Chapter 3: Revealing the need
Leo gently pulls out a chair and sits down opposite them, a genuine smile playing on his lips that immediately catches the light. He has the build of an athlete, the deep voice of a man in his fifties who has spoken a lot in public, and an almost hypnotic presence. But as soon as he starts talking, you sense the contrast: his words are clear, precise, without embellishment. No grand speeches, just concrete facts.
Max announces solemnly, “Okay, let me introduce you to Leo… A serial entrepreneur with ten unicorns to his credit.”
Julien’s eyes widen behind glasses that are a little too large for his narrow face. His perpetual student look—skinny shoulders, wrinkled shirt, jeans that are too long—contrasts with Léo’s muscular confidence. Under his eyelids, two purple halos betray weeks of sleepless nights; with a reflexive gesture, he pushes back the rebellious strand of hair that falls over his forehead. He blurts out an incredulous “ten?”
Leo bursts out laughing. “Wait, Max, are you trying to make me look like Elon Musk or something? Let’s correct that right away before they think I have rockets in my backyard.”
Max suppresses a smile to remain solemn. “Still! At sixteen, while studying engineering—and already the youngest in your class—you started a medical start-up that’s changing the game.”
Leo raises his hands as if to say “stop” and smiles. “Okay, let’s be honest. Yes, I co-founded this company with my uncle, who knew the field inside out, while I was still a student. I was far from being the genius behind it. But yes, we released software that allowed healthcare to centralize patient monitoring and, above all, to identify commonalities between rare cases. It helped accelerate research on certain cancers. On that point, I admit, we can be proud.”
Julien lets out an admiring “wow.” Sitting next to him, Sophie shares the same studious pallor. Her brown hair, hastily gathered into a bun with a few stray strands escaping, is the first clue to long evenings spent in front of a screen. She has a habit of touching her left temple with her fingernail when she thinks, then biting the inside of her cheek slightly before speaking. She prompts Léo to continue recounting his exploits: “And how old were you again?” “Seventeen. But relax, at that age, I was mostly just a T-shirt-wearing geek who didn’t sleep. And frankly, I made every mistake possible.”
Max continues enthusiastically: “And then, at eighteen, you created the concept of ‘intuitive online learning’.”
Leo laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah… That was fun. I was convinced that French education was stuck in the 18th century. I wanted to create something that would generate live lessons based on the questions students asked. Great idea, big buzz, and… big panic from the government when kids ended up skipping three grades in one year. We got TV debates on ‘do we still need high schools?’ and all that fuss. Spoiler alert: I also almost got lynched by the unions.”
Sophie laughed heartily this time. “Seriously?” “Seriously. And guess what? I got kicked out of my own company two years later. Too many operational errors, not enough process. It stings, but it’s a learning experience.”
Max, unperturbed, continues as if reading from a list: “Then urban mobility, AI, and even management support…”
Leo interrupts him again: “Max, stop with the superlatives. Yes, I’ve worked on some cool stuff. Yes, there have been successes. But behind every success, there are sleepless nights, last-minute pivots, and monumental setbacks. I’m not a legend, I’m just a guy who likes to try things… and who has survived long enough to tell the story of the worst moments.”
He punctuates his sentence with a wink, triggering a general burst of laughter. But behind the humor, there’s a detail: the way Léo checks his phone at regular intervals, as if he were carrying the weight of another upcoming meeting, another bet in progress.
The air is charged with a curious tension: the kind that comes with stories that inspire as much as they intimidate. It’s Sophie and Julien’s turn to share their journey, their vision, and the gray areas that are holding them back. Leo listens attentively, his arms crossed on the table, his eyes slightly narrowed in concentration. Around them, the café hums softly: murmurs mingle with the clatter of cups, a microwave oven emits a high-pitched beep, and the warm smell of coffee warms the air. A mother rocks a baby near the radiator, a hospital worker exchanges a few words with a colleague with a smile, while in the distance, a dish trolley clatters softly against the linoleum.
Julien concludes by emphasizing the need to test the idea in the field. A mischievous gleam flashes in Léo’s eyes. He folds his hands, palms facing each other as if revealing an invisible card. “How about we test it now?”
Sophie blinks, taken aback. “Now?”
