Working in marketing means launching campaigns, testing acquisition channels, refining messages, changing journeys, building automations, analysing data and trying to understand why an idea worked… or didn’t.
Eat The Iceberg is the collaborative platform for marketing experiments.
The more we test, the more we learn.
The problem is that a good share of those learnings ends up in a dashboard, an old Notion page, a client folder, a Slack conversation, an email thread or, very often, in our heads.
Early growth marketing rested on a fairly simple idea: we don’t assume, we test.
We launched a new acquisition mechanism to see whether it actually generated leads.
We put two messages head to head to see which converted better.
We changed one step in the journey, then looked at what the data had to say.
And, most importantly, we talked about it with other people in the marketing community: colleagues, people on a forum or someone facing the same problems over coffee.
Since then, marketing has become far more professional — and increasingly split into specialised disciplines.
That’s a good thing.
BUT!
The more specialised our jobs become, the more obvious another reality gets: no one can seriously master everything.
Our work means understanding how all these areas fit together.
But understanding how a discipline works and being a genuine expert in it are not the same thing.
The problem is that in real life, that line is a lot less comfortable.
A client asks for your opinion on SEO when it’s neither your job nor your speciality.
Your team wants to rethink tracking when your real expertise is acquisition.
You’re asked to challenge a product problem — you get the broad strokes, but not every subtlety.
And saying, “I don’t really know. That isn’t my area of expertise.” isn’t always as easy as it sounds.
So we search. We read. We ask ChatGPT or Claude. We call someone who knows more about it.
And sometimes, let’s be honest, we bluff a little… Or a lot.
Acting like one person could know everything… That person doesn’t exist. Especially not in marketing.
The better we get at our work, the more we realise how much we still don’t know.
That’s exactly why other people’s experience is so valuable.
Take a typical project.
You discover that a particular creative angle halves your acquisition cost.
That a CRM sequence doesn’t work at all with this audience.
That a tiny change on a landing page produces a significant lift in conversion.
Or that a channel everyone was counting on ultimately delivers nothing.
That knowledge has value.
Not only the final result, but also the context, the budget, the audience, the length of the test, the resources involved and all the small decisions made along the way.
Then the project ends.
A few months later, you run into a very similar problem somewhere else.
You remember testing something that might work.
But with which audience exactly? What budget? What message? What tool? For how long? What actually made the difference?
You know you documented it.
Somewhere. But where?
Good luck finding it all again :)
That’s one of the reasons Eat The Iceberg exists.
To gradually build your own marketing logbook and find the campaigns, tests and projects you contributed to when you need them.
Sharing matters. It matters a lot.
But even before sharing with anyone else, not losing what you have learned is already a pretty good start.
Let’s be clear: LinkedIn is an excellent tool.
It’s hard to beat for building your personal brand, discovering experts, keeping up with your field, or stumbling on an idea you’d never have gone looking for.
But LinkedIn is still a feed.
You can spend three hours turning a genuinely interesting experiment into a carousel or a polished piece of content.
For a few days it circulates. Then new posts roll in and it quietly disappears.
More importantly, content designed for a feed doesn’t always answer the questions we ask when we genuinely want to reproduce an experiment.
What budget? Which audience? What context? Which team? What counted as success? What was already in place?
Eat The Iceberg is not trying to replace LinkedIn.
We’re simply trying to give a second life to work that deserves not to disappear.
These may be very good ideas.
But in marketing, a good idea without context is still… a good idea without context.
What’s actually useful is knowing who tested it, why, with which audience, under what constraints, and what actually happened next.
An Eat The Iceberg experiment goes further, laying out the original objective, the hypothesis, the market, the team, the budget, the implementation steps, the KPIs, the results, and what the author learned from them.
An experiment published on Eat The Iceberg is not a universal truth.
It’s a real experience documented precisely enough for you to ask: “Could this work for me too?”
And, above all, to understand why the answer might be yes… or no.
There’s a principle in software culture I really like.
The work doesn’t necessarily disappear once the project is over.
On platforms like GitHub, you can find what was built, see how a project evolved, identify each person’s contributions and sometimes build on existing work instead of starting from scratch.
