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Dear Friends and Colleagues,
The trouble with disruptors? They’re disruptive.
Clients often tell us they want a leader who will shake things up. Someone fearless. Unafraid. A Disruptor. Whether it’s to seize an opportunity in turbulent times or to jolt an organization out of complacency (or worse), they’re looking for someone who won’t just lead but will unsettle.
I recall leading one such search a few years back, placing a CEO with a high-profile and very staid organization. The Board swore up and down they wanted a disruptor. Within a few months, all they were doing was swearing. A few months after that, having had about enough, the CEO left. The board held the door. We found them exactly what they wanted. Or, at least, what they thought they wanted. But I think sometimes organizations think they want a disruptor in the way people think they want a tattoo. Sounds cool, but needles hurt, and the ink is indelible.
Of course, the desires of any organization—or for that matter, any electorate—are usually a response to the unfulfilled promise of the incumbent. In search parlance, it may be a “maintainer” you’re after. Someone who subscribes to the view that “if it worked yesterday, let’s do that again today.” Or perhaps a “turnaround” leader who can come in and take an organization from good to great or, more typically, from bad to okay. Maybe it’s a “scaler,” someone who thrives in high-growth environments and knows how to take a solid foundation and build something bigger. Or a “stabilizer,” brought in to steady the ship after turbulence, to restore confidence and reinforce fundamentals. But disruptors? Careful what you wish for.
What’s happening to the south with their duly elected Disruptor-in-Chief doing his level best to upend American democracy, or maybe just end it, has me wondering when the selection committee might start to re-think its decision. Not that the other candidate on the short-list was a panacea. The rationale was rational when it came to seeking change. The previous CEO had lost the plot, the search committee went in a different direction. But we shouldn’t mistake a mandate for a manifesto, a disruptor for a dictator, a resolution for a revolution. Shaking things up is one thing; burning them down is another.
Disruption is a funny thing. Not funny ha ha. It has a way of sounding romantic, exciting, even visionary—until you’re living in it. And then, suddenly, the old way doesn’t seem so bad. It’s like the Mark Twain quote:
“History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”
The political forces that fueled the rise of authoritarian strongmen in the past bear unsettling similarities to what we see today. Are we seeing disruption, which in the grand scheme can be pretty benign and even helpful (ditch the penny? Sure. Scrap paper straws? Sign me up), or are we standing idly by as institutions fall and as the very foundations of democracy erode? There’s a difference between challenging the status quo and dismantling the guardrails that keep chaos at bay. Some disruptions clear a path for progress; others pave the way for something far darker. The question isn’t whether change is needed—it often is—but whether the change we’re observing is reform or ruin.
Generally speaking, the establishment became established because, over time, the pendulum tends to settle somewhere near the center. A bit of disruption—like a well-placed shift in the fulcrum—can bring needed balance. But push too far, and the whole thing tips over.
Take Uber. A textbook case of disruption and downright quaint compared to what we’re presently witnessing. They entered the market with a simple promise: A ride at the push of a button. They shattered the taxi industry’s monopoly, introduced a gig economy model that rewrote employment norms, and created a customer experience that was seamless and modern. But with that disruption came side effects—driver strikes, regulatory chaos, and a company culture that, at times, seemed allergic to accountability. Now, years later, Uber isn’t the renegade startup it once was, it’s just another big company. Disruptors eventually become the establishment, or they get displaced.
Closer to home, WestJet. Once a funny, folksy, disruptor because, remember — owners care(d) — to a unionized colossus that looks a lot more like the legacy carriers it once mocked than the scrappy upstart it used to be.
Or Netflix. They started as a disruptor to the video rental industry, introducing a mail-in DVD service that upended Blockbuster’s dominance. Today, Netflix is a major studio, producing original content and operating much like the traditional media giants they once challenged. Their disruptive beginnings have led them to become part of the establishment they initially set out to disrupt.
Amazon began by disrupting the bookstore model, offering an online marketplace that challenged brick-and-mortar retailers. Over time, Amazon’s ambitions expanded, and it became a dominant force in e-commerce, logistics, cloud computing, and more. Now, Amazon faces scrutiny over its market power and labour practices, issues typically associated with established conglomerates.
I use Uber and WestJet and Netflix, and there are days our front porch resembles an Amazon fulfillment centre. These disruptions have, by and large, though not without other problems, made my life not worse.
Politics is typically no different. Historically, politicians run—and win—by tapping into public frustration, promising change, and positioning themselves as the answer to a broken system. But there’s a difference between disruption and the systematic dismantling of institutions that have long underpinned national and international stability. The current American political landscape feels like the ultimate experiment in disruption. Some love it, many more seem exhausted by it, and the fundamental question remains: Is this what they bargained for?
That’s the thing about disruption—it isn’t inherently good or bad. It depends on what’s being disrupted, by whom, and to what end.
