You Can’t Spell Advocacy Without Chaos: Cass’s Rules for Survival

Monday morning kicks off in an alarmingly predictable fashion: a triple espresso is my shield, Slack notifications my ignored bane, adn teh universe gets a quiet plea to make the algorithmic forces be in my favour. But then, like a scene from a poorly budgeted drama, Douglas Reed’s calendar invite crashes into my inbox.

“URGENT: Influencer Audit Strategy Session.”

Staring at the screen, my cursor dances the tango between “Accept” and “Pretend I never saw this.” The meeting is a mere fifteen minutes away.

I shoot a distress signal to Billie: SOS. Douglas dove headfirst into influencer metrics. Prepare for the apocalypse.

Billie’s response buzzes back like an emergency flare: omg vibes destined for DISASTER 🔥💀🫠

Upon entering the conference room, Douglas is already there, presiding over a sea of paper. Not just any paper - this is the sort that’s been attacked by a highlighter and annotated with question marks that look like they’ve seen an exorcist.

“Cassandra!” he booms, as though we’re in a period piece and I’m about to receive a dire prophecy. “I’ve been doing some research.”

Those words, coming from a C-suite exec with fresh access to Google, are akin to hearing, “We need to talk.”

“I see that,” I reply, surveying the papery carnage. “What’s the crisis?”

“Social capital,” he declares, like he’s just unearthed the Dead Sea Scrolls. “Did you know our executives have a meagre average of 2,300 followers? And our employee influence score is…” – here, he pauses for unnecessary effect – “…below industry standard.”

Deep breaths, Cass. Deep breaths. “And where did this ‘industry standard’ come from?”

Douglas slides over a printout, its headline screaming: “10 Ways to Maximize Your Influencer Capital in 2024” dated from the dark ages of 2018.

“We need a full audit,” he plows ahead. “Follower counts, engagement rates, influence scores - I want it all. And I want to boost our social capital by 50% this quarter.”

That professional smile that’s more a grimace than anything else is plastered over my face to stop me from blurting out, Douglas, you can’t spreadsheet charisma.

“That’s…ambitious,” I manage instead. “When do you need this by?”

“End of day,” he says, checking his watch like he’s timing an Olympic sprint. “Board presentation tomorrow.”

Right on cue, Billie bursts in, a whirlwind of laptops and tangled phone chargers.

“Sorry I’m late! I was just—” they stop, eyes wide at the paper disaster zone. “Wow, are we time-travelling? Very analog, very chic.”

Douglas nods, pleased. “Billie, perfect timing. You can assist Cass with the audit. I need everyone’s stats.”

“Numbers?” Billie blinks, their voice dripping with the dread of the damned. “Like, vibes but make them Excel?”

“Precisely! Data-driven advocacy,” Douglas enthuses.

I internally gag at the phrase.

“Douglas,” I start, treading as if on a minefield, “I’m not sure we can quantify everyone’s ‘social capital’ in just one day. These metrics are—”

He cuts me off, phone aloft like a torch. “Already emailed the team. I asked everyone to send their LinkedIn and Twitter stats directly to you.”

And there it is. Monday has officially derailed into spectacular, headline-worthy chaos.

By noon, my inbox is a digital wasteland. Marketing has sent profile screenshots. Sales forwarded irrelevant LinkedIn SSI scores. Engineering is MIA. HR wonders if this is a new, peculiar form of performance review.

Across from me, Billie stares at a spreadsheet that looks like it was born in a fever dream.

“I’ve got columns for followers, engagement rate, post frequency, and—” they squint, dubious “—something I called ‘thought leadership quotient’ coz it sounded impressive.”

“And how are we quantifying that?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“Total reactions divided by how often they say ‘excited to announce’ over the last three months,” Billie explains, dead serious.

I consider a career change.

Douglas pings me: How’s the audit? Need preliminary numbers for the board deck by 3pm.

I reply, desperation seeping through: On it. What metrics are key for the board?

Douglas: All of them. Also, can we get a visual dashboard? Something impactful.

I glance at Billie. “Fire up Tableau. Make the numbers pretty - even if they’re utter nonsense.”

Billie’s eyes gleam. “I’m thinking… inferno palette!”

“No flames,” I interject. “Last time, Legal thought we were signaling financial meltdown.”