Léo, enjoying the surprise he has just caused, continues his argument. “Yes. Why not organize a small focus group right here? Look around you: there are caregivers, patients, visitors from all walks of life. You won’t find a better place for immediate feedback. A sheet of paper, a pencil, two or three well-posed questions… and you’ll quickly find out what resonates, what bothers people, what intrigues them.”
Sophie almost stops breathing; her gaze clings to Julien as if he were her last safety net. Her hands tremble around the prototype she brought with her, already hidden in a backpack chosen to be as inconspicuous as possible. ”In a hospital?” Her voice quivers. “But we don’t know anyone there, and we risk disturbing people for nothing. What’s more, it exposes our concept to a potentially large group before we’ve secured our intellectual property. Remember, Julien, that startup in Lyon that got copied after a simple clinical demo? An intern secretly filmed their device, the video ended up on a biomedical forum in Shenzhen, and three months later a clone was circulating at the MEDICA trade show…”
Julien turned pale. “Léo, it’s too risky, everything could go up in smoke,” he whispered. “A simple selfie, a recording of our discussions, and we’ll lose years of R&D.” The room suddenly seemed too small, saturated with invisible threats. Their silence was heavy, filled with the anxiety that their invention would slip away the moment the door closed. Julien took a breath, composed himself, and turned to Leo, wanting to clarify the proposal. “Excuse me, Leo, but could you explain exactly what you mean by a focus group and how it could be useful to us?”
Léo complies. “Of course. A focus group is essentially a guided discussion session with a small group of people. It is used to gather opinions and reactions on a topic or product, service, or idea before going any further. It helps us identify potential needs, understand expectations, and gather collective intelligence. It’s a quick and direct way to get qualitative feedback that can be crucial for refining a product.”
Sophie, your fears are legitimate, but remember: an idea is like a seed carried by the wind. If you lock it in a chest to “protect” it, it will dry up; if you plant it in the ground and water it before the others, it will sprout and become an oak tree. In this business, no one can patent the wind: trends blow everywhere; what you imagine this morning, dozens of teams are already dreaming of somewhere else. Look at Kodak: in 1975, engineer Steven Sasson built the very first digital camera. Management kept the prototype under lock and key so as not to cannibalize film sales. While they were locking away the idea, Sony, Canon, and others rode the digital wave. The result: in 2012, Kodak filed for bankruptcy, overtaken by those who had turned the same idea into a product, then a market. The real value, therefore, lies not in the bare concept, but in our ability—and our speed—to shape it, test it in the field, and turn it into a sustainable model. In other words, let’s grow the tree rather than collect the seeds.
Julien, slightly moved: “But we developed the technology, it’s not just a simple idea! The tree is in this bag!”
Léo, keeping his cool, responds with a hint of firmness: “Julien, I applaud the achievement: designing a brain-reading headset with five people, including two interns, in two years, by stacking open source bricks… it’s remarkable. But we have to distinguish between a technological gem and a product that actually sells. Remember Magic Leap One. Technically impressive, more than $3 billion raised, light-field optics worthy of a science fiction movie; yet, due to a lack of clear use and an unaffordable price, barely a few thousand units left the warehouses before the company laid off a large number of employees. In contrast, Meta Quest 2 made do with more basic components, but with a clear proposition: play and socialize in VR without a PC. The result: 10 million headsets sold in less than two years.
Your prototype is like a handmade Magic Leap: brilliant, fascinating… but fragile. But while you and four others are tinkering with open-source foundations that are accessible to everyone, giants like Neuralink, Meta, Microsoft, and Tencent are funding teams of hundreds of engineers, ordering their own ASICs, and buying entire production lines. Without a clear commercial strategy—who will use the headset, what immediate benefits will it offer, at what price, and with what after-sales service—you run the risk of remaining the “likeable pioneers” that everyone talks about… and that the heavyweights will overtake.
Sophie and Julien remain silent for a moment, the weight of Léo’s words resonating in the room.
Léo adds: “Remember, a successful idea is much more valuable than a perfectly secure idea that never leaves the garage. It’s crucial to find the right balance between protecting your concept and testing it in the real world to validate and improve it. Also, focus on these people’s needs rather than their opinions about your technology! In fact, focus on their needs, not their opinions.”