Steve Jobs disrupted. So did Elizabeth Holmes. One gave us the iPhone; the other gave us a $9 billion fraud scandal. History is littered with disruptive leaders who made too much change, too quickly, and saw their organizations suffer as a result.
In 2020, when Bob Chapek took over as CEO of Disney from Bob Iger, he moved aggressively to restructure the company, centralizing decision-making and prioritizing streaming at the expense of Disney’s core creative culture. His changes alienated employees, sparked public feuds, and led to declining stock prices. His rapid and heavy-handed approach to change backfired and Disney quickly ousted him and brought Iger back to stabilize the company.
Jürgen Schrempp, CEO of Daimler-Benz, spearheaded the $36 billion “merger of equals” with Chrysler in 1998, promising a disruptive transformation of the auto industry. However, the cultures of the two companies clashed, and Schrempp aggressively tried to integrate them, forcing rapid changes that led to plummeting morale, financial losses, and an eventual sale of Chrysler in 2007. His ambitious vision lacked the patience and execution needed for sustainable success.
Ron Johnson, the former Apple retail chief, was hired as CEO to reinvent JCPenney. He eliminated long-standing discounting strategies in favour of “everyday low prices,” abruptly abandoned the brand’s existing customer base, and overhauled stores without testing his concepts. His changes alienated core shoppers, led to a 25% drop in sales in a single year, and caused the company’s stock to crash. He was fired after just 17 months.
Adam Neumann’s disruptive approach to co-working spaces turned WeWork into a multi-billion-dollar phenomenon, but his unchecked ambition and erratic decision-making led to its catastrophic downfall. He burned through cash, expanded recklessly, and pushed an unsustainable business model. When WeWork attempted an IPO, investors balked at its financial instability and Neumann’s leadership, leading to his ouster and one of the most spectacular startup failures in recent history.
The list goes on. Google Travis Kalanick, Jeff Immelt, or Marissa Mayer. Bob Nardelli, Ellen Pao, or Steve Easterbrook. Each of these leaders came in with a grand vision to shake things up but made the mistake of moving too fast, underestimating cultural resistance, or disregarding foundational strengths. Change needs to be strategic and measured—too much, too soon, without buy-in or a clear roadmap, can lead to spectacular failure. Each of these leaders came in with a bold vision but failed to account for the pace of change their organizations could handle. Culture, execution, and strategic alignment matter—without them, even the most innovative disruptor can end up doing more harm than good.
At least in the corporate world boards step in when a leader fails, and in each of the previous examples, they did—firing the CEO. Theoretically, the U.S. has three separate but co-equal branches of government, designed with built-in checks and balances. But those checks are under strain and it’s unlikely the CEO will be shown the door. And if he is, there’s no telling whether he’ll actually walk through it.
In search, we counsel clients to be wary of the bright, shiny object. The candidate who promises to tear it all down and start anew is compelling in theory—especially to a board eager for change or an organization desperate to shake off stagnation. But in practice, that kind of leader can be terrifying. We’ve seen it before: a hire made in a moment of urgency, inspired by bold ideas and sweeping rhetoric, only to find that the very skills that made the candidate seem so attractive—an unrelenting appetite for disruption, a disregard for convention, a willingness to break things—become liabilities once they’re in the seat.
That’s because most organizations, like most societies, don’t function well in a constant state of upheaval.
The best leaders understand that transformation isn’t about demolition—it’s about evolution.
They respect the foundation that’s already in place, even as they push for change. They don’t just tear down walls; they know which ones to leave standing. They disrupt with intention, not recklessness.
We often encourage clients to look beyond the surface-level appeal of disruption and dig into what a candidate is actually proposing. What’s their track record of leading change? Have they managed to drive transformation while bringing people along with them? Can they articulate a vision for not just what needs to change, but why and how? A true change agent doesn’t just promise a revolution; they build a coalition. They listen. They adapt. They understand that sustainable impact comes from balancing disruption with stability, not from treating leadership like a wrecking ball.
The problem with what we’re witnessing down south is that disruption, when unchecked, doesn’t just shake things up—it breaks them. If norms erode to the point where questioning the judiciary’s legitimacy, ignoring constitutional constraints, or consolidating power become routine, then disruption ceases to be a mechanism for improvement and becomes a pathway to authoritarianism. A disruptor without limits doesn’t reform institutions; he corrodes them. And when that happens, the guardrails meant to keep democracy on track become little more than relics of a past that, in hindsight, didn’t seem so bad after all.
And that’s the difference. A disruptor, if needed, should be an intentional disruptor—not someone who mistakes destruction for progress, but a leader who understands what comes next and how to bring others along for the journey. Because in the end, the most effective transformation isn’t about tearing everything down—it’s about knowing what’s worth rebuilding.
Otherwise, we’re left sifting through the rubble, looking at our once-proud tattoo—now drooping and discoloured—wondering whether that shade of orange was ever a good idea in the first place.
Regards,
Adam
