First, spot the similarities. Over time, the strategies of incumbents tend to converge. A useful exercise is to overlay the business models of companies in the same industry and then look for areas of overlap. Wherever you see competitors doing the same thing, ask yourself, “What’s the shared assumption behind this policy or practice?” and then, “What would happen if we challenged that belief?” For centuries, innkeepers assumed you had to own rooms to offer guests a bed for the night. Airbnb inverted this belief and now has more than six million listings across the world.

Second, focus on what hasn’t changed. What aspects of your strategy have remained stagnant for years or decades? Over time, legacy practices, like wallpaper, become invisible. Your job is to question whether those 12 13 taken-for-granted practices still make sense. For example, though it endured a lot of pushback from traditional carmakers, Tesla challenged the long-held practice of selling cars through independent dealers. The company’s sleek stores, often located in luxury shopping venues, offer customers a hassle-free buying process. Tesla understands that the best orthodoxies to challenge are those that degrade the customer experience.

Third, go to extremes. Pick some parameter of performance—price, choice, availability, speed—and ask what would happen if we aimed for a 10X improvement? Fifty years ago, a retired physician, Dr. Govindappa Venkataswamy, launched an epic quest to eradicate unnecessary blindness in India. Millions of his compatriots had cataracts but couldn’t afford corrective surgery. How, Dr. V. wondered, could he reduce the cost of surgery by 90 percent or more? For inspiration, he looked at the fast-food industry. “If McDonald’s can sell millions of burgers,” he thought, “why can’t [we] sell millions of sight-restoring operations?” Today, Dr. V.’s network of specialty hospitals, the Aravind Eye Care System, performs half a million cataract surgeries annually.

The implications of this kind of leap to a company’s economic model can be devastating. In IBM’s case it meant the collapse of gross profit margins and the attendant changes we had to engineer to lower our cost structure without compromising our effectiveness.

Yet the hardest part of these decisions was neither the technological nor economic transformations required. It was changing the culture—the mindset and instincts of hundreds of thousands of people who had grown up in an undeniably successful company, but one that had for decades been immune to normal competitive and economic forces.

I suspect that many successful companies that have fallen on hard times in the past—including IBM, Sears, General Motors, Kodak, Xerox, and many others—saw perhaps quite clearly the changes in their environment. They were probably able to conceptualize and articulate the need for change and perhaps even develop strategies for it. What I think hurt the most was their inability to change highly structured, sophisticated cultures that had been born in a different world.

If you had invested in these household names in the 1990s era of shareholder value, you would have lost all your money in GEC and Sears and most of it in the others. Your least bad bet would have been on ICI, whose shares were acquired in 2007 for about one-third of their price a decade earlier. Both GE and Marks and Spencer subsequently lost more than 80 per cent of their peak value. Almost all financial advisers would have agreed in 1995 that a portfolio that consisted of these stocks was a safe and conservative, if unexciting, choice. And that advice would have been spectacularly wrong.

In every case, the activities that analysts and investment bankers applauded diverted attention from the central issues facing the operating businesses, and this diversion was the source of the long-term decline of the corporation. All of these companies cut costs and raised prices in ways that reduced the long-term attractiveness of the business, as exemplified by Marks & Spencer. They engaged in earnings management, effectively borrowing money from the future to enhance reported profits now. As in GE’s financial services businesses. They adopted accounting practices that accelerated the recognition of profits that might be earned in the future but often were not. As at Enron. They were enthusiastic dealmakers, engaging in activities that excited the investment community but which rarely created value and frequently destroyed it. As exemplified by GE. In each case, the short-term boost to the share price was followed by a lengthy – or, in the case of GEC, abrupt – decline. The leaks from the pipes became a flood. Some companies were able to resist the demands of share-holder value. Notable among these stand-outs were some of the leading producers of fast-moving consumer goods (FMCG): corporations such as Proctor and Gamble, Colgate–Palmolive, Coca-Cola, Unilever and Nestlé. The culture of these businesses was and still is dominated by marketing people, for whom responsiveness to the needs of customers is a preoccupation. And that responsiveness is the key to the durability of these companies.

For Penrose, the firm was defined not by the assets it owned or the contracts it made but by its capabilities and its ability to deploy those capabilities in productive services: ‘All the evidence we have indicates that the growth of firms is connected with the attempts of a particular group of people to do something.’ Perhaps that seems obvious. But her emphasis

on ‘the group’ recognises the centrally cooperative nature of business activity, and her identification of purpose – ‘to do something’ – establishes its problem-related focus.