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Building your internal moat

When AI gives everyone the same capability, what makes you, specifically, irreplaceable?

Hervé MaryJune 16, 20264 min read

In strategy, we call it a moat: the ditch, what protects a company from being copied overnight. Turn it on yourself. The day AI hands everyone the same generic skill, where the beginner delivers work as clean as the senior's, speed stops being an advantage. Everyone has it. Surface quality, everyone has that too. So what's your moat?

It isn't what you know how to do. The machine does it too, and faster, and without tiring. If your advantage rests on a task, any reproducible task, it's already melting. Your moat is elsewhere: it's your own capital. Your lived situations, your reflexes won in difficulty, your judgment shaped by hundreds of cases, your accumulated and structured practicePracticeA unit of know-how captured in Marylink: not a document but an executable structure (content, prompt, rules, style).. What's yours because you deposited it over the years, what composes with the rest, what no one reconstitutes by typing a prompt, however good it is.

The moat is no longer what you know how to do. It's what you've deposited, and that adds up.

A reflex you paid for with a mistake you still remember. An intuition that lets you sense, in three seconds, that a deal is going to go wrong, because you've seen a hundred like it. A way of seeing that took you years and that you can't even explain anymore. The machine raises the floor for everyone, it brings each person up to baseline. Your moat is precisely the part of you that isn't at floor level, the part that rises above, and that stays yours when everything else becomes common.

For a long time I believed my advantage was going fast, producing, getting work done. The day a machine went faster than me with no effort at all, I understood that was never where my advantage lay. My advantage was the hundreds of situations I'd been through, the people I'd read, the negotiations where I'd failed before I understood. Everything the machine, precisely, hadn't lived. The day they took the speed away, that's what was left to me. And it can't be copied.

In an era where everyone produces the same thing, faster, a single question remains.

What's left, when you remove the tool, and it's you?
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