Julien interjects, perplexed: “Leo, you advise us to focus on the needs of the people we’re talking to, but at the same time, you say that their opinions are secondary. Isn’t there a contradiction here?”
Leo replies: “No, there is no contradiction. You will quickly realize when observing your interviewees that there is a difference between what they tell you, what they do, and what really bothers them, factually! For example, someone might criticize the ergonomics of your headset while using it frequently from your first working prototype because it meets a crucial need. Also, opinions can be influenced by several factors, such as a reluctance to offend, a lack of perspective on their own needs, or even their mood at the time. That’s why it’s essential to distinguish between factual needs and mere opinions, and above all, not to talk about your solution. Henry Ford himself once said, “If I had asked people what they wanted, they would have said faster horses.”
Max picks up a flyer from the cafeteria bar and draws a table on the blankest part. “Remember this,” he insists, “we’re still in the left column. If we jump straight to the right, we’re testing the bandage before we know the wound.”
| Exploration | Validation |
| “What part of your shift is the most exhausting?” | “Do you understand the interface?” |
| “What are you already trying to do to solve this?” | “Is the headset too tight?” |
Julien is worried. “But if we don’t show anything, they’ll think we’re selling hot air,” he murmurs.
Leo shakes his head: “On the contrary, it’s like serving a souffé before asking if the guests are lactose intolerant. Today, we’re listening.”
He turns to Sophie: “Imagine that your helmet is already perfect; what problem would it solve here?” This question ends the debate, reminding Sophie and Julien why they asked for his help in the first place.
Excited but still apprehensive, Sophie and Julien decide to take on the challenge despite the risks. They carefully prepare for the focus group they are about to conduct at the hospital. Their first objective is clear: to identify high-value use cases for their mind-reading helmet. They know that this step is crucial in determining the desirability of their product, an essential element in transforming their invention into a viable business.
Léo leaves the hospital while Max says he is going to visit a patient he knows. Still sitting at a table in the cafeteria, Sophie opens a notebook and lists the information they want to extract in pencil. Julien watches her for a moment, surprised. “Where did you learn about this focus group method? We’ve never organized one since the beginning of the project.”
Sophie, a little embarrassed, replies, “I took a user research module at university, but I didn’t realize how important it was while we were absorbed in the technical aspects,” she explains. “Today, we need to understand the real circumstances in which our headset will create value.”
So they decide to turn the focus group into a real ideation workshop: gathering a range of situations where communication breaks down, then seeing how their technology could restore it. The variety of profiles present—caregivers, workers, visitors—should bring up use cases they would never have imagined. And, who knows, open the door to needs that are still hidden. During their discussion, Sophie takes numerous notes. She then tries to take a step back to identify the pitfalls to avoid: confirmation bias, desire to please, authority effect… Julien looks up and asks, “Confirmation bias… I think I understand, but can you clarify? It’s about avoiding steering the answer with the question, right?”
Sophie steps away from the keyboard. “Partly, yes. More precisely, it’s our tendency to only notice things that confirm our ideas. It creeps into everything: the wording of a question, the tone used, even the examples cited. If I ask, “Do you like our headset?” I’m creating this bias, for example, because I’m already implying that the headset is worth “liking.” To avoid this, we need to explore the user’s experience without trying to validate our solution.”
She writes two suggestions: “How do you feel when you communicate along the production line?” and “What situations frustrate you the most?”
“These questions invite them to describe their daily life,” she continues. “Then I follow up with: ‘Can you tell me about a specific case?’ or ‘How did you solve this problem?’ I never mention the headset, otherwise we fall back into the trap.”
“And we monitor our reactions too,” concludes Sophie. “No satisfied tone when someone agrees with us, no rephrasing that guides the answer. That’s how you defuse confirmation bias.”
To avoid influencing responses from the outset, they also choose not to reveal their product to participants before asking their initial questions. Instead, they start with a discussion about the general challenges of communication in noisy or stressful professional environments, before subtly guiding the conversation towards the specific features of their headphones. They revise the questions along these lines: “Are there situations in your work environment that slow you down due to poor communication or difficulties in conveying information?”
“And when you talk about asking open-ended questions… How is the question you just asked not closed? For me, a question is a question,” Julien replies.
