Suggestions
Kevin Maguire
Writer. Coach. Consultant.
I’ve come to realise that if there is a unifying theme of my career since leaving Google—with The New Fatherhood newsletter, the Therapy Fund (that has helped dozens of dads across world get access to mental health support) and the ongoing coaching work with clients—is that I'm here to help folks better navigate major transitional moments in their lives.
Becoming a parent is one of them, of course—it's one of the most ground-shaking events we will ever be involved in and one of life's biggest and best opportunities for personal growth. But it's transitions beyond that. It's making a decision to twist the arc of your career in a different direction; asking the big existential questions about where work and personal fulfilment meet; and the bold moves necessary to live a life more in tune with your purpose and values. You recent launch may have been a startup, it may have been a baby. I like to think I'm perfectly placed to deal with both, and this leads to a holistic, collaborative approach with my clients.
In addition to this work and as part of my career portfolio, I continue to work with startups and upstarts on strategy-led projects. Over the last five years, I've worked with executives at Nike, HBO, Google and more to help them navigate thorny issues and build better things faster through close-knit collaboration. I always work closely with leading agencies to whitelabel my services, developing and facilitating product development and innovation-led workshops.
Highlights
Are you a good listener?
I built a career based on my ability to listen. I used to work in a record store—listening was my job; I’ve been listening all my life!
My time in advertising was spent listening: I’d listen to clients tell me their problems—mums were no longer buying their sugary cereal brand for their kids; middle-class urbanites didn’t believe their spreadable butter was worth the £1 price premium.
I’d listen to participants of market research groups share strong opinions on washing up liquid and why they held them (answer: because we gave them a £50 incentive to sit in a room for an hour telling us).
I’d listen to teammates share opinions on this week’s key big pitch before attempting to synthesise these disparate elements into a clear, compelling narrative—a problem we could unite behind and solve together, one that would ultimately get a client to sign off a piece of work, get someone to switch to another bank, download a different app, or some activity that would feed the machine and eventually maximise shareholder value.
This is how I have listened—or mistakenly assumed I was listening—my entire life. Every paycheck I banked during two decades in advertising was because of it. But I wasn't listening to understand. I was listening to diagnose and solve. And there's a huge difference.
I've recently realised I've spent my life with my brain held hostage—an overworked triage nurse working an ER night shift, quickly diagnosing patient symptoms before swiftly delivering a prognosis and sending them to the correct corner of the hospital.
Becoming a coach has taught me to truly listen—to hear not just what is being said but what clients aren't telling me (or telling themselves.)
One of my favourite coaching techniques is to ask clients to buy (or find!) a small totem to remind them of their progression, direction, and eventual destination. They place it on their desk—less a "memento mori" and more a constant reminder of the life they want to live.
I look across my desk as I write this and see a few of my own. You can one underneath, embodying a newfound commitment to listen. I was walking through a narrow Barcelona street last year before I was stopped in my tracks by a store window filled with wooden alebrijes.
If your kids have seen the movie Coco, you’ll know these mythical beasts—surreal creatures said to accompany us in the real world before showing themselves as neon hybrids in the afterlife. I looked through the window and felt myself pulled towards a small purple rabbit, lilac and white spots across his body, two giant flaming ears protruding from its head.
Here was an object that encompassed what it meant to listen, half his height dedicated to those fiery ears. I walked in, handed my euros to a Mexican abuela, and brought him home.
He sits on my desk every day. He reminds me I have two ears to listen and one mouth to talk, and that I should remember that ratio in everything I do.
Fei Er Cottage is a Chinese restaurant in Westminister. This month they uploaded three 15-second long ads to TikTok that have—at the time of writing—been viewed a total of 7.5 million times.
Infinitely rewatchable. Instantly gripping. Inarguably authentic.
All executed by their in-house creative team—the owner, who writes, directs, and stars in each one. Zero budget—unless you count the cost of the "best handmade dumplings in London."
And proof that all you need is a good idea.
