The Striver’s Curse

Why Organisations Drift Upmarket, Dilute Their Identity, and Rarely Last a Century

If this reads like something I know something about, it is because it is. When I bought my first cafe, I was determined to persist with what was a successful format. But soon enough I found a reason to remove the seafood salad from the menu (only seafood dish, difficult to work with fish safely and hygienically and there were other, better options), and soon after that the cheap Tip Top bun became a classy milk bun. And so forth. We grew the business, made money and all that - but under the surface we ended making things much, much harder for ourselves. When Covid hit, we weren't well positioned to survive it.

.A vanishingly small percentage of businesses survive more than a hundred years. There are a host of reasons are, usually exogenous, and I will come back to that. But what they can** **control is something more insidious and more human: the internal compulsion to constantly strive, change, improve, and grow in ways that erode the original purpose.

I call this compulsion the striver complex. Organisations are collections of people, and people (especially ambitious, competent people) struggle to settle. They feel restless with the steady, focused work of doing one thing well. The result is image drift or mission drift: a gradual migration up the value chain, toward premium positioning, broader scope, or perpetual reinvention. What begins as healthy ambition becomes vanity-driven expansion. The organisation says yes to every temptation because saying no feels like stagnation, and stagnation feels like failure.

This is not stupidity. It is a form of poor execution triggered by vanity—the desire to appear progressive, sophisticated, growth-oriented, and impressive; literally the original sin of Eve in the garden. It is preventable precisely because it is internal. And it is dangerous because it disguises itself as virtue.

The Pattern in Plain Sight: Cars and the Upmarket Cascade

The clearest illustration appears in the automobile industry. Japanese manufacturers entered Western markets in the 1960s and 1970s as makers of small, affordable, reliable cars. Over decades they systematically moved upmarket. Toyota launched Lexus. Honda built Acura. What started as value propositions became premium ones. Korean brands followed the identical trajectory a generation later: Hyundai and Kia began with cheap, functional vehicles and progressively filled higher segments, launching Genesis as a luxury marque. Chinese brands are now repeating the script. BYD and others have entered with competitive, affordable electric vehicles and have openly stated ambitions to climb the prestige ladder, positioning themselves over time as premium experiences.

Each successive wave starts low and drifts higher. The pattern is not unique to cars. It appears in coffee shops that begin as neighbourhood spots and later chase speciality, third-wave, or lifestyle branding; in supermarkets that expand into premium private labels and experiential formats; in apparel retailers that abandon functional workwear for fashion credibility. The internal logic is the same: success creates restlessness. Managers and talent want the next challenge, the higher margin, the more glamorous image. Staying in the original lane feels like settling.

A Counter-Example That Endures: Lowes Menswear

In Australia, Lowes Menswear offers a living contrast. Founded in 1898 as a value-for-money menswear operation, it has remained family-owned and 100% Australian for more than 125 years. Today it operates more than 200 stores and continues to emphasise well-made clothing at affordable prices—menswear, schoolwear, workwear, sportswear, and related practical categories.

Its own materials highlight a deliberate choice: in a brand-conscious society where many outfitters have paid dearly to cultivate a pretentious upmarket image, Lowes has maintained “simple, down-to-earth integrity.” It has expanded its range and improved operations, but it has not abandoned the core identity of accessible, practical clothing for everyday Australians. The company has grown steadily rather than explosively, and it has resisted the cultural pressure to reinvent itself as something more fashionable or exclusive. That restraint is rare. It is also the reason the business still thrives after more than a century.

The Psychology of the Striver Complex

Why is focus so difficult? Organisations are made of people who carry individual striver complexes into collective decision-making. Ambitious employees and managers derive status from growth narratives, new initiatives, and visible transformation. A steady business that simply executes well year after year rarely generates the same internal prestige or external admiration as one that is “disrupting,” “premiumising,” or “expanding into adjacent markets.”

Vanity enters because the alternatives feel ego-threatening. Saying no to an attractive opportunity can look like lack of vision. Maintaining a modest positioning can feel like accepting second-class status. Continuous improvement of processes (kaizen-style refinement of quality, cost, and service) is less glamorous than announcing a strategic pivot or a new brand tier. The striver complex therefore rewards activity and novelty over disciplined continuity.

This is why the phenomenon is so insidious. It does not announce itself as recklessness. It arrives dressed as progress, customer responsiveness, or competitive necessity. Leaders can convince themselves they are merely “evolving with the market” when they are in fact chasing an internal need for stimulation and status.

Focused Survivors: What Saying No Looks Like

Long-lived companies that resist the curse share a common discipline: they protect a stable core while allowing (or forcing) improvement around it. Jim Collins and Jerry Porras captured this as “preserve the core and stimulate progress.” The core is not a product line or a technology; it is the deeper purpose or identity that remains non-negotiable.

In-N-Out Burger, founded in 1948, has never franchised, never gone public, and has kept an extremely limited menu centred on burgers, fries, shakes, and soft drinks. Expansion is slow and controlled; locations remain within a geographic range that supports its fresh, never-frozen supply chain. The company has repeatedly declined opportunities that competitors seize—menu diversification, rapid national roll-out, heavy advertising. The result is cult-level loyalty and operational consistency that larger chains struggle to match. Constraints are treated as a strategic asset rather than a limitation.

