The article overlooks a critical facet of Epic Systems’ corporate identity: their deeply rooted aversion to conventional marketing strategies. Epic, a healthcare IT giant with a $1.2 billion empire, has long eschewed flashy advertising campaigns in favor of a more organic approach. Instead of investing in traditional marketing, they’ve cultivated a sterling reputation for quality and reliability, relying heavily on word-of-mouth endorsements from prestigious clients like Kaiser Permanente and Cleveland Clinic. This “anti-marketing” philosophy isn’t just a business tactic—it’s a core part of their culture. For instance, their leadership has even taken playful jabs at the marketing world, such as their April Fools’ Day stunt mocking the discipline’s excesses.
This mindset almost certainly influenced their response—or lack thereof—to the Carl Dvorak airplane incident. Rather than issuing a robust public statement or engaging with the media, Epic opted for a low-key approach, consistent with their preference for staying out of the spotlight. They likely assumed their reputation could weather the storm without proactive communication, much as it has fueled their growth in the healthcare sector. However, in the context of a crisis, this silence can backfire. Where transparency might reassure stakeholders, Epic’s reticence could instead breed uncertainty or erode trust among customers and the public.
By not delving into this angle, the article misses a chance to enrich its analysis. Exploring how Epic’s marketing-averse culture shapes their crisis management could reveal broader insights into their operational philosophy. For example, does this reluctance to “sell” themselves extend to how they handle adversity? Could it signal a potential vulnerability in an industry where trust and communication are paramount? Addressing these questions would have provided a more nuanced understanding of Epic’s behavior during the Dvorak incident, elevating the piece beyond a surface-level recounting of events.
Jake, I appreciate your comment and the thought you put into it. I see this situation very differently, and I stand by my framing of it, not as a marketing story, but as a matter of public accountability and institutional ethics.
I didn’t post about this impulsively. I spent a couple of hours reviewing the incident, looking for any indication that Epic had responded in a way consistent with best practices —something, anything —that would suggest the silence was thoughtful or justified. I came up empty.
This isn’t about branding preferences or communication style. It’s about what institutions do when a senior leader behaves in a way that compromises public trust, and what that says about their internal culture.
You mentioned that Epic doesn’t rely on traditional marketing and instead focuses on word of mouth and product experience. That’s a common internal talking point, and I don’t doubt your sincerity in repeating it. But in this context, it’s not relevant.
Carl Dvorak’s conduct on that flight wasn’t a brand issue. It wasn’t a marketing decision. It was a public incident involving a top executive who refused to deplane, escalated with law enforcement, and disrupted a flight. That’s not a private matter. That’s a very public breakdown of leadership judgment, tied to a company that holds immense influence over U.S. healthcare infrastructure.
The fact that Epic has chosen to say nothing-no statement, no acknowledgment, no signal of accountability—should concern anyone who believes in transparency, especially in a sector as critical as healthcare.
I don’t think defending that silence makes someone unethical. But I do think it reflects how internal culture can shape what feels normal or acceptable. From the outside, the silence looks evasive. From the inside, it may feel consistent with how things are always done. That’s exactly the dynamic I’m trying to name.
None of this is about you. I’m not questioning your integrity or intentions. What I’m challenging is a system that teaches well-meaning people to interpret silence as maturity, and external critique as ignorance. I’ve seen this kind of institutional conditioning before—in other industries, other companies. Epic’s just not immune to it.
There’s space here to acknowledge both things: that you believe in the company you work for, and that this particular situation wasn’t handled in a way that aligns with the values Epic promotes externally. That’s not disloyalty. It’s honesty.
I’m not saying you have to agree with me. I’m not asking you to take a side. However, I am saying that when leadership behaves in a way that damages trust, and the institution fails to comment on the event, someone should be allowed to say, “That’s not okay.”
If that doesn’t happen inside Epic, it’s going to happen outside.
I’m not claiming moral high ground here. I’m just trying to hold up a mirror—because when a company that claims to value trust and care goes quiet in a moment that demands accountability, the silence speaks louder than any brand story.
This isn’t about blame. It’s about seeing clearly.
This article isn’t nearly as well researched as the author claims. Specifically, it overlooks how Epic’s marketing avoidance could explain their muted response to the Dvorak incident.
