Every startup founder dreams of the day someone truly sees them. Not just their pitch deck, not their business plan, but their essence.
Sadly, for many of us, the first person to “get it” isn’t a brilliant entrepreneur, a seasoned venture capitalist, or even your mum after a long chat and a go on the whiteboard. Nope. It’s a dodgy consultant who’s watched one too many Tony Robbins clips and fancies himself your Chief Business Development Guru. (Yes, that’s a real title. No, it absolutely shouldn’t be…)
Ah, the startup founder. That rare, mythical creature who survives on coffee, ambition, and a gnawing suspicion that no one really understands them.
You’ve got a vision. A product. A dream. And what does the world give you? Doubt. Investors with eyes like vacant car parks. Team members constantly bleating on about “structure and coordination.” A co-founder who starts every sentence with, “Just to play devil’s advocate…”
And then, just when you’re teetering on the brink, considering a spontaneous sabbatical in the Arctic, he appears.
The Consultant.
But not just any consultant. A Visionary Alignment Strategist. A Founder Whisperer. A Brand Shaman. He tells you exactly what you’ve been desperate to hear: “You’re not the problem. It’s them, they simply don’t understand you.”
You blink. He nods. You’re hooked.
It might even start with a LinkedIn message that reads less like a professional intro and more like a soft-core love letter:
“I’ve been watching your journey. Your vision is truly disruptive. I don’t normally reach out like this, but I felt… called.”
You ignore it. Then he follows up with:
“I believe you’re building something that’s commercially aligned with where the world is heading. You shouldn’t be doing it alone.”
It all began innocently enough. You were vulnerable. Knackered. Emotionally starved after your 73rd investor call ended with a “We’ll be in touch.” Your product is misunderstood. Your brilliance, ignored. And then, he slid into your DMs. You felt seen. Which, by the way, is exactly how romance scams begin. Only this time it wasn’t Match.com. Worse. It was a consultant.
Sometimes the romance kicks off with a blind date, recommended by a mate because, “He’s always a good laugh at the pub,” and “He went to school with Elon Musk and used to be CFO at the Bank of Bob!”
Much like that suspiciously charming Italian “crypto investor” who says you’ve got the eyes of a goddess and then asks for your bank details, our friend the Dodgy Consultant goes in hard and fast:
“Your product isn’t just a solution, it’s blazing a trail for the entire sector.”
“You’re not just a founder, you’re a conduit for innovation.”
“This isn’t a startup, it’s a revolution waiting for the right person to guide it through scale.”
And surprise! That person is him.
Romance scammers don’t target the weak, they target the emotionally available. And the same goes for these consultants. They prey on founders who:
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Feel undervalued by their teams
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Feel ghosted by investors
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Don’t have a soul in their life who really gets what they’re building
These consultants aren’t solving your business problems. They’re offering emotional stand-ins. They’re not selling deliverables, they’re peddling validation. And you’re not buying services, you’re buying the feeling of being seen. Is that really going to get your product to market?
As for the ones claiming they’ve “industry experience” and “VC contacts,” wake up and smell the coffee, Dave. If they were legit, would they be trawling LinkedIn like a lost soul? If they really went to school with Elon, why haven’t they called him about your ground-breaking idea? I know I would’ve, if I still had Elon’s number and actually believed you’d invented the next best thing since sliced bread.
At first, it’s just a bit of “help.” A few calls. Tweaks to your messaging. Maybe a sexy Ideas Board filled with made-up marketing voodoo like:
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“The Vibration-Aligned Go-to-Market Framework™”
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“Founder-Led Frequency Optimisation”
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“The Synergy Stack (Based on Ancient Babylonian Sales Wisdom)”
Then, plot twist, he drops a hefty monthly retainer request. Or worse, he’s wormed his way in so thoroughly you now believe he’s the only one who can possibly deliver your sales goals.
At this point, you’ve been inundated with ChatGPT-generated reports and he’s hijacked every investor call, spamming follow-ups with AI-crafted decks so intensely, you’re considering offering him a Board seat and equity just to reward the sheer volume of hustle.
Romance scammers erode boundaries by pretending to be everything you’re missing. This guy’s just doing it with pitch decks and endless Zooms instead of stolen shirtless photos and promises to visit you (right before his black Amex gets mysteriously nicked the day he was going to book the flight).
He’ll:
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Exploit your founder loneliness
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Parrot your own ideas back to you, but with “energy” and graphics from a Canva account (they love Canva)
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Frame himself as the only one who truly believes in your genius
It’s not a scam in the legal sense, it’s an emotional heist. Like a Hallmark Christmas film, only written by a sociopath with a marketing diploma.
Eventually, you clock it. Maybe when he introduces himself as your “Chief Business Development Architect” on a call with your biggest prospect, who then quietly asks why you’ve hired someone with no proven track record to handle enterprise sales.
Because let’s be honest; you ignored your partner’s gut feeling about this guy. You dismissed your team’s deep distrust from the get go.
But eventually, you start to recognise that he’s needs to be oiked. And just like a scorned Tinder scammer, be aware that he might spiral so be ready. Block. Delete. And maybe send a passive-aggressive thank you note to whoever recommended him.
Don’t hand out job titles to the first person who soothes your founder ego and dangles carrots. Especially if he wants to be your spiritual twin and your CBDO. That’s not synergy, it’s co-dependency with a Slack login.
Some people get catfished on dating apps. You, dear founder, got catfished by a consultant. Don’t marry the first person who makes you feel special. Real consultants help, and they’re hard to get hold of because they’re busy actually delivering.
The others? They move in, eat all your biscuits, and call themselves co-founders. They’re always free for a call because no one else wants them. And neither should you.
Swipe wisely. And if Brad Pitt messages you asking to be his girlfriend—run, girl, run.
Photo by Karl Moor
