Whoever can sell certainty becomes a god to people who can’t afford to lose

The more anxious someone is, the more they need someone else to decide for them.

In a coach’s office, a mom spent almost a thousand dollars just to hear one sentence:
“Have your kid major in computer science. It’s safe.”

It’s not that she lacks information.
Her phone is full of long articles breaking down every major, and she’s read hundreds of posts on Reddit and Quora from people “who’ve been there.”

What she really lacks is someone willing to carry the fear of being wrong for her.

That’s the price of certainty.
People who can’t afford trial and error are forced to buy “sure things.”

And the ones who can make their judgments sound rock-solid naturally attract trust—and money.

The rich buy probabilities.
The poor buy answers.

Everyone’s “giving advice,” so why can some people charge thousands while others can’t even charge a dollar?

The difference isn’t in how smart the advice is.
It’s in how they handle uncertainty.

Take choosing a college major.
An ordinary friend will say:

“This major might be okay, but honestly, it’s hard to say…”

A top-tier guru will say:

“Trust me. Pick this one. You won’t regret it.”

The second person gets to charge premium fees.
The first person just gets scrolled past.

Anxious people don’t want possibilities.
They want certainty—
even if that certainty is mostly packaging.

The rich control capital and resources. They can experiment, invest, pivot.
If their kid bombs an important exam, they can put them on a plane and send them to an overseas program or a private university somewhere else.

Regular families can’t.
One wrong choice of school or major can mean four wasted years and tens of thousands of dollars down the drain.

For people who can’t afford to lose, every decision feels like going all-in at the table.
So they cling to anything that looks like guaranteed information.

A friend of mine runs restaurants. He told me his biggest pain isn’t “I don’t know what to do,” it’s “I don’t know who to listen to.”

The internet is overflowing with advice.
Every thread sounds reasonable.
In the end he paid several thousand dollars for a one-on-one session with a famous restaurant guru.

That guru didn’t give him some genius, next-level strategy.
But he said it with full-on conviction:

“With this location and this budget, open a ramen place. You’ll make your money back in three months.”

I asked my friend, “Do you actually believe him?”

He said,

“I don’t know if I believe him or not.
But I need someone to make this call with me.
I’ve been agonizing over this for six months. If I don’t act now, the rent I’ve already paid is just burning.”

See? That’s the value of certainty.

It might not even be right.
But it lets you stop spiraling and start moving.

And for people who can’t afford to lose,
the cost of taking action is almost always lower
than the cost of endless overthinking.

Certainty can be faked—and performed

I’ve studied a lot of big-name personal brands.
Some of them are genuinely impressive.
Others are just smoke and mirrors.

But they all share one habit:
they never tell their core audience, “Honestly, I’m not sure either.”

One of the key skills of a top salesperson
is the ability to perform absolute conviction.

Just like doctors have to act hyper-professional,
lawyers have to act ultra-rigorous,
and celebrities have to radiate charisma.

In reality, nobody on this planet can predict the future with 100% accuracy,
or fully judge a person they’ve never actually met.

But top-tier creators won’t say that out loud.
Their script usually goes like this:

“Based on my many years in this industry…”
Experience is the first layer of packaging for certainty.

“Look at these success stories…”
Case studies are the second layer of credibility.

“The data clearly shows that…”
Numbers are the ultimate weapon of certainty.

Then they hit you with a rock-solid line:

“That’s just how it is. Trust me.”

A personal brand becomes “top of the food chain” largely because
they never leave themselves a way to back out,
and they never leave you any room to hesitate.

Vague, wishy-washy advice doesn’t sell.
Only firm, definitive judgment can command a premium price.

Once you’re confident enough and your narrative is airtight,
you’re not the one doubting your life choices—
other people are.

The ultimate closing formula: anxiety + panic

But conviction alone isn’t enough.
The real pros do one more thing:
before they offer you certainty, they blow up your uncertainty tenfold.

“You know that kid who chose this major last year? He’s still delivering food.”
“If you don’t break up with someone like that, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“If you miss this opportunity, you’re leaving six figures on the table.”

They’re not “giving advice.”
They’re manufacturing panic.

Then, at the peak of your fear,
they present a single, magical solution.

First they scare you until your own judgment collapses,
then they toss you a life raft.
And the moment you cling to that life raft,
they’ve successfully cashed in.

The formula is simple:

Create anxiety → Amplify panic → Offer certainty → Monetize.

This doesn’t just show up in education.
It works in relationships, career coaching, investing, health—
basically any area where people are quietly terrified.

It’s not illegal.
It doesn’t even violate the logic of business.

They do provide a kind of value:
they use certainty to shut down your anxiety.

Whether that certainty is real or not
starts to feel almost irrelevant.

Final thoughts

If you think “selling certainty” is just about slick wording,
you’re underestimating these top-tier brands.

You have to make your audience feel like
you’re on their side.

That college admissions guy who blows up online?
He’s not big just because he guesses majors correctly.
It’s because his whole persona is
“I’m here for the kids from working-class families, the ones who don’t have connections.”

That tough-love relationship coach who has tons of female followers?
It’s not just her tips—
it’s that she plays the role of the seasoned big sister
who’s “seen every type of guy” and “won’t let you get played again.”

It’s always the same pattern:
empathy first, monetization second.

First they make you feel seen and understood.
Then you naturally start believing,
“This person genuinely cares about me.”

At that point, whatever they say,
you’re inclined to trust.

When people are anxious,
what they crave most is emotional safety.

Whoever can offer certainty,
whoever makes them feel “finally, someone gets me,”
that’s who they will follow.

Top salespeople don’t just give you answers.
They give you a sense of belonging.

And here’s the irony that suddenly hits me:

The people who get rich off uncertainty
almost never give you a clear, fixed answer.

Take someone like Warren Buffett.
He openly says he doesn’t know what the global stock market will look like next year.

Because certainty isn’t a long-term product.
The moment your prediction fails,
or your “method” stops working,
your credibility collapses.

So the ones who genuinely care about you
tend to say things like:

“The world is inherently uncertain.
What I can help you with is improving your ability
to live with that uncertainty and still make good decisions.”

But… that kind of message doesn’t sell very well.

Selling certainty itself
has become the biggest “sure thing” business of our time.

Anxiety is never going away.
Choices will always be painful.
And humans will always want something—or someone—to lean on.

This isn’t about right or wrong.
It’s pure supply and demand.

People who feel powerless need a “god.”
So someone steps up and plays god.

That’s all there is to it.