Hermès, dating to 1837, began as a harness and saddle maker and evolved into leather goods and accessories while remaining fiercely protective of craftsmanship and scarcity. Production of iconic pieces is deliberately limited by artisanal methods; there is no aggressive volume push. The brand refuses the mass-luxury playbook of many peers. Waiting lists and controlled allocation are not marketing gimmicks; they are consequences of a philosophy that prioritises quality and identity over scale. Family ownership has reinforced the long-term orientation.

Kongō Gumi, the Japanese temple-construction firm founded in 578 CE, specialised for centuries in building and restoring Buddhist temples and shrines using traditional techniques. It survived wars, natural disasters, and profound social change by remaining focused on a narrow, culturally enduring craft. Even after financial difficulties led to its absorption as a subsidiary in 2006, the core specialisation continued. Extreme focus, combined with generational transmission of skill, produced extraordinary longevity.

Other examples recur across categories: certain family-owned toolmakers, wineries, uniform services, and specialised manufacturers that improve execution relentlessly while declining most adjacent temptations. The oldest firms worldwide are disproportionately small-to-medium, family-controlled or closely held, and oriented toward stewardship rather than perpetual growth metrics. Many belong to associations such as the Henokiens (companies over 200 years old). Their leaders often describe a deliberate preference for core values, core business, and persistence over ambitious expansion.

When Drift Becomes Destructive

The opposite pattern is easy to find. Overexpansion and brand dilution have destroyed or severely damaged many once-promising organisations. Boston Market grew rapidly by opening stores at a frantic pace, then experimented with menu expansion and adjacent formats; the system collapsed under its own weight and entered bankruptcy. General Electric stretched into too many industries, becoming overly dependent on financial services and losing focus on industrial strengths; its market value plummeted from hundreds of billions. Brand extensions that clash with identity, e.g.Harley-Davidson perfume, certain technology companies chasing consumer gadgets far from their core competence, illustrate how vanity-driven scope creep can confuse customers and dilute equity.

In each case, the decisions were often rationalised as growth or modernisation. The underlying driver was frequently the internal inability to remain content with a defined position. The organisation kept saying yes because its people could not bear the psychological cost of saying no.

Addressing the Limitations: Why the Controllable Matters Most

It is true that longevity failure has many causes. Technological disruption can render a business model obsolete overnight. Capital-structure mistakes can leave a firm vulnerable in a downturn. Family succession can fracture ownership or dilute talent. Macroeconomic shocks and industry contraction can overwhelm even well-managed companies. Poor execution of the ordinary kind—bad operations, weak quality, failed products—also kills firms.

These factors, however, are mostly exogenous or at least difficult to fully control. A company cannot prevent the invention of a superior technology by a competitor, nor can it eliminate every external shock. The striver complex is different on two critical dimensions.

First, it is preventable. Governance, ownership structure, cultural norms, incentive systems, and explicit purpose statements can be designed to favour disciplined focus. Family ownership or long-horizon private capital often helps because it reduces the pressure for quarterly growth narratives. Clear criteria for evaluating new opportunities—does this strengthen the core or merely expand the perimeter?—can be institutionalised. Metrics can reward consistency and process excellence alongside measured growth.

Second, it is insidious precisely because it appeals to human weaknesses we prefer not to recognise. Vanity, restlessness, and the desire for status feel like ambition. Leaders and talented employees can sincerely believe they are serving the company’s future when they are primarily serving their own need for stimulation and prestige. The curse does not require malice or incompetence; it requires only ordinary human psychology left unchecked. That makes it a form of poor execution. And it is one rooted in character and culture rather than technical skill.

Because it is internal and preventable, the striver complex deserves special attention. External shocks will always occur. The organisations most likely to weather them are those that have not already diluted their identity and stretched their capabilities thin in the pursuit of perpetual reinvention.

Practical Implications: Cultivating the Discipline to Stay Focused

Resisting the curse requires deliberate counter-measures. Organisations can articulate a core purpose that is specific enough to constrain decisions. They can treat “no” as a strategic muscle that must be exercised regularly. They can separate continuous operational improvement—better quality, lower cost, higher reliability—from identity-shifting moves. They can design incentives and promotion paths that reward depth and consistency, not merely the launch of new initiatives. Long-tenured leadership or ownership that thinks in decades rather than quarters provides a structural advantage.

None of this means stagnation. The survivors improve relentlessly. In-N-Out refines its processes and supply chain. Hermès advances craftsmanship and materials. Lowes expands its practical range and operational reach. The difference is that improvement serves the core rather than replacing it. Progress is stimulated; the identity is preserved.

Conclusion: The Hard Work of Settling

Few businesses last a century because few organisations can master the internal discipline of focus. The striver complex is widespread because it is human. Image drift feels like advancement. Saying yes feels energetic and visionary. Staying in one’s lane, improving processes without seeking glamour, and repeatedly declining attractive distractions feels difficult—almost unnatural.

Yet the evidence from long-lived firms shows that this unnatural discipline is one of the few controllable advantages available. External forces will always threaten survival. The organisations that endure are those that refuse to accelerate their own decline through vanity-driven drift. They understand that true improvement is quiet, cumulative, and often invisible. They accept that the hardest strategic act is frequently the decision to remain themselves.

Lowes has practised a version of this for more than 125 years. In-N-Out, Hermès, Kongō Gumi, and a handful of others have done the same across different industries and centuries. Their example suggests that the striver’s curse is real, preventable, and worth naming. Organisations that learn to recognise it—and to resist the vanity that fuels it—give themselves a fighting chance at longevity that most will never achieve.

Next time you want to change something, think about what you are striving for, and more importantly, why you are striving for it.