In a field where half are the same wise Guru, the coaches who get remembered did the same few things. They are worth stating plainly, because none is a better framework.
One, they named a narrower leader. Not executives. Not leaders. One specific person a buyer cannot skim past: the newly-promoted VP with their first real team, the founder-CEO after the raise, the technical genius learning to lead people, the C-suite operator after an exit. A niche is a person, not a title, and the leader you would cross a room to help again is usually the one to name out loud, in the first line.
Two, they took a point of view. A position is a side in a fight your field is already having, not a promise everyone makes. What do you believe about leadership that the coach next door will not say? Which fashionable idea do you refuse to run? The sentence you keep softening to sound credible is usually the position. Anger is a compass.
Three, they took the open chair. Four chairs sit nearly empty in this field, each with a client waiting. The Challenger holds you to the standard you keep dropping and pushes you past what you would settle for. The Alchemist works the transformation, not the tactics. The Rebel burns the playbook. The Cornerman is a peer in the work, not a guru above it. Pick the one that is actually you, and you are one of a handful in the room standing there.
Name the leader, plant the flag, take the open chair, and the same plain vocabulary suddenly lands, because a buyer finally meets one clear coach with one clear stance instead of one more expert with one more model.
A smaller room, and a chair no one else sits in.
The catch is that you are the worst-placed person to see your own position, because you have spent years apologizing for the exact thing that makes you different. That is what the read is for. It finds the leader you are for, the stance that is yours, and the chair the field left open, the one you cannot see from the inside.