Contributors can also show, very concretely, what they can actually do.
No, Eat The Iceberg is not “the GitHub of marketing”.
But it does raise a question:
Why should a marketing experiment run two years ago be almost impossible to find?
Why should a team’s learnings disappear when a project ends?
And why couldn’t what we have actually tested become proof of our expertise too?
I have worked in marketing for more than ten years.
Over the years, I have worked with dozens of companies, clients and very different teams.
I also teach growth marketing to business owners and to my own marketing community.
So I’ve spent a huge amount of time talking with other professionals about what they do, what they try, and the problems they run into.
And since I started working independently, one thing in particular has bugged me.
We learn an enormous amount from one project to the next, yet we are surprisingly bad at building on all that knowledge.
More than once, I’ve clearly remembered solving a similar problem years earlier… without being able to quickly find the details that would have let me reproduce it.
And when I’m tackling a subject I know less well, I don’t necessarily want yet another article about “10 best practices”.
I would rather ask:
Who has dealt with this before? What did you try? What actually happened?
That’s where Eat The Iceberg began.
First as a way to preserve our own experiments more effectively.
Then with a fairly obvious idea behind it:
Eat The Iceberg naturally begins with the marketing community.
But let’s be serious for a second: a company’s growth obviously doesn’t depend only on people with “Growth Marketing” in their LinkedIn title.
An acquisition strategy may depend on an excellent SEO specialist.
A paid campaign may need a content creator.
An activation experiment may be blocked without a Product Manager.
An analysis may require a Data Analyst or Data Scientist.
A conversion problem may call for a CRO specialist.
A retention strategy may combine CRM, product, content and Customer Success.
Growth, SEO, CRM, acquisition, content, product, data, CRO, analytics, brand, lifecycle…
All these areas of expertise belong here and are an integral part of the broader growth marketing community.
The goal definitely isn’t to turn everyone into an expert at everything. Quite the opposite.
If everyone brings depth where they are genuinely strong, collectively we become a lot less bad at everything else.
You don’t need to read a 47-page manual to get started.
Complete your profile with your role, professional environment and areas of expertise.
Not the ones you might like to master one day. The ones where you can genuinely contribute and where you are genuinely good.
Explore the library of marketing experiments.
See what was tested, in which context, how the experiment was run and what it actually produced.
Save what interests you so you can find it later and perhaps test it yourself or with your team.
Document the tests you take part in, their context, how they unfolded, their results and what you learned.
There is no need to turn every experiment into a perfectly packaged success story.
The point is to keep it useful, for you and for the rest of the community.
Publish an experiment. Ask a question. Answer someone on a topic you know. Comment on a real-world experience. Share a nuance that could change how a result is interpreted.
You don’t need to know everything. Bring what you genuinely know.
On a CV or LinkedIn, you can write:
Paid Acquisition · 5 years of experience
That’s useful, of course.
But someone else can write exactly the same thing.
On Eat The Iceberg, your profile can also show the experiments you have actually contributed to: their context, the hypothesis, how they were carried out, the results and what you learned.
Suddenly, your expertise becomes much more concrete.
You’re not just telling people about your experience — you’re showing your know-how, in detail.
Every member has a public profile where they can highlight their expertise and contributions.
Whether you’re looking for a freelance project, a permanent role, a collaboration, or simply to be recognised for a particular subject, your profile gradually becomes a portfolio of your real marketing work.
Contributing helps the community.
It also lets you build something for yourself and establish your expertise in your field.
The more experience you gain in this field, the more something interesting happens.
You learn an enormous amount.
At the same time, you realise just how much still lies beneath the surface.
SEO, CRM, acquisition, product, content, data, CRO, brand, analytics, lifecycle…
Even the best marketer will never master all of it perfectly.
And that’s a good thing.
We don’t all have the same expertise. And our companies aren’t the same either.
Our budgets, markets, constraints and experiences are different.
That’s precisely what makes sharing worthwhile.
No one can eat the iceberg alone.
But if everyone brings the part they genuinely know, we can start nibbling away at it together.
