Fragments from an unfinished treatise on the illusory nature of modern efficiency

In an era where numbers dictate a person’s worth and reactions are measured in pixels and clicks, I lived – for 15 years – under the spell of a fundamental misunderstanding. Many believe and claim that marketing is some sort of applied alchemy, meant to turn any thought into a sale and any story into profit. What a utilitarian phantom! What an accountant’s dream!

„We want results. We want sales. We want reactions. And we want them fast.”

This cry of modern impatience echoes like a command given to a weary magician. But marketing is not magic. It is quiet labor. It is observation. It is a refined way of understanding the world and making it, for a brief moment, fall silent and listen.

Managers – those priests of numbers – want everything measurable. They seek control and instant effect. They don’t ask: who are we writing for? what time does our audience live in? what mood are they in today? No. They demand reactions, as proof the world has heard them.

But the world doesn’t react on command. Sometimes, the reader remains silent because they found themselves in the message, because it resonated so deeply that it became their own. And silence, in that case, is the truest echo of a shared truth.

Other times, the marketer writes, sends emails, posts content, creates virtual works of art. One morning, a newsletter goes out. No replies. No comments. And yet, a year later, someone buys a €30,000 piece of equipment (true story), because that’s when the budget was available. Not earlier. Not later. On another morning, a client hesitates. They want to buy, but there’s no PDF presentation. They don’t go through with the purchase – not because the message wasn’t good, but because they needed it printed, in their bag, between two layovers.

In the first case, the marketer is a genius. In the second, they’re “underperforming,” even if they worked twice as hard. Do you see the absurdity? This is the great deception: to judge people by reactions, not by work. By visible results, not by the message that remains, the one others may discover later while scrolling and mistakenly attribute to another marketing professional.

What is marketing, really? Or rather, what was it… and what has it become?

Marketing is, first and foremost, an act of creation. It can be seen as an inner force giving birth to an idea that wants to be heard. Then, it becomes a distribution network – channels, timing, context – that carries the idea to those who need it. But nothing guarantees applause. Sometimes, a good post stays in the shadows. Other times, a mediocre one goes viral – not because the audience chose it, but because the algorithm was generous or deceived.

And yet, there are exceptions – the stars. Those rare moments when the right message, on the right day, comes to life, spreads, resonates with a collective mood or a missing piece. And the marketer seems like a prophet. But they’re not. They’re just someone who has been building invisible tracks for years. And one day, the train arrived.

Romanian actor Gheorghe Crasmaru (a brilliant performer who thrived despite communism) once said: “The train of life comes only once. If you’re not ready, you miss it forever.” (He was referring to fame.) In marketing, the train doesn’t bring glory. It brings quiet confirmation that you did the right thing – even when no one applauds you.

And yet, what is still being demanded? Reaction. Proof. Reports. Conversions. Numbers – the almighty KPIs. A chain of clicks meant to justify a salary, a job title, and a budget. But marketing isn’t just about that. It’s about leaving something behind – being present, alive, prepared – for the moment when someone needs you.

Marketing isn’t trickery. It’s not sleight of hand. It is deep work – the craft of long timelines, active silence, and fertile patience. You won’t always be praised. But if you work with honesty, you’ll become a presence that truly matters. When the world is silent, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t see you. Maybe that quiet world is silent because it is sighing.