Recently I made an overdue change for my investment firm. After years operating as ‘Simple Wealth Planning,’ I renamed (yes, rebranded) to Flattery Wealth Management. This change reflects a many years-long shift in how I view my business and its purpose.

Introduction

A slight aesthetic thing I believe in very strongly is the names of companies are often very predictive of future failure or success.

- Peter Thiel

During a conversation with Tyler Cowen, Peter Thiel once talked about his obsession with company naming. Thiel, who named his data analytics company ‘Palantir’ after the all-seeing stones from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, believes that names aren't merely labels; they're declarations of intent and vision.

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The Romans understood had a saying for this, "nomen est omen"—the name is a sign. Names carry meaning and responsibility.

My original name for the firm in 2018, (‘Simple Wealth Planning’), now strikes me as what I might describe as normie; generic, sort of forgettable, a bit disposable. It projected the image of a fleeting organization built not for longevity, but for acquisition. It hinted at: this is temporary.

I was intentionally trying not to sound stodgy or self-aggrandizing. Now, I've come to realize this name telegraphed precisely the wrong message about my intentions in business. Today, I'd like to share why I've rebranded and why I believe putting your name on the door is a good idea.

The Acquisition Epidemic

Let’s begin by taking a look at the current landscape of Wealth Management, the industry I’ve worked in since 2010. I think it’s instructive in understanding a lot of what’s happening in the marketplace in 2025. Today's dominant model is aggregation; giant advisory businesses functioning primarily as acquisition platforms. This structure allows founders to operate independently and to exit more easily, while paying a percentage upward to the parent organization. The result? Firms claiming billions ‘under management’ that more or less administer a software stack and a back office on behalf of those who sell.

This ecosystem has created a burgeoning culture of seller-founders influenced by payouts. Without getting too hyperbolic, the endgame doesn’t seem to be service excellence or multi-generational impact, it's maximizing the sale price. I don’t think it’s a controversial statement to say that advisors, or any entrepreneurs, designing businesses specifically for acquisition will build differently than those building for permanence. In other words, the point of starting the business is to sell it. I'm slightly exaggerating for brevity's sake, but not much.

Contrast this with this ideal of stewardship that you might expect from a wealth manager holding itself out as world-class.

Here is Josh Brown:

..why would anyone set out to build an aggregator in the first place? I guess, cynically, because you can sell PE on the idea of compounding capital by rolling up the industry, which is a model they’re very comfortable with from their experience with dentists and bowling alleys. Okay, but other than that - if you weren’t in it just for the money - why would you pursue this strategy? The answer is that you wouldn’t.

I’ve been offered money to go out and buy a bunch of firms several times in recent years. My response is always the same - why would I buy someone who isn’t as good as we are and then let them DBA using my firm as a resource? That’s backwards. If I’m going to buy someone (and I’m probably not), they’re either better than us already (LOL) or they want to become part of what we’re doing because they love it. I’m not giving someone capital to carry on as they were.

The Conventional Wisdom

It is some combination of easy money, overfinancialization, and perhaps some existential crisis of meaning that have made selling out not just possible, but expected. The presiding narrative across industries has become predictable: build, scale, sell. Entrepreneurs are celebrated for exits rather than endurance. Your local roofing company bearing ‘Family-Owned Since 1978’ on the sign is now viewed as quaint.

And the rollup model has seeped into nearly every corner of the economy: urgent care clinics, plumbers, hair stylists, gym chains, fast casual restaurants, and self-storage facilities. I imagine there are daycare centers being swallowed up by holding companies developing sophisticated financial models on the ROI of MAGNA-TILES in the play area (From a capital allocation perspective, Picasso Tiles offer superior return, deliver near-identical utility per play hour at a significantly lower cost—an arbitrage made possible by the fact that the end-user lacks brand discernment). The playbook is always the same, fragmented industries are targeted by aggregators who promise operational efficiency and scale.

What they often leave behind is homogenization.

What was once a local craft, trade, or vocation tied to a specific place and person is now optimized for EBITDA and eventual sale. A sale of these firms is often viewed as a success for the owners. In the case of family-owned enterprises, I think it's a tragedy.

This perspective might seem radical, but consider this: you might not want to just leave liquid assets (e.g. money) to children without due care. On the other hand, leaving illiquid assets (business, farm, real estate, etc) has the effect of keeping families together through shared purpose and enterprise.

Money divides, meaningful work unites.

The Multi-Generational Alternative

What is the point in starting a business if not to pass on to your children?