Sophie chooses to explain using two examples that she types into her computer before turning the screen toward Julien:
– Do you already use communication headsets at work?
– What bothers you most about your current communication tools?
“The first one,” she explains, “is a closed question. You get a yes or no answer, and you’re stuck in that framework. The second one is open-ended: it invites the person to talk about their experience, to criticize, to nuance.”
Julien squints, then nods. “Okay… What if someone just answers ‘everything’s fine’?”
“So let’s start again.” Sophie puts down her pen and mimics the exchange: “What makes ‘everything okay’? Can you describe a time when the tool really helped you? Or, on the contrary, a time when it held you back?” Each follow-up question reopens the field, rather than closing it.
Julien notes in his notebook: Open-ended questions: who, what, how, why… never yes/no. Then he proposes a question for the focus group: “What aspects of your communication tools would you like to see disappear or evolve?”
Sophie is satisfied. “Perfect. With that, we have both an open-ended question and we minimize confirmation bias: participants are no longer trying to validate our idea, they are describing their own. Plus, it’s shorter than my initial question. It’s important that questions are short and clear , so as not to lose participants or put them in a situation they perceive as humiliating and in which they would not dare to participate fully.”
Sophie raises another issue: “You know, Julien, there’s a subtle trap in focus groups: group bias. As soon as a charismatic voice rises, everyone starts revolving around it and original ideas disappear.”
Julien doesn’t believe Sophie’s argument. “Do you think we’re going to have a star in the audience, Sophie? Aren’t you being a perfectionist?”
Sophie, thanks to her years of experience dealing with Julien’s personality, responds firmly. “It’s not perfectionism, Julien, it’s prevention,” she explains without raising her voice. “Group dynamics are sometimes unpredictable: all it takes is for one person, even unintentionally, to take up too much space for the others to censor themselves.”
Julien doesn’t dare to insist too much and asks the question directly: “And how do we avoid that?”
Sophie rattles off her answer as if she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. “That’s something that struck me when we studied it at university because it led to two weeks of practical work. So, first, we break down each question into three stages. Stage one: divergence. We open the floodgates; everyone throws out every idea that comes to mind, even the craziest ones, without any censorship or commentary, using Post-it notes. It’s like fireworks: quantity is key.”
After a short silence, Julien continues: “So no one criticizes, is that right?”
“Exactly.” Sophie continues, immediately laying the second stone. “Next comes clarification: we group the Post-it notes together and rephrase them. We ask ourselves, ‘What exactly do you mean?’ We identify duplicates and clarify any areas of ambiguity. The fragments of ideas are then transformed into coherent constellations.”
Julien nods, clearly impressed. “And what about convergence?”
“That’s the third wave,” she continues, her eyes sparkling. “We select and prioritize. We compare, we vote, we decide. In the end, only the most relevant ideas remain. This pace and the use of Post-it notes before speaking prevent the most influential speaker from imposing their vision: everyone first has space to think, then to clarify, then to choose together.”
Julien smiles. “Three stages, three breaths… It’s almost like a three-act play where everyone has a real role to play.”
Aware that this focus group is only the beginning, they plan to collect each participant’s contact information and ask for their consent to contact them again in the future, thus ensuring continuous follow-up and enriching their database for future analysis.
To facilitate the focus group, they take into account the advice Max gave them before leaving: Sophie will lead the first part while Julien takes notes, then they will switch roles for the second half of the session. As a thank you, they come up with a little game for the participants: a free trial of the headset, where each person thinks of an object that the headset has to guess. It’s both fun and reveals the capabilities of their technology. However, they mention a surprise gift in the promotion of their event, to avoid disrupting their workshop from the outset by influencing the discussions.
Once the focus group process was clearly defined, Sophie and Julien took action and Max joined them. He seemed to have strong connections at the hospital, and with his help, they used the hospital’s printers to create flyers. These were then distributed to all floors, inviting staff and patients to a celebration room discreetly tucked away at the back of the café.
When the clock strikes the appointed hour, Julien holds the door open and lets in about twenty participants. The room, located on the ground floor of the hospital, has a large sky-blue wall that Sophie and Julien have quickly prepared: two large vertical strips of repositionable tape already mark out the columns corresponding to the questions of the day. Opposite this improvised panel, a round table occupies the center, flanked by two rectangular tables, giving everyone the opportunity to sit comfortably. A video projector lies dormant against the ceiling, unused for the occasion: they want discussions without a screen in between.
