For a multi-asset investor, being underweight equities is a notoriously painful position. They are typically the highest-returning asset available, and reducing your exposure can hurt both in the short and long run. Does this mean you should always avoid doing so?

Not necessarily, but your answer to this question probably says a lot about your investment approach.

Let’s create a simple example to test this. Assume you have a two-asset portfolio with a 20-year time horizon, a growth objective and a balanced risk profile. You can choose between US equities or medium-maturity US inflation-linked bonds, with a starting 60%/40% split.

Is there a level of relative valuation where you would consider moving money from equities and into linkers?

(The focus here is on valuation rather than any macro or tactical reasons for shifting allocations).

I would imagine that a common answer to this question would be “no” – if you have a growth objective then underweighting equities almost never makes sense. But is that really true? What if real yields on the bonds reached 5%, and based on even optimistic assumptions US equities looked priced to deliver 2–3% ahead of inflation?

Constraints on Behaviour

I think the answer to this depends heavily on what type of portfolio you are managing, and what the objectives and constraints are. There are several important considerations:

Do you have a benchmark objective or a return objective?

A traditional benchmark-based objective (let’s say 60% equities and 40% bonds in this instance) makes moving underweight at any time incredibly difficult. Owning less of your highest-returning asset, even if it is expensive, is likely to prove detrimental over the long term. We also know that, over the short run, valuation differentials do not matter much at all, and equities can perform well in any given quarter, irrespective of how they are priced.

Alternatively, if you have a return-focused objective (cash+ or inflation+), the decision-making focus can be more on hitting that target, and the discomfort of holding reduced equity exposure is far less acute. It does not matter so much if equities perform very well and you are underweight, provided you are still achieving your primary goal.

In this way, portfolios with very similar implicit objectives (long-term growth) can behave very differently based on how they are assessed.

Are you focused on delivering growth or meeting liabilities?

If your aim is to deliver long-term growth, then being underweight the asset most likely to provide that may not prove to be a wise move. If, however, you are looking to meet a set of liabilities and can do so with less risk and greater certainty, then moving away from equities when opportunities arise may be prudent.

What are your risk constraints?

One slightly odd constraint might arise if a portfolio is designed to deliver a certain “risk outcome”, usually defined in terms of volatility (a useful but deeply flawed measure). Even if you felt returns from a typically lower-risk asset (bonds) were likely to be higher than equities, it might be difficult to move assets without appearing to take less risk than you are mandated to. (Cue the debate about what risk actually is.)

The point here is not that our constraints entirely determine the approach you might take to allocating away from equities – there are plenty of other factors that should influence your decision – but that they can be influential.

Valuation Mistakes

Away from these constraints there are two other issues – often misunderstood – about equity valuations and asset-allocation decisions that are critical.

Being expensive is not a strong enough reason to underweight equities.

It seems obvious that if equities are expensive and are set to produce lower returns, then being underweight makes sense, but this is not necessarily the case. To justify an underweight on valuation grounds, you need to believe that equities are so expensive that their prospective return is lower than that of competing assets.

Imagine you believe that when equities are fairly valued they are priced to deliver a real return of 5% per annum, but extreme valuations mean that they are now priced at 3% real. Even if you are right about the lower return, you will still underperform if that 3% is higher than the return available from other asset classes.

Where benchmark-relative returns matter, equities have to be priced to deliver returns lower than the replacement asset – not merely be “expensive”- for an underweight based on valuation grounds to work from a performance perspective.

Valuations are largely irrelevant over the short-run, and their impact also wanes over the very long-run.

The general view is that valuations are close to meaningless over the short term and meaningful over the long term. This is only partially true. I would frame it like this:

Short term: Low. Overwhelmed by sentiment and noise.

Medium term (5–15 years): High. Strong influence from starting yield and potential reversion.

Long term (15+ years): Moderate. Positive influence from starting yield, but mean reversion becomes is likely to be overwhelmed by years of compounding earnings growth.

Whereas over the medium term there is the potential twin benefit of valuation mean reversion and an improved starting yield, when the horizon gets very long the impact of valuation mean reversion (if it happens) is likely to become insignificant relative to the contribution from earnings growth.

In fact, if you are a very long-term equity investor and have identified a cheaper, higher-return market, then you do not actually want valuation mean reversion to happen – or at least you want it to happen as late in your holding period as possible.

