or how to lose a deal because of a fossilized Viadeo profile and a digital silence shadier than a cat doing the dishes.
It’s 11:12 p.m.
Somewhere in a dimly lit kitchen, a human being is chewing the last crumbs of chips straight from the bag, right hand scrolling on a MacBook as dusty as their gym ambitions. They have neither time nor patience. There’s a proposal to approve. A mission to assign. And they just want to know if the person is, quote, “serious”.
And so, they turn to the most ruthless weapon ever invented by mankind: Google.
But not Google-as-in-“official website” Google. No. Google-as-in-digital doubt archaeologist. They type: “Caroline Martin AI consultant Lyon”.
And just like that, the fate is sealed. In 0.53 seconds. One click. One impression. One judgement.
And you, dear Caroline, will never know what they saw. Not until they ghost you slowly or send back a polite “we went with someone a bit more… aligned.” Meanwhile, the invisible judge of your online credibility has spoken.
Caroline, unaware, sleeps peacefully. She spent six months redesigning her website, orchestrated like a Figma symphony in B minor. It’s responsive, eco-designed, SEO-sanitized, and her contact form triggers a cascade of micro-interactions that would make a Norwegian UX designer sob with joy.
Her “About Us” page tells, with heartfelt prose, the improbable story of “Jean & Claire, two passionate souls who set out to revolutionize the world of stainless steel screws.” Sort of like Romeo + Fasteners. But the prospect will never see that.
Because here comes absurd law #1 of modern business:
“No one clicks on your website if Google thinks you’re dead.”
At 11:12 p.m., your website has no power whatsoever.
What speaks for you is what you forgot to delete—or never thought to publish.
- An ancient Viadeo profile where you called yourself a “cross-dynamic agile strategist”.
- A photo from a corporate retreat where you’re holding a ukulele poolside, looking far too confident.
- Or just… nothing. A silence so deep it echoes.
And on a good day? A blog post from 2018, ghostwritten by an intern, vaguely referencing your “disruptive approach to managerial coherence.” Which, in plain English, means absolutely nothing.
Enter absurd law #2:
“If your online presence is too clean, people will assume you’re hiding something. Like showroom fridges or overly polite children.”
And this is when the Tesla moment arrives.
That moment when everything seems smooth, polished, trustworthy. Until someone throws a brick of curiosity.
You remember Musk’s infamous demo? The “unbreakable” car window? One little toss. One unexpected test. Boom. The glass shattered. On live TV.
That’s the Google moment. One silly click. And your pristine facade fractures.
Because your prospect isn’t looking for perfection. They’re looking for signs of life. Clues. Voice. Ideas. Even messy ones. Even blurry ones.
They want to know if you exist outside the pitch deck.
In 2025, what closes deals isn’t your landing page. Not your pricing. Not your lavender brand palette.
What closes deals is proof that you’re a human being. A wobbly LinkedIn post. A relevant comment. A blurry conference talk where you say “uh” every three sentences, but mean it.
Here comes absurd law #3 (the most important one):
“Better to be flawed and visible than perfect and invisible.”
Because in the end, your prospect isn’t signing with a company. They’re signing with a reflection of you. An echo. A hunch. Some irrational whisper that says: “This person is real. I can trust them. Or at least talk to them without decoding buzzwords.”
So no, you don’t have to be viral. Or perfect. But you do need to show up.
Say something. Post a weird thought. Share an awkward memory. Even a photo of Jean-Michel, your office cactus, leaning toward the light with the stoic resolve of a Greek philosopher.
Because between a flawless storefront and a slightly neurotic human, we’ll always pick the human.
Especially if the cactus has a name. And a LinkedIn page.