The hubbub subsides as Sophie steps forward to the center of the room. “Thank you for coming,” she begins. “You’ve probably seen our flyers announcing a workshop on ‘barriers to communication’. Specifically, we are working on a system that will ultimately facilitate the instantaneous transmission of information. Before going any further, we need to understand your daily realities: where words get lost, where messages get distorted, why misunderstandings slow down your work. Today, you are our scouts.”
She points to the large blue wall. Thin strips of tape mark two columns, each ready to receive a theme. “This wall is yours. During our discussion, you will be invited to use the Post-it notes to write down your ideas. Use as many as you like. We’ll start with a first question that you’ll answer in several phases. In this first phase, no criticism: we’re looking for quantity before quality. You can also bounce off someone else’s idea with a new Post-it note .” With a gesture, she points to the multicolored squares and adds that markers are also available nearby.
The participants spread out around the wall, markers and Post-it notes in hand, ready to jot down their ideas on the blue wall. With a certain amount of stress, she then asks the first question: “Are there situations in your work where communication slows you down or distorts information?” A ten-minute timer starts immediately.
Everyone concentrates on their first Post-it note, their heads slightly tilted toward the paper. Pens fly, giving rise to a flurry of ideas scribbled at top speed. Not a word is spoken; only the felt-tip pens rub against the colored cardboard. Once their inspiration is written down, each participant takes turns standing up to stick their idea on the wall, soon forming a colorful mosaic where every thought, big or small, finds its place and remains visible to all. The room breathes in unison, suspended between studious silence and the distant ticking of the timer.
The timer stops and a brief chime echoes off the walls. The exercise moves on to the second phase with three tasks: sharing, clarification, and collective sorting.
Sophie takes a step forward to get everyone’s attention. She explains the rules: “For this second phase, everyone presents their ideas. While the person is presenting their ideas, the others ask any questions they need to ask in order to understand. Above all, no judgment! And if two Post-its have similar ideas or a common theme, put them together. Who wants to start?”
The circle hesitates for a moment. A worker in blue overalls finally stands up, crosses the room to the wall covered with colorful squares, and then places a finger on one of his Post-it notes. “The noise from the machines interferes with communication.” His voice resonates with confidence.
The audience doesn’t seem to understand what he’s talking about. Sophie suddenly realizes that this statement lacks context because they don’t know each other. She stops, apologizes, and suggests a quick round of introductions: names, roles, backgrounds. The group gets to know each other; nurses, workers, engineers, and caregivers make up a surprising mix.
Once the introductions are over, the sharing phase can resume. A maintenance engineer immediately asks, “What type of noise is most annoying? The alarms, the chain itself, the carts?” The worker describes the uninterrupted rhythm of the presses and the sharp clang of metal boxes falling into the bins. Two nearby Post-it notes, one on alarms and the other on auditory fatigue, migrate to join his; a small thematic group forms.
A nurse takes over. She points to a pale yellow square: “Between the monitoring alarms and patient calls, we’re constantly repeating the same instructions.” A stretcher bearer adds that he often has to raise his voice, which adds to the confusion. The three of them move their notes side by side.
Further away, a workshop manager raises her hand, then walks over to an orange Post-it note. “Visual fatigue,” she reads. “The lights are flashing everywhere, so we don’t pay attention to them anymore.” She explains the difference between a critical indicator and a simple notification. The nurse recognizes the same problem in the cardiology corridors; she tears off her second Post-it note and places it under the workshop manager’s. A “Visual signal” cluster is formed.
Sophie, standing near the board, slightly adjusts the squares. With each clarification, one Post-it note moves, another is covered, as if the mosaic were alive. The Post-it notes, which until then had been scattered across the wall, naturally come together, guided by themes that have not yet been named but which seem to bring them together.
Sophie finally announces the last phase of work around the first question: convergence. The participants finish grouping the Post-it notes by theme or type of idea while continuing to challenge the content. The link between “permanent alarm” and “auditory fatigue” sparks a lively debate; the Post-it notes migrate again, merging or splitting. Julien, a smile on his lips, observes the dynamic. Sophie suggests the names of the themes: Noise, Visual Signal, Auditory Fatigue.
