The New Metrics: Deep beats wide. Every time.

We've been measuring the wrong things.

For decades, we obsessed over follower counts, engagement rates, quarterly growth, and vanity metrics that made us feel productive while missing what actually moves the needle. But in a world where AI can manufacture likes and algorithms can fake influence, the old scorecards are broken.

Just like taste became the new intelligence, we need new ways to measure what matters. Not the noise—the signal. Not the performance—the resonance. Not the metrics that make us look good in meetings, but the ones that actually predict lasting success.

At Forklift Foods, we see this daily in the food and beverage industry. Brands chase viral TikTok moments while ignoring customer retention. They celebrate launch week sales spikes while their repeat purchase rates flatline. They count social media impressions while their actual market share erodes.

The brands that endure—Red Boat Fish Sauce and our other portfolio companies—they measure differently. They track the metrics that can't be gamed: genuine customer loyalty, authentic word-of-mouth growth, sustainable unit economics.

Because when everyone has access to the same marketing tools, the same distribution channels, and the same growth playbooks, what separates thriving from surviving isn't what you can count—it's what you can sense.

Longevity Over Virality

Viral moments burn bright and die fast. The TikTok that gets 10 million views today is forgotten by next week. The Instagram post that "breaks the internet" barely registers a month later.

We've watched countless food brands catch lightning in a bottle—a celebrity endorsement, a viral recipe, a moment in the cultural zeitgeist—only to disappear just as quickly when the algorithm moves on.

But some things compound. The condiment that customers reorder monthly without prompting. The snack brand that becomes a pantry staple. The product that earns genuine word-of-mouth recommendations at dinner parties.

New metric: Half-life Instead of measuring peak performance, measure staying power. How long does your product remain relevant to customers? How long do retailers keep you on shelf without promotional support? How long do partnerships last without constant nurturing?

Take our work with Red Boat Fish Sauce. The viral food blogger moment was nice, but what mattered was building a customer base that understood the difference between authentic Vietnamese fish sauce and mass-produced alternatives. Years later, those customers are still buying, still recommending, still choosing quality over convenience.

Quality has a longer shelf life than buzz. Always.

Depth Over Reach

We've been hypnotized by reach. Bigger numbers, broader audiences, more impressions. But reach without resonance is just noise pollution.

In the food industry, this shows up as the difference between being in 10,000 stores versus being loved in 100. The snack brand scattered across every gas station versus the artisan product that sells out at Whole Foods.

The most successful food brands aren't the ones with the widest distribution—they're the ones whose customers actually care. They have devoted fans who will drive across town to find their product rather than casual consumers who grab whatever's on sale.

New metric: Penetration depth How deeply does your brand affect the people who discover it? Do they become repeat customers? Brand advocates? Do they change their purchasing behavior in the category because of you?

When we launched Happiness Foods' sprouted pumpkin seeds, we didn't chase mass distribution. We focused on creating genuine believers in the functional food space. One nutritionist who recommends your product to every client is worth more than a thousand impulse purchases that never happen again.

Deep beats wide. Every time.

Coherence Over Consistency

We've been told to post daily, show up everywhere, never miss a beat. But consistency without coherence is just spam with a schedule.

The food brands that last aren't the ones that launch the most products—they're the ones whose flavor philosophy you recognize instantly. Whether they're introducing a new sauce or expanding into snacks, you know it's them.

This is why line extensions fail so spectacularly in food. A hot sauce brand launches protein bars. A kombucha company tries energy drinks. They confuse consistency (always launching something) with coherence (always staying true to their core).

New metric: Signal clarity How recognizable is your brand perspective across different product categories? Can customers predict how you'd approach a new market before you enter it? Do your choices feel inevitable rather than opportunistic?

When The Big Moo expands beyond their flagship cheese, every new product feels like it belongs to the same Wisconsin artisan story. That's not consistency—that's coherence.

The brands we work with understand this. They may evolve, but they never abandon their center. Their values stay intact. Their food philosophy holds.

Conviction Over Consensus

The algorithm rewards what's already popular. In food, this means everyone chasing the same trends—oat milk, adaptogens, plant-based everything—without understanding why they matter or if they fit their brand.

But lasting value comes from conviction. From being willing to bet on flavor profiles others think are too weird. From choosing ingredient stories that don't fit the current wellness narrative but feel authentic to your mission.

New metric: Contrarian courage How often do you choose the unpopular ingredient that turns out to be brilliant? How willing are you to develop products that don't fit current category conventions?