Please tell me more… what did I miss? Please point me to where I can find the details you refer to and I’ll make a correction if it is warranted.
The article overlooks a critical facet of Epic Systems’ corporate identity: their deeply rooted aversion to conventional marketing strategies. Epic, a healthcare IT giant with a $1.2 billion empire, has long eschewed flashy advertising campaigns in favor of a more organic approach. Instead of investing in traditional marketing, they’ve cultivated a sterling reputation for quality and reliability, relying heavily on word-of-mouth endorsements from prestigious clients like Kaiser Permanente and Cleveland Clinic. This “anti-marketing” philosophy isn’t just a business tactic—it’s a core part of their culture. For instance, their leadership has even taken playful jabs at the marketing world, such as their April Fools’ Day stunt mocking the discipline’s excesses.
This mindset almost certainly influenced their response—or lack thereof—to the Carl Dvorak airplane incident. Rather than issuing a robust public statement or engaging with the media, Epic opted for a low-key approach, consistent with their preference for staying out of the spotlight. They likely assumed their reputation could weather the storm without proactive communication, much as it has fueled their growth in the healthcare sector. However, in the context of a crisis, this silence can backfire. Where transparency might reassure stakeholders, Epic’s reticence could instead breed uncertainty or erode trust among customers and the public.
By not delving into this angle, the article misses a chance to enrich its analysis. Exploring how Epic’s marketing-averse culture shapes their crisis management could reveal broader insights into their operational philosophy. For example, does this reluctance to “sell” themselves extend to how they handle adversity? Could it signal a potential vulnerability in an industry where trust and communication are paramount? Addressing these questions would have provided a more nuanced understanding of Epic’s behavior during the Dvorak incident, elevating the piece beyond a surface-level recounting of events.
Jake, I appreciate your comment and the thought you put into it. I see this situation very differently, and I stand by my framing of it, not as a marketing story, but as a matter of public accountability and institutional ethics.
I didn’t post about this impulsively. I spent a couple of hours reviewing the incident, looking for any indication that Epic had responded in a way consistent with best practices —something, anything —that would suggest the silence was thoughtful or justified. I came up empty.
This isn’t about branding preferences or communication style. It’s about what institutions do when a senior leader behaves in a way that compromises public trust, and what that says about their internal culture.
You mentioned that Epic doesn’t rely on traditional marketing and instead focuses on word of mouth and product experience. That’s a common internal talking point, and I don’t doubt your sincerity in repeating it. But in this context, it’s not relevant.
Carl Dvorak’s conduct on that flight wasn’t a brand issue. It wasn’t a marketing decision. It was a public incident involving a top executive who refused to deplane, escalated with law enforcement, and disrupted a flight. That’s not a private matter. That’s a very public breakdown of leadership judgment, tied to a company that holds immense influence over U.S. healthcare infrastructure.
The fact that Epic has chosen to say nothing-no statement, no acknowledgment, no signal of accountability—should concern anyone who believes in transparency, especially in a sector as critical as healthcare.
I don’t think defending that silence makes someone unethical. But I do think it reflects how internal culture can shape what feels normal or acceptable. From the outside, the silence looks evasive. From the inside, it may feel consistent with how things are always done. That’s exactly the dynamic I’m trying to name.
None of this is about you. I’m not questioning your integrity or intentions. What I’m challenging is a system that teaches well-meaning people to interpret silence as maturity, and external critique as ignorance. I’ve seen this kind of institutional conditioning before—in other industries, other companies. Epic’s just not immune to it.
There’s space here to acknowledge both things: that you believe in the company you work for, and that this particular situation wasn’t handled in a way that aligns with the values Epic promotes externally. That’s not disloyalty. It’s honesty.
I’m not saying you have to agree with me. I’m not asking you to take a side. However, I am saying that when leadership behaves in a way that damages trust, and the institution fails to comment on the event, someone should be allowed to say, “That’s not okay.”
If that doesn’t happen inside Epic, it’s going to happen outside.
I’m not claiming moral high ground here. I’m just trying to hold up a mirror—because when a company that claims to value trust and care goes quiet in a moment that demands accountability, the silence speaks louder than any brand story.
This isn’t about blame. It’s about seeing clearly.
This article isn’t nearly as well researched as the author claims. Specifically, it overlooks how Epic’s marketing avoidance could explain their muted response to the Dvorak incident.