Why?

Because if you are investing for 20 years and your preferred market has a starting earnings yield of 7% compared with 5% for the alternative, you want to keep reinvesting into that higher earnings yield for many years. If it reverts to 5% immediately, you receive a one-time performance benefit, but that is likely to be marginal compared with the benefit of the higher yield persisting.

(This assumes the 7% is a genuine anomaly rather than fair compensation for lower growth or higher risk. A persistent, uncompensated gap of that kind should be the exception rather than the rule.)

This gets to the heart of the argument as to why, if you have a very long-run horizon, diversified equity exposure will generally be fine even if starting valuations are rich.

Of course, there are exceptions. In the Japanese equity bubble of the 1980s and 1990s, valuations became so extreme and earnings so cyclically elevated, that the earnings growth needed to outrun the correction was far too high. It took decades to right itself. This was, however, an exceptional period.

The sweet spot for a valuation impact is the medium-term, 5–15-year horizon, which should influence any decisions around how valuations might affect your equity allocations, and any decision to move underweight.

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The question posed in this piece is a complex and difficult one for multi-asset investors, and one inevitably shaped by the experience of a prolonged and pronounced bull market in equities. How you answer it almost certainly says a great deal about your approach to investing and the environment in which you operate.

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

If you had immediately paused the game after England had taken the lead in the 55th minute of their World Cup Semi-Final match against Argentina, and asked the Argentine players and coaches how they would like their opposition to play for the remainder of the match, they would have probably said something like this:

• Give up on offering any attacking threat.
• Have no desire to keep possession.
• Defend incredibly deep and narrow.
• Allow Messi to operate unencumbered on the right, and Fernandez on the edge of the penalty area.

Conveniently, for Argentina, this is exactly what England decided to do, with inevitable consequences.

Why would a high-quality, talented team with a lauded coach opt to play in the exact fashion that suited their opponents, at the worst possible time?

Plenty has been said and written about this, and will continue to be so. I wanted to take a slightly different angle and focus on the psychological drivers. What would make a group behave in this way, when they are on top in a match and on the cusp of a long-awaited World Cup Final appearance?

There were two recognisable behaviours at play – outcome bias and loss aversion.

Outcome bias is our propensity to judge the quality of a process or decision by the results it delivers. If the outcomes are positive, so must have been the reasoning behind it.

England’s decision to play ultra-defensively when taking the lead against Argentina was no doubt driven by the view that it had worked well previously in the tournament – particularly against Mexico – so it made sense to repeat the trick.

There are two major problems with outcome bias, however. The first is the role of luck: sometimes our results are good even when the decisions that led to them were terrible – we were just on the right side of chance. The second is context – just because the outcome was good in one context, it doesn’t mean the same approach will prove a success when the environment is different.

In England’s case, both elements were at play. They were undoubtedly a little fortunate to hang on against Mexico, but crucially the context was entirely different. Against Mexico they were playing with ten men against a solid but limited team. They suffered no such numeric disadvantage against Argentina, and the current World Cup holders have a far greater attacking threat.

If England were going to judge the likelihood of adopting an extremely cautious approach, they would have perhaps been better off looking at their experience in recent major tournament semi-finals and finals, rather than matches in this World Cup alone.*

The other evident psychological phenomenon was loss aversion. We feel the pain of loss far more acutely than the pleasure of equivalent gains, which can have a profound impact on our behaviour. As soon as England took the lead, they went from a team trying to win something to a team aiming not to lose what they had. This was signalled clearly to the players by coach Thomas Tuchel’s defensive substitutions, which seemed to scream at his charges: “whatever you do, do not throw this away”.

When we view something as a potential loss, it can cause fear and anxiety – our responses become emotional rather than thoughtful. It is clearly possible to play in a conservative fashion in an intelligent and considered way, but this is not what England did. Instead, they defended like a junior football team tasked with maintaining a lead – put lots of defenders on the pitch, sit as close to your own goal as possible and boot the ball away when the chance arises.

The lack of evident thought about how to manage a game or hold a lead suggests that choices were driven by an emotional fear of loss, compounded by coaching decisions.

There were many factors that led to England’s depressingly predictable exit, but falling victim to some powerful behavioural biases and being unable to make clear-headed decisions certainly contributed.

