I Don't Know My Own Audience

This is embarrassing. But it's true, so I'm writing it down.

February 2025. I'm sitting at my desk in Wagenhoff. Lower Saxony. Detached house, garden, two kids playing in the next room. From the outside, everything looks fine.

I'd been advising coaches and experts for years. Helping them sharpen their offers, understand their audience, find their price. And I was good at it. Really good. I'd helped people hit five-figure monthly revenue. I'd built communities. I'd guided launches that actually worked.

And then I'm sitting there, alone with my laptop, and something hits me — something that had been nagging me for weeks but I'd never said out loud:

I don't know my own target audience.

Not a little fuzzy. Properly don't know. I couldn't tell you in two sentences who I serve, what I do for them, and why they should buy. Me. The guy who teaches exactly that to others.

The irony is so thick you could cut it.

The Moment

It was a regular Tuesday. I'd just wrapped a call with a client — a business coach who couldn't nail his positioning. I asked him the questions I always ask: Who exactly is your customer? What's their biggest problem? Why should they buy from you and not someone else?

He stammered. Like most do. And I helped him find clarity. Like I always do.

After that I closed the laptop and went to make coffee. And on the way to the kitchen the thought hit me like a train: I can't answer those questions for myself.

Not for him. For me.

5 Days Obsessed

I started writing things down. Everything. What I know, what I think I know, what I don't know. Audience. Offer. Positioning. Pricing. The questions I ask my clients — now pointed at myself.

It turned into 80 pages.

80 pages. For myself. No client asked for it. No launch planned. Just me, a keyboard, and the realization that I'd been working on the wrong problem for years.

For 5 days I barely slept. My wife thought I'd moved out. The kids only saw me at dinner — if at all. I started at 6 in the morning and stopped at 2 at night. Not because anyone made me. Because I couldn't stop.

Every question opened ten new questions. Every answer peeled back another layer. It was like a tunnel — the deeper you go, the clearer it gets. And you can't stop because you know: there's light at the end.

What Came Out of It

A workbook. Not pretty. Not polished. No design, no colors, no layout. But brutally honest. Every question I ask my clients, now built into a system. From target audience to bottleneck to the one sentence that describes the offer.

And when I worked through it myself, something happened I didn't expect: Clarity. For the first time in years I knew what I stand for. What I actually sell. And most importantly: who I sell it to.

The thing worked. On me. On the one person I least expected would need it.

The Catch

80 pages. 5 days of work. For a result that should have been clear in 5 minutes.

At the time I didn't see that as a problem. I was too high on the insight. Too proud of what I'd built. But the catch was already there — I just hadn't noticed it yet.

The workbook was like using a jackhammer to drive in a nail. It works. But there has to be a better way.

I didn't know that yet. I was just relieved the fog had lifted. That for the first time in months I knew where I was heading.

What I didn't know: That moment — that feeling of clarity after years in the fog — that's exactly the feeling I now create for others with the Booster. Only in 5 minutes instead of 5 days.

— Alex, Wagenhoff, February 2025

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And that was the moment where everything started.

I didn't know how my own customer thinks. So I built a tool to find out. First for me. Then for others. Today it's called the Booster.