When Purpose Isn’t Load-Bearing

There is a quiet truth most leaders eventually confront: purpose is only real if the business model can carry it. When a company’s declared purpose is not supported by its economics, incentives, and operating model, misalignment isn’t a possibility - it’s inevitable.

Many organisations speak beautifully about innovation, impact, customers, or contribution. And often, that desire is sincere. Leaders want their businesses to mean something. Teams want their work to matter. The language is hopeful and aspirational.

But purpose is not defined by what an organisation says.

It is defined by what the system is built to sustain.

When a business model rewards efficiency over exploration, optimisation over innovation, or short-term profit over long-term value creation, those incentives quietly become the organisation’s true purpose. Decisions follow the money. Power follows the profit engine. Anything that threatens the stability of that engine - no matter how well intentioned - is marginalised.

In those conditions, purpose doesn’t disappear.

It becomes symbolic.

Vision statements, innovation labs, transformation initiatives appear - not to change the system, but to relieve the discomfort of misalignment. Employees sense the contradiction long before leaders do. Partners feel the gap. Cynicism creeps in. Energy drains.

Not because leaders are disingenuous - but because the structure is honest in a way the language is not.

Early in my career, I worked inside a business that was extraordinarily successful by traditional measures. Revenues were significant. Margins were strong. My team was responsible for monitoring and optimising hundreds of millions of dollars in search-based revenue, and the pressure to perform was relentless. It was high-stakes, high-accountability work - and I loved the challenge.

But I had no passion for the business itself.

If you asked people inside the organisation what we actually did, you’d get wildly different answers. Some believed we were a search technology company. Others thought we were a content business. Many spoke passionately about customer value and helping people find answers. Internally, we talked about innovation and impact.

Structurally, though, the business model told a different story.

The engine that powered everything was arbitrage. It was highly optimised, deeply profitable, and fiercely protected. Entire teams existed to keep that engine running efficiently. Incentives, performance metrics, and decision rights all reinforced the same outcome: maximise profit from the existing model.

Because it worked, it became untouchable.

That didn’t mean there was no genuine desire for purpose or innovation. There was - and it surfaced powerfully at times. Shortly after I returned from maternity leave with my third child, the company hired a new VP of Product. She was values-driven, courageous, and deeply committed to end users. Against the odds, she convinced the CEO to pause “business as usual” for an entire month.

Almost the entire company stepped into what became an innovation lab. An empty floor was transformed into a creative space. There were workshops, hackathons, whiteboards filled with ideas about customer value, new products, and a different future. The energy was electric. People felt seen. Purpose felt possible.

Team brainstorming

And then the month ended.

Everyone returned to their desks. To their silos. To the same incentives. The same priorities. The same operating rhythms. None of the ideas made it to market - not because they weren’t good, and not because people didn’t care, but because the core business model couldn’t absorb them.

The teams responsible for revenue generation were exempt - their output was too critical to disrupt. Other teams learned to stay out of the way. People who longed for meaning quietly lowered their expectations.

Purpose existed, but it floated above the system.

Innovation was encouraged, but not embedded.

Values were spoken, but not rewarded.

Over time, the organisation continued to perform financially, but it stopped evolving.

That experience taught me something I’ve never forgotten: when a business model cannot support the purpose it claims to serve, purpose becomes performative. Not because leaders are dishonest, but because structure always tells the truth.

I often think about purpose like architecture. A building can be beautifully designed - light-filled spaces, elegant finishes, inspiring form. But if the load-bearing walls are positioned to support something else entirely, the building will always behave according to its structure, not its intention.

Purpose works the same way.

An organisation can talk about innovation, customer impact, or contribution. It can genuinely want those things to be true. But if the load-bearing elements - revenue model, incentives, decision rights, operating cadence - are designed to support something else, that becomes the real purpose.

Alignment happens when purpose is structural. When it is embedded into how value is created, measured, and rewarded. When trade-offs, not slogans, reinforce the same reason for being.

If purpose isn’t load-bearing, it isn’t purpose.

It’s decoration.

Where in your business is purpose spoken - but not structurally supported - and what would need to change for it to truly carry weight?