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Before I dive into the heart of this article and share with you the modus operandi of the coaching industry—and how, in reality, you make them rich while you are enjoying a 10-page PDF “master plan”—I want to take a step back and explain why I am analysing and researching the phenomenon called the “coaching” industry.
Once upon a time, I was working in the Ministry of Defence, and I spent just a little bit over 1,800 combat days.
My journey included military intelligence services and diplomatic intelligence, and during my trainings, courses, and university, I was told that it is important to understand HOW something is done—the Modus Operandi—not only WHO.
We (operatives and interrogators) were trained to understand what tools, ideas, and deceptive tactics perpetrators utilize to create and reach their goal—financial gain or something more sinister.
So, I want to show and teach those interested in prevention how to do it, not who did it and why.
After all, “Prevention is better than cure,” as I was always told.
The last few weeks, I embarked on an unusual journey. Not to an exotic island or a war zone—I’ve done both—but into the glittering, high-definition world of modern “success creation.”
I aspired to locate the elusive individual wielding a magical wand, capable of transforming me into a wealthy, renowned, prosperous, alluring, and, ultimately, the most acclaimed entrepreneur of our era.
Naturally, I didn’t want just any coach. I wanted my coach. I desired a coach who could transform my income from zero to seven figures before the arrival of my next electricity bill.
And apparently, the market is overflowing with such saviours: NLP Master Coaches, Abundance Architects, and Seven-Figure Mentors who all seem to live in a parallel universe where human biology is optional and the clock bends to their will.
One such coach, with the sincerity of a saint and the confidence of a used-car salesman, explained that for just $5,000, they could teach me how to turn a 24-hour day into 36. I smiled politely, but deep down, I knew I had already learned in school both how to count and how the sun works.
Another coach offered to reveal why formal education is irrelevant to success—for the small fee of $999. This, I thought, was an intriguing bargain: abandon years of structured learning in favour of a three-day PDF course and a few motivational Instagram posts.
It didn’t take long for me to notice a pattern.
Within the first few conversations, I learned three “essential truths” of the modern coaching gospel:
You don’t need school. You don’t need sleep. You just need to pay them.
What’s fascinating—and slightly unnerving—is how quickly my devices began conspiring to help me.
My phone, my laptop, and even my social media feeds transformed into a clairvoyant marketplace, each platform delivering me a fresh coach with an even bigger promise.
This isn’t magic; it’s data collection. The moment I went looking, the algorithm decided I needed to see every guru within Wi-Fi range.
It reminded me of when my son received an Alexa as a prize. I quickly realized that “Hey Alexa” is less of a trigger phrase and more of a polite nod to a device that is always listening. I unplugged it soon after.
The deeper I looked, the more I saw the same playbook recycled.
First, education is framed as irrelevant, even suspicious. Why pursue years of proven training when you can become “self-made” over a weekend? This “anti-academic” pitch is convenient for those with no formal qualifications—there’s nothing to measure them against.
Second, you need a website so shiny it could guide ships to shore. It must feature:
A jawline that could cut glass.
A “hook” video filmed in an empty conference hall or rented boardroom.
Third, the numbers must be astronomical. “I’ve coached over 300,000 people” is a popular claim. No one audits these figures, and if you check their social media, the audience size doesn’t match.
Lastly, the showcase of wealth is presented.
Renting jets, leasing Lamborghinis, and borrowing designer watches are common practices.
Selling the dream requires a backdrop of abundance, even if it’s just a facade.
This is where the science of hype becomes insightful.
These events and seminars work—at least for a while—because of human psychology, not the content. Research into emotional contagion shows that our brains sync to the emotions of those around us.
Put someone in a cheering, clapping crowd, and they’ll start to believe they’ve just had a life-changing moment, even if all they heard was a sales pitch.
Add social proof—the belief that if hundreds of people are clapping, the coach must be worth it—and the dopamine starts flowing. This chemical hit is the same you get from winning a prize or falling in love. It’s addictive.
And then there’s urgency. Robert Cialdini’s persuasion principles prove that scarcity (“only 10 spots left!”) short-circuits our logical thinking.
Suddenly, handing over $3,000 feels like grabbing the last lifeboat on the Titanic.
The issue lies in the fleeting nature of hype.
When the lights dim and the music fades, you step back into your real life. The bills are still due. Your boss still doesn’t appreciate you.
The confidence you felt in the seminar hall now feels more like a distant dream.
Many people chase the feeling, booking the next workshop or retreat, spending more in the hope that this moment will be the one that finally sticks. It rarely does.
Without sustained, structured support, the high evaporates, leaving the wallet lighter and the cynicism heavier.
There’s also a darker side to this. In my professional career, I’ve seen people become targets for crime simply because they advertised their wealth online.
Flashing cash, designer goods, and exact locations on social media is like leaving your front door open with a neon “Welcome” sign.
Government agencies have warned against such oversharing, linking it to socially engineered attacks and real-world crimes:
Real success requires vigilance and discretion, not broadcasting your vulnerabilities to the world.
The most suspicious promise of all is universality. One coach claims their method works for everyone: the factory worker, the CEO, the student, and the retiree.
They use the same PDF, deliver the same pep talk, and use the same hype video. It’s the fast-food model of personal development—identical, processed, and served with extra cheese.
The truth? Genuine mentorship is personal. It requires adaptation, listening, and a track record of success that can be verified, not just imagined.
Coaches, gurus, and NLP practitioners can be valuable—if they’re credible, experienced, and capable of tailoring their guidance.
However, the industry’s dazzling façade conceals a harsh reality: a significant portion of the offerings are merely theatrical.
Is it truly a magic wand? The concept of a 36-hour day remains a fantasy. Is the 36-hour day a reality?
Not happening. Does the seven-figure success story hold true? These success stories are often more fiction than reality.
So next time a coach promises to change your life for the price of a luxury holiday, ask yourself: Are you buying transformation… or just a ticket to the show?
© Mario Bekes. All rights reserved. | ABN 62 757 932 640 | Suite 6, 11 - 13 Brookhollow Avenue Bella Vista NSW 2153
