The Rockstars of the Wrong Industry

I wasn’t expecting to have one of the most thought-provoking conversations of the year on my son’s eighth-grade history trip, but there I was, standing in the middle of some historical landmark, talking to my friend Jeff, a father, and successful business owner. We weren’t discussing historical dates or famous figures—instead, we were knee-deep in a discussion about the modern business landscape and something Jeff had noticed: we’re getting advice from the wrong people.

Now, Jeff runs a pretty successful company. He’s seen ups and downs, grown his business over the years, and knows what it means to stay consistent. But this conversation was about a different kind of success—the flashier kind. The kind that comes when a particular skill set or industry suddenly explodes in value, and the people working in that space get rocketed into a level of wealth and status that’s usually reserved for movie stars and hedge fund managers. In this case, we were talking about software engineers.

Jeff pointed out that in the last decade or so, software engineers became the rockstars of the modern world. Think about it: you had guys who knew how to code—essentially a blue-collar trade—suddenly commanding half-million-dollar salaries and six-figure signing bonuses. And why? Because companies like Apple, Amazon, Microsoft, and countless startups were in an arms race to hire them. There weren’t enough coders to go around, and tech became the driving force of the economy.

I mean, picture this: a 25-year-old with a basic skill set that’s suddenly in high demand, driving around in a Ferrari, wearing the latest fashion, and living the high life. And in a society where money equals importance, these engineers weren’t just seen as rich—they were seen as smart. They became the people everyone wanted to get advice from, not just on coding, but on business, finance, life choices—you name it. Because, hey, if they’re rich, they must know something the rest of us don’t, right?

Here’s where Jeff really got me thinking. He pointed out that this sudden wealth and status gave these people an authority that they may not have actually earned. These weren’t business strategists or economic theorists; they were people who were in the right place at the right time. They had a skill that exploded in value for a period, and now they were being asked to sit on boards, give TED talks, and offer advice on everything from real estate to how to run a company. But should they?

It’s like if tomorrow appliance repairmen became the highest-paid workers in America, and all of a sudden, we were asking them how to manage our retirement portfolios. Nothing against appliance repair, but that’s not their field. Yet, we’ve done this with software engineers. We’ve elevated them beyond their expertise, and now we’re seeking their advice on all aspects of life because they look successful. But success in one area doesn’t translate into wisdom in another.

Jeff raised a critical question: What happens to a culture when it starts going to the wrong people for advice? When the people who are perceived as experts, simply because they’ve amassed wealth, are the ones we look to for answers in every area of life? He was genuinely concerned about this, and the more I thought about it, the more I shared his concern.

It’s not that these software engineers don’t deserve the money they’ve made. They do—coding is hard work, and they’re skilled at what they do. But we’re now living in a world where the ability to write a great line of code is seen as a qualification for all sorts of things it has nothing to do with. And that, Jeff believes, is where we could be heading for some very weird, very dangerous failures.

This got me thinking about the broader implications of Jeff’s point. We’ve allowed success and wealth to become synonymous with wisdom. If you’re rich, you’re seen as someone worth listening to, no matter how you got there. It’s the appearance of success that draws people in, but appearances can be deceiving. Just because someone made a killing in the tech boom doesn’t mean they know how to run a company, invest wisely, or navigate the next cultural shift.

So, what happens when an entire culture looks to the wrong people for advice on how to live, work, and grow? What happens when we elevate people based on their bank accounts rather than their understanding of the complexities of life and business?

I’m still working through these questions, and honestly, I haven’t fully figured it out yet. But Jeff’s observation sticks with me because it’s a reminder not to take things at face value. Not to be precious about who we assume is qualified to lead, to guide, to offer wisdom. Just because someone has the money doesn’t mean they have the insight.

And maybe that’s the takeaway for this chapter: We need to be more careful about who we look to for advice. We need to question who’s actually qualified to give it. And just because someone has succeeded in one area doesn’t mean they’ll have the answers for every area.

In a world that’s constantly putting people on pedestals based on the size of their paycheck, we have to ask ourselves: By what standard are we measuring success, and who should we really be listening to?

For now, it’s a question I’m still thinking about. And maybe you should be too.

This chapter could then naturally end with a few open questions or thoughts for reflection:

• Are we asking the right people for advice?

• How do we discern real expertise from situational success?

• What happens when we elevate people based on money alone?

These reflective points can tie back into the overall theme of not being precious about who we listen to and why we follow certain voices.