Silicon Valley.
The string of suburbs nestled toward the bottom of the San Francisco Bay is where the titans of computing, the Internet, and social media are based. It’s where a glut of venture capital and private equity firms have set up shop.
It might seem this sun-speckled stretch of California paradise has always been the epicenter of technology. But back in the early 1980s, the seat of power was 3,000 miles east.
You see, back then, Steve Jobs wasn’t a household name. Elon Musk was a secondary school student in South Africa. Mark Zuckerberg wasn’t even born yet.
Business computing was king. And there was but one behemoth in business computing — IBM.
The sleepy suburban enclave of Armonk — some 35 miles north of New York City — was the heart of IBM’s corporate functions. It’s where the accountants maintained their balance sheets. It’s where the financial analysts did their modeling. It’s where executives maintained their cushy offices.
But not all of IBM’s operations were based there. Some 1,300 miles south in Boca Raton, another unit was hard at work.
These employees paid little attention to the details of what was going on up in Armonk. And the bigwigs at headquarters had precious little line of sight into what was happening down in Florida.
This was all by design.
The Boca unit was IBM’s skunkworks. It was the space where IBM-ers could innovate, free of the constraints of the IBM brand banner. It was where IBM could attempt to disrupt its own business.
IBM wasn’t the first company to try its hand at skunkworks.
Lockheed Martin introduced the concept as it developed weapons in secrecy during World War II. Over the years, other companies followed its lead.
However, IBM had a novel use for its skunkworks setup — Manufactured Rebellion.
Yes, the team in Boca was made up of IBM employees aiming to disrupt IBM’s business.
The company knew that its stronghold was far from assured over time. Technology changes. Consumption patterns shift.
If IBM were to wait before reacting to these changes, it would be too late. The only shot at longevity would be to stay on the cutting edge. To diversify the company portfolio to include the innovations of tomorrow and the strategic strengths of today.
That’s what Manufactured Rebellion was all about. And it yielded the Personal Computer for IBM.
We might overlook that point these days, with Apple and Microsoft dominating the PC market. But the skunkworks likely helped IBM stay relevant for far longer than the company otherwise would have been.
And thanks to a Harvard Business Review writeup, the IBM skunkworks continues to cast a long shadow.
Indeed, Manufactured Rebellion is all the rage in the technology world. Companies left and right are trying to disrupt themselves, even as they reach the pinnacle of success.
This is how Apple ended up making smartphones. It’s what got Netflix into streaming. It’s why Google’s parent company has a division called “other bets,” fueled by an incubator called X.
It’s also the reason companies in other industries — automaking, hospitality, and finance — are rebranding themselves as tech companies.
Manufactured Rebellion is all around us. And to some degree, within us.
You see, these companies have an outsize influence on our behavior. Consider it the halo effect.
Starbucks once convinced us to pay $4 for a cup of coffee. Disney persuaded us that happily ever after was inevitable. And Apple, Google, and Netflix have directed us to shake up today in favor of tomorrow.
So, we seek to disrupt ourselves.
We cast off old routines. We reinvent our style. We shake up our professional identity.
We do all this for the same reason as IBM. To stay ahead of the curve.
But are we getting more than we bargained for?
Early in the film Catch Me If You Can, FBI agent Carl Hanratty enters a French prison, seeking to take custody of a prisoner there.
The prisoner — Frank Abagnale, Jr. — had pulled off a string of confidence crimes. Hanratty’s mission was to bring him back to the United States to face charges.
Abagnale had been a confident and quick-witted man throughout his crime spree. But in the dark confines of a jail cell, he appeared young and frightened.
After making a feeble attempt at an escape, he made a frail request to Hanratty.
Take me home, Carl.
Abagnale had brought all kinds of Manufactured Rebellion into his life. He had posed as a lawyer and an airline pilot. He had forged millions of dollars worth of checks. And he had stayed one step ahead of the law throughout most of these escapades.
But now, he had been stripped of all that. Reacquainted with his real identity, all he wanted to do was go home.
Most of us are not confidence artists like Abagnale. Our journey probably won’t include a stop in a French jail.
But we can relate to him a bit too viscerally.
You see, our penchant for self-disruption has its benefits.
Switching jobs yields increased earning power. Moving homes yields enhanced surroundings. Changing diets yields improved health.
But Manufactured Rebellion also has its costs.
If we keep changing for change’s sake, we start chasing ghosts. We’re always in pursuit. Never comfortable. Never satisfied.
We lose sight of who we are on the quest to find out who we could be.
This is a basic fact. And yet, it always seems to catch us off guard — just as it did Abagnale.
It shouldn’t.
For despite its bravado, Manufactured Rebellion often fails to deliver. For every Netflix stream or iPhone, there are dozens of failed corporate pivots. Heck, even the flagship PC from IBM’s skunkworks ultimately fell short.
We can’t expect our success rate to be any better. For we are human.
Unlike billion-dollar corporations, we bear the brunt of disruption. We feel every bit of the ups and downs.
And while brand irrelevance is disastrous for any company, the loss of our identity can be downright tragic.
So, let’s turn this ship around. Let’s stop needlessly putting ourselves in jeopardy. And let’s be more thoughtful about when and where we change things up.
This might not give us the sugar rush of Manufactured Rebellion. But it spares us the inevitable crash that follows.
And that’s not nothing.