Some of our most successful clients built their businesses on contrarian bets. Red Boat Fish Sauce doubled down on traditional Vietnamese methods when everyone else was adding preservatives and shortcuts. They were right about authenticity before "clean label" became a category.

The most valuable food brands aren't the ones who are always right—they're the ones who are right about things everyone else gets wrong.

Influence Over Impact

We conflate influence with impact. But influence is about reach—impact is about change.

You can influence a million people to try your energy drink. But impact is one person switching their entire morning routine because your cold brew changed how they think about coffee. Impact is a restaurant chain reformulating their sauce because your hot sauce showed them what heat could really taste like.

In the food industry, we see this constantly. Brands with massive social followings that can't move product off shelves. Influencer partnerships that spike awareness but don't build lasting customer relationships.

New metric: Behavior change What do people do differently because your brand exists? Not what they post about it, not what they like—what they actually change in their pantry, their cooking, their eating habits.

The most meaningful food brands aren't built on impressions. They're built on transformations. They change how people think about a category, approach a meal, or prioritize their health.

Resonance Over Response

Engagement metrics count reactions. Comments, likes, shares, saves. But quantity of response doesn't equal quality of resonance.

True resonance is when someone finds exactly what they needed at exactly the right moment. It's when your work becomes part of their internal soundtrack. When they quote you in conversations. When they think about your perspective months later without being prompted.

New metric: Stickiness How often does your work come up in conversations you're not part of? How frequently do people reference your ideas without tagging you? How many times does someone say "this reminds me of that thing you wrote"?

The best ideas don't just get shared—they get integrated.

Curation Over Creation

Everyone can create now. AI can write your copy, design your graphics, edit your videos. But not everyone can curate. Not everyone can sense what matters. Not everyone can see the signal in the noise.

The creators who survive the AI revolution won't be the ones who make the most content—they'll be the ones whose judgment people trust. Whose taste people value. Whose curation makes other people smarter.

New metric: Taste validation How often are your recommendations proven right? When you spotlight something early, does it become important later? When you dismiss something trending, does it flame out?

In a world of infinite content, the ability to choose what's worth attention becomes the ultimate skill.

The Metrics That Actually Matter

Here's what we should be measuring instead:

Instead of followers: Believers (customers who actively recommend your product)

Instead of engagement rate: Repeat purchase rate (customers who buy again without promotion)

Instead of views: Pantry penetration (how often your product becomes a household staple)

Instead of viral moments: Category moments (times when your innovation reshapes how people think about the space)

Instead of reach: Depth (how deeply your brand affects customer behavior in the category)

Instead of consistency: Coherence (how recognizable your food philosophy is across products)

Instead of consensus: Conviction (how often you're right about food trends others dismiss)

Instead of influence: Impact (how much customers' eating habits change because of your brand)

Why This Matters Now

We're entering an era where artificial intelligence can manufacture almost any metric. Fake followers, synthetic engagement, algorithmic amplification—the traditional measurements are becoming meaningless.

But AI can't fake lasting customer loyalty. It can't manufacture genuine word-of-mouth growth. It can't create authentic brand coherence or true culinary innovation or sustained market transformation.

The metrics that can't be gamed are the ones that actually matter.

And the food brands who focus on these deeper measurements—who optimize for longevity over virality, depth over reach, coherence over consistency—they're the ones who will build something real in an increasingly artificial marketplace.

At Forklift Foods, we've seen this pattern repeat: the brands that survive and thrive are the ones who measure what matters, not what's easy to count. They track customer lifetime value, not just acquisition cost. They measure brand loyalty, not just brand awareness. They monitor product authenticity, not just production efficiency.

Because in food, authenticity can't be faked, quality can't be algorithmic, and taste—real taste—always wins in the end.

The old question was: "How many people saw this?"

The new question is: "How many people were changed by this?"

That's the metric that matters. That's the measurement that lasts. That's the signal in all the noise.

Everything else is just counting.

The Coherence Factor

Steve Jobs famously said, "Ultimately, it comes down to taste. It comes down to trying to expose yourself to the best things that humans have done, and then try to bring those things into what you're doing."

But taste isn't about having one focus. It's about threading coherence through your many capabilities. It's the connective tissue between the brands you build, the trends you identify, the strategies you recommend.

New metric: Internal consistency Can people predict how you'll approach a new challenge based on how you've approached previous ones? Not because you're predictable, but because you're coherent.

