things haven’t been working and conflict has been flaring up, and turned them into smooth humming machines. The ‘poisoned chalice’ project which had tanked morale and caused a succession of tech leads to resign. The lead engineer who was no longer on speaking terms with a founder. The engineering department which was fed up with being treated as a feature factory. These situations and others I met head-on, and while the process wasn’t always smooth, I helped them into something healthy.
This didn’t always mean obvious success. The project needed to be cancelled, and it was; the lead engineer needed to move on, and they did. The engineering department got more time and support to focus on and hone their craft, but they also needed to be challenged to mature their understanding of the business reality of a startup and reframe their thinking of what ‘good’ looked like.
But by the end of each process, through a combination of techniques (some technical, some not) everyone agreed we were in a much better place than where we started. And then it clicked. A marketing message that I could shout from the rooftops with no sense of awkwardness and no waft of bullshit.
No-drama engineering.
Unpacking what that means, how I achieve it, and how you can too, is something I’ll share over the coming weeks. But for now, it’s a relief to have found something I know I can sell, because really, it doesn’t feel like selling.
In his memoir, Phil Knight, founder of Nike, reflects on how he had found selling shoes so easy in comparison to earlier jobs selling encyclopedias:
Because, I realized, it wasn't selling. I believed in running. I believed that if people got out and ran a few miles every day, the world would be a better place, and I believed these shoes were better to run in.
I believe a world without engineering drama is better for engineers, for founders and executives, and for customers. Corny as it sounds,2 I believe no-drama engineering can make the world a better place. But we get there one step at a time. Thanks for being on this journey with me.
alexjukes.com has now had a full No-drama engineering makeover, so check it out and let me know what you think. If the engineering drama at your work is getting too much for you, whether you’re a founder, leader or IC, reach out here on Substack, LinkedIn or my site and we can chat about how I can help.
Otherwise, if you just enjoyed the read, please do feel free to like and share it with someone else who might enjoy it too.
What is a portfolio if not marketing? I just didn’t see it as such at the time.
Nothing is as corny as writing “as corny as it sounds”