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* Outcome bias also means that if England’s approach against Argentina had worked out, it would have been regarded as a tactical masterclass.

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

I have a question for you. If you take all of the hearts from a standard deck of 52 playing cards, and then lay them out one by one, in how many different orders can the 13 cards be dealt?

For example:

J, 7, 5, A, 9, K, 3, 10, 6, 2, Q, 8, 4.

K, 4, 2, 9, Q, 6, A, 8, J, 3, 10, 5, 7.

The answer is…

6,227,020,800. That is over 6 billion different permutations of the 13 cards.

If you did the same with the full deck, the number of possible arrangements is so large that it is not worth even trying to write it down. It is not a number you would ever encounter in daily life. When you shuffle a deck of playing cards and deal them out, it is overwhelmingly likely that the order you reveal has never been seen before and never will be again.*

Trying to predict how the cards will land is as close to impossible as you might wish to get, but it is much easier than making accurate short-term financial market predictions.

Dealing out playing cards has a number of useful features from a prediction perspective:

• The number of cards is fixed.

• The rules of the game are stable and simple.

• You know all possible outcomes.

• When you draw one card, it has a known impact on the next step.

It is a stable, closed and well-ordered system. Financial markets are nothing like this. When investors are trying to forecast how the equity market might perform over the next year, or how a certain geopolitical issue will unfold, they are faced with a complex, chaotic and changeable environment.

It has all the features of a system where accurate predictions are not possible:

• It has an unfathomable number of inputs.

• There is significant path dependency, where each step profoundly influences what occurs next.

• The environment is adaptive – meaning the variables in the system react to what is happening.

• It is impossible to even comprehend the range of potential outcomes.

Despite this, a huge amount of time is spent espousing views and making investment decisions based on precise forecasts of an inherently unknowable future. Even in a very simple system, once the number of steps reaches even a modest level, the chances of making accurate predictions evaporate. Financial markets are anything but simple.

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* I came across this idea in the excellent More or Less podcast, which you should absolutely be listening to if you enjoy numbers and statistics.

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

In a world where investors are increasingly being encouraged to react and trade (typically not for their benefit), doing nothing can often prove to be sage investment advice. In a recent paper, Hendrik Bessembinder analysed the performance of “do nothing” portfolios, and shows that even if we are doing very little, the results we achieve will be heavily influenced by the small choices we make.

To run his analysis, Bessembinder created a series of “do nothing” portfolios from the constituents of the S&P 500 at the end of each year from 1970.  The portfolios are “do nothing” as there are no trades after the portfolio is formed, apart from dividend reinvestment. If a stock is delisted, the proceeds are held in cash for the remainder of the period.  The underlying idea is to understand what would happen if we simply bought a selection of stocks on a certain day and then ‘left them in the drawer’. It is not quite a “do nothing” approach, but it gets pretty close.

I don’t want to simply repeat the findings of Bessembinder’s paper, and I would recommend reading it directly, but I thought I would draw out what I thought were the most interesting aspects of the results:

Rebalancing Matters

Over the full 55 year sample, an equally weighted “do nothing” portfolio (holding all available stocks at the same position size) grew from $1 to $678, while a value weighted approach (the typical index market cap structure) grew to only $361. This is a huge advantage for an equal weighted over a market cap strategy. Bessembinder suggests that this could be due to a ‘small cap effect’ boosting returns for the equal weighted approach. While this might explain some of the difference, I am doubtful that this is responsible for the entire gap – the underlying constituents are S&P 500 companies, so nothing is genuinely ‘small’. I think the differential is more likely due to rebalancing.

In the example above, the portfolios are not quite “do nothing” as they are rebalanced back to target weights at the end of each year. The impact of rebalancing is far more significant for an equal weighted approach where target allocations are fixed, unlike market cap where they move with performance. The paper also shows the impact of extending the rebalancing window to only every ten years. Here the gap between the returns of the equal weighted portfolio and the market cap portfolio collapses – the end value of equal weight is $387 and for market cap $342.

It appears that a substantial portion of the return advantage for an equal weighted “do nothing” approach came from a premium attributable to harvesting the volatility of the underlying assets over time. That is selling down stocks after periods of outperformance and vice-versa. Of course, a rebalancing effect does not only stem from an equally weighted portfolio, it comes from any strategy where the weightings of the holdings are not linked to the underlying price of the assets – equal weighting is simply one example.