At Forklift Foods, our work spans from Vietnamese fish sauce to Wisconsin cheese to sprouted seeds. Different categories, different price points, different customer bases. But there's a throughline: we believe in authenticity over optimization, story over scale, quality over quarter-to-quarter growth.

This is the difference between being eclectic and being scattered. Between having diverse expertise and having no clear point of view. Coherence is what gives your multitudes a spine.

When Khong Thai approached us about bringing Michelin-level Thai cuisine to hospitality, it felt inevitable. Not because we specialize in Thai food, but because we understand how to honor culinary traditions while building sustainable businesses. The coherence was there before the category expertise.

The Patience Dividend

There's a reason meaningful metrics feel rare: they require patience. They're the result of exposure, restraint, and long-term thinking.

Cheap metrics are easy. Monthly active users. Quarterly growth targets. Vanity metrics that spike fast and fade faster.

But the metrics that matter in food often mean choosing the thing that's harder up front but more satisfying later. The customer relationship that takes months to build instead of the quick retail placement. The ingredient sourcing that costs more but creates genuine differentiation. The brand story that takes years to fully resonate.

New metric: Compound value What are you building that gets more valuable over time rather than less? What investments are you making in year one that will pay dividends in year five?

When we worked with Bord Bia to spot tomorrow's trends for Ireland's food future, we weren't looking for what would trend next quarter. We were identifying the shifts that would reshape categories over the next decade. That's patient capital applied to brand intelligence.

Bad metrics are immediate. They're sugar for your ego. Monthly sales spikes, viral social moments, PR hits that give you a rush without building anything lasting.

Good metrics linger. They compound. They reshape your entire trajectory.

Not because they're more expensive or elite—but because they ask something of you. They require you to resist the immediate gratification of quick wins for the deeper satisfaction of building something that endures.

Beyond the Algorithm's Appetite

We're not just measured by what we produce. We're shaped by how we measure ourselves.

And in a world where the cheapest metrics win by default—where retailers reward velocity over value, where social algorithms amplify trending over enduring—choosing better measurements is how you opt out.

In food, this means resisting the pressure to optimize for metrics that don't build lasting brand value. Don't chase the commodity pricing game. Don't reformulate for shelf stability if it compromises your core promise. Don't launch in every channel just because you can.

Not to impress anyone. But to protect the integrity of your brand.

So you wait. You resist the vanity metric. You bypass the ego boost of being in 5,000 stores if 4,900 of them don't understand your value proposition. And you build a food business—artisan, functional, innovative—that actually reflects your values.

You choose metrics that make you proud in the kitchen, not just ones that look good in pitch decks.

Taste as Your North Star

Underneath all of this is something deeper: measurement as a spiritual orientation. Not in the religious sense, but in the felt sense of alignment. Of knowing what your work wants to become. Of feeling what's harmonious and what's out of tune.

Good metrics are how you stay in conversation with your intuition.

They help you recognize progress. Not the Instagram kind. The kind that rearranges your business for the better. The kind that makes you still when you look at what you've built. The kind that can't be explained in a quarterly report, only felt.

When you move through your work with that kind of orientation, everything gets sharper. You choose better clients. Better projects. Better measures of success.

The deepest metric of all: Do you like who you're becoming?

Building Your Measurement Taste

Better metrics aren't something you're born with. They're something you tune over time.

You sharpen them by paying attention—to what moves your business forward, what drains your energy, what you return to when measuring progress. You study the numbers that linger. The metric that made you pause and reconsider. The measurement that reorganized your strategy.

You build measurement taste the same way you build any other skill: by choosing the heavier lift. The deeper signal. The longer view. The metric that doesn't give you an immediate ego boost, but gives you a clearer picture of reality.

And you prune. Ruthlessly. You stop tracking vanity metrics, stop chasing meaningless benchmarks, stop letting junk data into your decision-making process. You notice how you feel after looking at different dashboards, different reports, different measures. And if something feels empty, you stop feeding it.

Because measurement is a diet. And your business is always becoming what you choose to optimize for.

So you treat your metrics like they matter—because they do. And you let your attention to measurement become an act of reverence for the work itself.

That's how you cultivate measurement taste. Not as status. But as self-respect.

"A sense of taste is just another name for a personal standard, and standards are always personal." — Clive James

The question isn't what you can measure.

It's what you choose to measure.

And what you choose to measure shapes who you become.