A logistics supervisor moves her sticky note for the fifth time. “Ah, I realize that my idea applies to the visual signal group,” she says with a slight laugh. She moves her sticky note and adds another one, inspired by her colleagues.
After a rich discussion on the challenges of communication, it’s time for the second question, for which they unveil their mind-reading headset project, linking the theme to their technology. Sophie’s voice becomes lower, almost conspiratorial. “We would now like to tell you about a prototype… a mind-reading headset, capable of transforming neural signals into words and images.”
A murmur ripples through the room, half curiosity, half suspicion. A man in a wrinkled jacket immediately jumps out of his chair. He slams the table, knocking over his coffee cup. “Your gadget is an open door to a totalitarian regime! You’re lining pockets that are already full… Bunch of condescending idiots with your degrees!” The chair creaks. Before anyone can intervene, he turns on his heel and slams the door, leaving a sharp silence in his wake.
Julien stands frozen for a second, his mouth half open, then clears his throat. Another participant, a calm man in his fifties, calmly raises his head: “Do you realize the dangerous path you’re taking us down? Totalitarianism of thought is no longer a dystopia if your headsets see the light of day.”
Sophie speaks without hesitation: “Our code is based on technologies that are accessible to everyone. We are repurposing these existing technologies to meet specific needs. We want to regulate these uses, not open Pandora’s box.”
The reply is not enough to dispel all the wrinkles of concern. However, from the back of the room, a voice rises: “In Gutenberg’s time, printing presses were sabotaged on the pretext that they threatened the established order. Today, printing is the foundation of our culture.” Others nod in agreement, waving their hands fatalistically: there is no point in fighting progress.
The atmosphere remains tense, but Julien takes a deep breath and says, “If you don’t mind, let’s move on to brainstorming. Same exercise as before.” The hospital staff express their enthusiasm by sharing poignant anecdotes.
Among the opponents who remained in the room, one covers the wall with Post-it notes bearing gloomy messages, twisting each idea to expose its underlying threat. Julien and Sophie hold their breath, fearing that these dark annotations will stifle the group’s enthusiasm for expression.
Then the discussions begin. A nurse says, “We have a patient, a former musician, who lost his speech after a stroke. Imagine if he could communicate his thoughts again.” A doctor adds, “This headset could revolutionize our approach to caring for trauma patients, giving them a voice where they no longer have one.”
The patients themselves see a variety of uses. An HR manager explains: “In our company, this headset could transform our brainstorming sessions by capturing ideas in real time without interruptions.” A factory worker adds: “We work in such a noisy environment that it’s often impossible to talk. With this headset, communication would become fluid and efficient.”
The discussion becomes heated. A patient, a former teacher, raises his hand: “What if we installed this headset in schools to help children with communication disorders?” At these words, one of the skeptics rears up, his face pale. The idea of a mind reader being used on minors is unbearable to him; he jumps up, fumes, then slams the door, leaving behind a tense silence.
At the end of the session, Sophie and Julien take care to note the contact details of participants who wish to be contacted again. A physical therapist approaches them: “I’d be happy to show you our rehabilitation center. You could test the headset there in real-life conditions.” The HR manager gives them her card: “Come and see how we work. I’m sure you’ll discover other possible applications.”
As they leave the event, Sophie and Julien are brimming with ideas. Sophie, moved, confides in Julien: “These discussions have opened my eyes to possibilities we had never considered.” Julien agrees: “Yes, and for the first time, I feel like we have a real support network. We are no longer alone in this adventure.”
Sophie shares a final knowing glance with Julien, “We have our work cut out for us, but I think we’re onto something, Julien.”
“Yes,” he agrees, “and we’re going to do everything we can to make it work.”
Stories from entrepreneurs and product managers
To step back from the content of this first chapter, I would like to share a series of inspiring testimonials.
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Thierry Carlin (in French), CEO of Helio Water, shares how his communication campaign helped validate the need
Author of Impact Factories / Co-founder of Shy Robotics and Product Whys / Head of Product at Dassault Systèmes / Engineer passionate about innovation and entrepreneurship
Full bibliography here
