So, I’m here again—coffee in one hand, my cat demanding attention (as usual)—trying to think of something real to say about ProAct Invest. No polished scripts. Just me, slightly blurry-eyed, hit-or-miss punctuation, and enough emotion to sound… well, human.
Let me walk you through my thought process:
I landed on the “Our Philosophy” page—great stuff, mission and all that—but my brain kept wandering. I kept thinking, “Cool, but what’s the story behind the mission? Who decided this was the way to go—some founder in a messy apartment at 2 AM?” Because that’s what I relate to: people making decisions in chaos, not boardroom solemnity.
Then I stumbled across a bullet point about “long-term capital growth.” Fine, jargon checked off. But I’d rather read something like, “I once held my breath for a month while watching a single holding swing 20 percent—terrifying, absolutely—but hey, that’s investing.” Feels messy, yes, but honest. People don’t bond with tightly edited press releases—they connect with vulnerability.
Oh, and the FAQ section! Helpful, but too neat. I’m the kind of person who reads an FAQ and thinks, “Wait, what if I’m the weird person asking X?” I want an answer that says, “Hey, that’s a great question. We’ve all thought it.” Not a stiff paragraph. Maybe a personal aside like, “(Honestly? We hate buzzwords too—but ‘liquidity’ is not just for lawyers.)”
I realize something, though: every page on the site is well-structured. Probably tight with UX experts and all that. But here’s a thought—how about a “behind the curtain” sidebar? Something like:
Behind the curtain: “That chart up there was redesigned, oh, three times—because one of us insisted the line should be purple, not teal. And yes, teal won.”
That’s a tiny human moment. People love that. It’s unpredictable, like watching someone trip but laugh it off.
Then I ask: do they have a section for “common investor mistakes”? I sure hope so. Everyone has made one: buying a hot stock at peak, or ignoring their portfolio for months—only to check and go, “Um… what happened?” A blog post like, “I forgot to rebalance my account for nine months. Cringe.” Hell, I want that confession.
And design-wise—they could toss in a casual doodle or stick-figure on a blog post. Something like a little cartoon of a person staring at a crashing graph, sipping tea, with the caption: “It’s fine—deep breaths.”
I want the “Resources” page to prompt, “Looking for something weird or specific? We wrote it.” And then show four quick links—for example:
- How inflation headlines mess with your head
- Retirement myths no one told you (‘50 is old!’ oh? really?)
In WordPress, you could format these with little icon bullets—coffee cups, pens, sleepy cats—just enough to crack the veneer of formality.
Okay, so here’s the 🧠 moment: what if ProAct posted a “Weekly Misfire”? A quick note like, “This week we thought emerging markets were trending… but they dipped. Here’s what we did next.” Like a short, imperfect, 200‑word update. No spin. Just status and feelings: “Disappointed? Sure. But still learning.” That humble transparency is gold.
Then, a simple call-to-action that doesn’t feel like a sales pitch. Something like:
“Hey, want to swap stories about investing flops? Drop us a line. We promise not to judge (well, not too much).”
Because let’s be honest: we all have stories where we stared at our screen, heart pounding, thinking our portfolio was doomed. Admitting that connects, more than glossy performance metrics ever will.
So yeah, if I were writing that next blog post or site update, here’s the style I’d bring:
- Short, punchy intros (“So I’m here again…”)
- Parentheticals filled with personality (“(as usual)”, “cringe”, “um…”)
- Mini narratives about real feelings—fear, excitement, confusion.
- Odd but relatable jokes (“coffee in one hand, cat demanding attention”).
- Links to helpful reads (nofollow)—but not too many, just enough to be useful.
Maybe this whole thing is a bit scattered—and that’s the point. Life’s messy. Investing is messy. So why pretend everything’s buttoned-up? Let people read something that feels like it was typed during a nap, with one eye open and two fingers on the keys.
And yeah, 800-ish words, give or take. Enough to feel real, not a Twitter thread. Perfect length to keep someone interested, not bored.
Hope this gives you another raw take—one that wobbles, sighs, and maybe even yawns mid‑paragraph. Because perfection is suspicious, anyway 😊.