– Evan Amato, Becoming Noble podcast

Nassim Nicholas Taleb's ‘Skin in the Game’ principle explains why family businesses often exceed their more corporate counterparts in long-term thinking. When your family name serves as collateral, when your kids’ futures are intertwined with business outcomes, the risks and rewards remain contained within the household. This creates alignment that can’t be replicated in faceless corporate structures.

Take a look at the Dumas family, stewards of their luxury house–Hermès–since 1837 (and profiled in my conversation with Leandro González-Sicilia). When sixth-generation family member Axel Dumas speaks of the business, he doesn't frame decisions in quarterly terms. He frames them in generational ones. The Hermès brand, painstakingly built over almost two centuries, is inextricably linked to the family identity. It started with the name of the founder and patriarch, Thierry Hermès, whose legacy has been carried forward by descendants, (even though it was the Dumas name that gained prominence through marriage). He created a culture where family members understand they are temporary custodians of a permanent legacy.

What does the name of the business have to do with this? For one thing, it signals accountability. While managerialism separates people from the consequences of their actions (Taleb writes about "the Bob Rubin Trade"—collecting bonuses for risks that others ultimately bear), family accountability creates radically different decision-making. Generic, made-up, marketing-speak-names make for a psychological distance between owners and business decisions. They offer a veneer of corporate anonymity that makes it easier to optimize for short-term gains.

Putting your name on the door eliminates this conflict and increases the skin in the game.

But what about the world's most successful companies bearing non-family names like Apple, Amazon, and Google? I suspect the rub emerges during founder transitions; through succession, sale, or death. Would Bill Gates' children still be involved with Microsoft (and due their inheritance) had it been named ‘Gates Inc.’ instead? Maybe.

Elon could still rebrand his ventures under ‘Musk Industries,’ creating a natural path for Little X to inherit not just wealth but purpose.

This isn’t a silver bullet. Even when properly named, family enterprises can become hollow shells if successors lose the original vision, commitment, and correct ownership structure. The gradual hollowing out of Disney is a cautionary tale. But I suspect most readers here aren't aiming to build global megacorps at all, but rather sustainable, profitable, and personal enterprises.

Pop culture sometimes reflects these truths intuitively. I have done a few movie commentary podcasts (here and here) and the ‘90s classic—criminally-underrated-on-Rotten-Tomatoes—Tommy Boy is one I need to get around to. Whether the creators intended it or not, the movie can be viewed as an epic Shakespearean tale. Tommy Callahan III, a benevolent and hilarious Chris Farley/Henry V character, returns to his kingdom of Sandusky, Ohio to reclaim the throne and save his community. Fittingly, the company that Tommy saves bears his family name, setting up the key conflict in the story. Callahan Auto Parts is in danger of getting acquired. This is viewed as a tragic predicament, one that our hero Tommy must overcome. My guess is the creators didn't intend a deep reading of this trope, they were following a form that simply works in a great story.

But take another look, today the Tommy Boy narrative resonates.

But as you realize 'Callahan' has been family owned since Tommy's great grandfather laid the first brick. And I'll be damned if that's gonna change on my watch.

- Thomas R. "Big Tom" Callahan Jr.

It should go without saying that naming the company is just the beginning. The real work lies in embedding values and purpose deeply into the family culture so that they transcend any single individual's leadership.

My Personal Journey

Throughout my career, I've watched as industry best practices push to commoditize wealth management services, to implement cookie-cutter portfolios with investing nihilism ("nothing matters, just buy!"), and avoid unconventional ideas regardless of their merit (Bitcoin being the obvious example). My inbox fills with promises from business coaches offering the proven formula for maximizing my exit multiple, as if selling were the inevitable outcome of building.

What these acquirers want are businesses that can be easily absorbed, rebranded, and homogenized. Assets–representing people, families, relationships–that transfer cleanly from one balance sheet to another. By putting my name on the door, I'm making a deliberate choice to resist this path.

I hope the message to customers is that I stand behind my work. Most importantly, I am telling my kids that they should be proud of their name and from whom they come from. Their Dad is at least attempting to create something of lasting value. Something they might one day help steward.

Conclusion

I would challenge men who are early in the entrepreneurial journey to look beyond conventional wisdom and ask: What am I building that will endure? The answer may begin, quite literally, with your name on the door.

A regret I have is not understanding this principle from the beginning. Your name isn't just a label or marketing gimmick. It's a promise to customers, a signal to the market, and a gift to your descendants.

In a world obsessed with exits and liquidity events, choosing permanence is radical. Your name isn't just your most valuable asset, it's the foundation upon which multi-generational enterprises are built. Use it with intention.

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