In Praise of Operating at My Scale

In an industry focused intensely on scale, I’ve chosen a different path: to stay small. Deliberately, strategically, and without apology. While many of my peers chase rapid expansion, I’m pursuing something more elusive:  a practice that serves my life rather than consumes it.

At a recent industry conference, I found myself in a familiar conversation,  several of them, actually. Advisors venting about bloated tech stacks, employee issues, partner disputes, and the friction of trying to scale. These weren’t bad firms or bad people , quite the opposite. Many were sharp, seasoned, and genuinely client-focused. But the sheer complexity of their operations was staggering. One firm had changed systems twice in two years, chasing the ever-elusive “better fit.” Another advisor had switched firms three times in the last four years.

One respected advisor confided that his previous firm’s downfall wasn’t poor investment strategy or client attrition;  it was a gleaming downtown office with panoramic views that consumed over 30% of annual revenue. “We were working to pay for an address,” he admitted.

The result? A lot of noise. But not much clarity.

And that’s when it hit me: I love my scale.

Not in a theoretical, “someday I’ll appreciate this” way , but right now, in the thick of it. I don’t run a sprawling enterprise, manage a large team, or wrestle with overly complex workflows. And while that comes with its own limitations ,  it also brings something much rarer: freedom, flexibility, and focus.

Chasing a False Idol

Somewhere along the way, scale became a kind of secular religion in our industry. It’s what everyone seems to be striving toward:  more AUM, more advisors, more tech, more everything. Not because it always makes things better, but because we’ve been told it’s what success looks like.

But I kept hearing the same refrain from firm owners and advisors alike:

“We just changed systems — it was a nightmare, but it’s supposed to be better.”
 “We’re hiring again, but now we need someone to manage the new hire.”
 “I’m thinking about switching firms   again.”

This feels like the professional version of the hedonic treadmill: each improvement promises simplicity, but most deliver only a different kind of complexity. Worse, it distorts perspective. Firms increase their speed to keep up, not realizing they’re running in place. Each change promises to ease the journey, yet paradoxically demands more energy to maintain. Partners describe themselves as “sprinting” toward efficiency   only to end up exhausted without having moved at all.

The irony is that the more complex these firms become, the more time they spend on the machine rather than serving their clients. And the machine always wants more.

To be clear, scaling can absolutely be the right and even ideal path for many advisors. Some genuinely thrive in complexity and organizational growth. The problem isn’t scale itself. It’s the assumption that everyone should want it. That more is always better. And that bigger is automatically smarter, more successful, or more meaningful.

For me, it’s not. And recognizing that has been one of the most clarifying decisions of my career and life.

What I Gain by Staying Small

I don’t say this from a place of judgment. But I’ve seen enough of those paths to know they’re not for me.

Staying small gives me a level of flexibility that others often envy, even if they don’t say it out loud. I can pivot quickly. I don’t need a committee to approve a new idea. My systems are lean and built around how I think. Most importantly, I spend my time with clients and my ideas  , rather than in meetings or on migrations.

My practice runs on just three core systems, intentionally minimalist yet remarkably powerful.

I use Altruist as my custodian and trading platform. It’s modern, intuitive, and built specifically for independent advisors who value efficiency and control. For financial planning, I rely on a robust yet elegantly designed platform that helps clients understand their financial lives without overwhelming them. My streamlined CRM lets me document and track client interactions myself, without needing an additional layer of staff to manage data.

Beyond these core systems, I also use a curated set of tools for research, analytics, and market intelligence. They help me think better, not work harder. I’ve automated only what genuinely saves time while preserving personalization. The result is a system that feels light yet complete, with technology that works for me, not the other way around. When peers describe the “nightmare” of their latest system migration, I can barely relate. My last major tech transition took a weekend, not two quarters.

Small, to me, means personal. It means focused. It allows me to care about the details that often get lost when scale takes center stage.

Yes, there are tradeoffs. I’m not running a nine-figure firm. But I’m not running from fires either. That doesn’t mean I’m not growing. I am. I continue to add clients  at a pace that makes sense for the kind of experience I want to deliver.

Operating within my preferred scale isn’t about stagnation; it’s about alignment. I’m not trying to keep up with someone else’s growth curve. Instead, I’m building something sustainable, thoughtful, and responsive that I can proudly stand behind without burnout or compromise. Maintaining this deliberate pace gives me space to think deeply, sharpen my thinking, and continually refine my decision-making approach. My clients experience this not as a feature I need to point out, but simply as the natural quality of every interaction.

There’s another important distinction worth making: I’m not growing to sell. Many firms pursue scale with a clear endgame — an eventual exit. Build it up, package it neatly, and sell to a larger firm or private equity group. That’s the dominant arc in our industry right now. But that’s not the arc I’m following.

I’m not building Vermillion Private Wealth to offload it. I’m building it to do the work—the thinking, the research, the portfolio construction, the direct connection with clients, and the ability to write, reflect, and refine the process.

A Lesson from Florence

During an extended stay in Florence, Italy, with my wife and daughter, I was gradually drawn to the small workshops (the leather craftsmen, goldsmiths, and printers) that were tucked quietly into the city's narrow streets.

These weren’t global operations or scalable business models. They were independent artisans, often generations deep, practicing their craft with precision and pride. Over time, I came to admire not just what they made but how they worked: deliberately, skillfully, without pretense.

These artisans had no obsession with growth for growth’s sake. No illusion that bigger was better. Their success wasn’t measured in square footage or headcount, but in the quality of their work and the integrity with which they did it.

That time in Florence helped reaffirm that the path I’ve chosen with VPW is not only viable but also momentous.

A Different Kind of Ambition

What I’m practicing is the discipline of focused aspiration. While the industry celebrates empire-building, there’s profound courage in cultivating depth rather than breadth. It’s the ambition of enough . Of knowing precisely what constitutes success on your own terms, and refusing to be pulled into someone else’s definition of achievement.

Maybe scale is the answer for some. But it’s not the only answer. And the more we chase it by default, the more we risk building something that doesn’t serve us   or our clients.

My business is small by design.
Intentional. Focused. Human.

It might not scale as well as others. But it’s mine. And it works.

I stepped off the treadmill not because I couldn’t keep pace but because I questioned whether the destination justified the perpetual motion. I still move forward,  just not in a race I didn’t sign up for.