Billie, slightly deflated, returns to their laptop. Just then, my desk phone rings. It’s Priya from UX.

“Cass,” she begins, the calm in her voice belying the madness of the day, “got a weird email about sharing my ‘social influence metrics.’ Is this a new phishing scam?”

“I wish,” I sigh. “No, it’s just Douglas on a digital power trip.”

“But… why?” Priya sounds genuinely baffled. “I mostly post about user experience and my cat. How does that translate to buisness value?”

“That,” I say, feeling the weight of the absurdity, “is the question no metric can answer.”

By 2:30, what Billie and I have assembled can only be described as a visual affront to data analysis. Bar charts with arbitrary follower counts, pie charts slicing the company into made-up ‘influence tiers,’ and a heat map that resembles a psychedelic coffee stain.

“What about this?” Billie gestures to a chaotic scatter plot. “The Influence Matrix. Followers on the X-axis, engagement on the Y, bubble size for posting frequency.”

I squint at it. “And this tells us…?”

Billie ponders. “That some people have followers, post stuff, and get likes?”

“Groundbreaking,” I deadpan.

Douglas texts: Heading down with CMO to see progress.

“Abandon ship,” I mutter, but it’s too late. The doors swing open, and in walk Douglas and Janine, our CMO, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Cassandra! Show us the masterpiece,” Douglas announces with a flourish.

Channeling every dramatic fiber in my being, I begin. “We’ve conducted a deep dive into our social media presence,” I say, motioning to the visual chaos. “Notice the significant variance in engagement across departments.”

Douglas nods, spellbound. Janine squints skeptically.

“Interestingly,” I improvise with a flair, “our data shows no correlation between follower numbers and actual business impact.”

Douglas blinks. “Meaning?”

I click to a slide titled “Correlation Analysis”—really just a random dot distribution. “Here, follower counts versus business contribution. High followers don’t necessarily equate to high leads.”

It’s artistic gibberish, but it’s artistic gibberish with flair.

Janine leans in. “So, follower counts aren’t the end-all?”

“Precisely,” I seize the opening. “It’s not about quantity, but the quality of engagement. The right message to the right audience.”

Douglas’s face falls slightly. “But the article—”

“Was outdated,” I interject gently. “Social media has evolved. It’s about targeted impact now, not just numbers.”

I unveil our final slide, a makeshift “Advocacy Impact Framework.” It’s a pyramid, with “Followers” at the base, ascending to “Business Impact.”

“We don’t need an audit,” I declare, newfound conviction in my voice. “We need a strategic advocacy program. Real conversations, not just numbers.”

Janine nods, a light of understanding flickering. “This makes sense.”

Douglas, still a touch bewildered, concedes. “So, no need for follower counts?”

“They’re just vanity metrics,” I say smoothly. “We need strategies that align with our real business goals.”

Billie, ever the opportunist, chimes in: “It’s about vibes, not volume.”

Surprisingly, that resonates with Douglas.

“Vibes,” he repeats, thoughtful. “Quality over quantity.”

Janine stands. “I like this, Douglas. Let’s focus on strategic advocacy, not just chasing numbers.”

Douglas nods, pivoting masterfully. “Excellent work, team. Can you draft up this… what did you call it?”

“Advocacy Impact Framework,” I offer.

“Right. For next week’s executive meeting?”

“Absolutely,” I say, the relief palpable.

Once they leave, Billie collapses into a chair, melodramatically. “That was INTENSE. Did we just accidentally innovate?”

“We might have,” I acknowledge, shutting my laptop with a satisfied click.

“So, no more audit?” Billie looks hopeful.

“None,” I confirm, deleting the horror-show spreadsheet. “We’re going to craft something genuinely impactful.”

My phone buzzes. Priya: Whatever you did, it worked. Douglas scrapped the audit for ‘authentic advocacy.’ You’re a wizard.

I reply with a smile: Not magic, just a belief that not everything meaningful can be measured.

Billie leans over, reading. “Deep. Shakespeare?”

“No,” I gather my things, “just the real-world clashing with Excel.”

We exit the conference room, my mental survival guide updated: When metrics cause mayhem, propose a framework. It buys time, sounds insightful, and could inadvertently lead to something worthwhile.

And most importantly, it saves you from dissecting why Douglas’s follower count might dip over a weekend.