Every go-to-market runs on a guess about the buyer. I've spent sixteen years obsessed with that guess — testing it with real buyers, running the motions built on it, and lately, automating them. Whatever yours needs — validating, leading, or automating — that's the work I do every day.
Almost everyone landed in one of two places: still confused — or sounding exactly like everyone else. You know the emails: AI-written outreach that makes you wonder who they think they're talking to, from sellers who leave it to the customer to figure out how the product would actually help them. Here's what hasn't changed in my sixteen years of selling: people buy when they feel a connection — to the product, or to the person selling it. And connection isn't magic — it's giving a shit about who you're selling to. It's also habits: prospecting the ICP your product serves today, not the one it might serve in five years. Outreach written like a person who understands why this specific human needs the thing. Follow-up that never slips because somebody chased a shinier object. A pipeline that reflects reality. I install the system that runs those habits every single day — and when your revenue needs more than a system, I do the strategy and I take the seat. That's Marketside.
Two weeks inside your motion — the pipeline, the threads, the closed-won and the closed-lost. You get the map of where revenue is leaking and exactly what to do about it, whether or not we ever talk again.
If that’s not the shape you need — GTM Advisory for the thinking, the GTM Engine for the install, Fractional CRO for the seat.
All four in full — what happens, what you keep, what it costs →This email. This page. The post you saw.
And nothing it writes ever leaves without you. Drafts only — it never sends. Not as a setting; as the architecture.
In every sales leadership role I've had, I was the one trying to find systems — or hack them together — that the team would actually use. Anything to hit the number and get sellers in front of clients. I built the consolidated spreadsheets myself. Nobody used them. Including, eventually, me.
When AI finally got good enough, I did what sixteen years of buying tools trained me to do: I spent an egregious amount of money on things I had no idea how to implement. Then one day I decided to say fuck it and built the thing I couldn't buy (or find anywhere). It runs this business every day — and now I install it in other people's.
The whole story — the receipts, the dead ends, the Celsius →The rest of the jokes require a call. Tell me what's going on — strategy, a fractional seat, an Engine install, or "I honestly don't know yet," which is exactly what the Teardown is for. The first conversation is always free. (Really. I like these conversations.)
My agent also generated these headshots. I have never looked better. I have also never looked exactly like this. Which is the thing about AI — flattering, close, and not quite right until a real person calibrates it. (Now you know why the Engine starts with a voice guide.)