Even when we wish to take a hands off approach to our investment strategy, there are seemingly innocuous decisions that can have a profound impact on outcomes.

The Two Types of Market Timing

I write frequently about the futility of market timing. I don’t think that people can predict the short-term movements of financial markets, and I wish they wouldn’t try. There is, however, another type of market timing that is far less deliberate, but can be even more influential – our starting point.

Although not a direct angle of the paper, Bessembinder’s work does show how the apparent efficacy of any given strategy is heavily dependent on the period over which we observe its returns.  One of the approaches analysed is simply to buy the largest stock in the index and then “do nothing”.  The fortunes of this admittedly extreme method depend entirely on when you start.

If you did nothing but owned Microsoft from 1999 you would have lost 33% over the subsequent decade, but if you had applied the same strategy in 2016 you would have held Apple and gained 1,046% over the next ten years.  

There are two important takeaways from this (aside from – please don’t invest your entire portfolio in a single stock). First, is that our investment outcomes will be influenced by the point in time when we invest – this will apply to a single stock or a highly diversified 60/40 portfolio. A great deal of this will be down to chance. Second, the more concentrated your investment strategy, the more beholden you become to the point in time you invest, because as concentration increases, so does the range of outcomes. Being diversified mitigates, but does not remove, timing risk.

The Concentration Conundrum

You may recall Hendrik Bessembinder from his previous paper which looked at how concentrated equity market returns were over time – just 46 firms accounted for over half of the $91trn in net wealth created over the course of a century, and the median buy and hold return across individual stocks was negative. When contrasted with Bessembinder’s new paper, this creates something of a puzzle.

His research on concentrated stock market returns implicitly supports taking a diversified, market cap-based approach to equity investing – this ensures that you have an increasing exposure to the companies that matter over time. This new paper, however, highlights the positive impact of an equal weighted approach, which benefits from harvesting a rebalancing premium from volatile equity markets, explicitly cutting the winners and bringing them back to their initial size.  

So, which is better?

It is important to note that the samples used for the two papers are different – his work on concentration incorporates a far greater number of companies assessed over a longer horizon. Although this means that the results of the two studies are not directly comparable, that distinction also brings us to the answer – it depends. The consequence of running winners rather than rebalancing is dependent on the prevailing environment. If performance over an extended spell is skewed towards a select group of large winners allowing concentration to build can pay-off, if this is not the case, the rebalancing effect can win out.

We cannot, however, know in advance if future returns will be concentrated and which companies will be responsible for that concentration. What we do know is that rebalancing and concentration are about trade-offs: rebalancing works because it prevents concentration from building, while a market cap approach works because it allows concentration to develop. The “right” amount of concentration is unknowable in advance, but the more concentrated your approach, the wider the range of outcomes you need to be prepared for.

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Although not its express purpose, Bessembinder’s research is a timely reminder that there is no investing strategy that really constitutes “doing nothing”. Whether it is the precise approach to rebalancing we adopt, when we start investing or the particular index we select there are always choices that we need to make, and these will be consequential.

It is important to be deliberate when doing nothing.  

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

I have never been a strong believer in the notion that a fund manager should invest their clients’ assets ‘as if it were their own money’. It is a neat heuristic that I am not sure works consistently in practice. The reality is that there is likely to be a gap between a fund manager’s personal and professional investments, and that difference can tell us a lot about an investor and the environment they operate within.

If we assume consistent objectives, why would a professional investor run their own portfolio in a manner that is different from their clients’? Primarily, because the constraints are distinct. By this, I don’t mean formal aspects such as the range of available assets or fees (although these do matter), but rather the informal restrictions that shape investor behaviour and decision-making. Constraints have a huge impact on investment outcomes but are typically ignored or hidden.

Let’s say a fund manager runs their own portfolio and also a fund for a large asset manager; the goal of both is to generate a 3% real return over 10 years. Why might the approaches be different?

Career risk: The most obvious driver is the spectre of career risk. Professional investors are optimising for two things: delivering on the objectives of their fund over time and keeping their job while they attempt it. Three years of underperformance doesn’t matter for a fund manager’s personal portfolio, but it could matter a great deal for their career. The influence of this factor will depend heavily on the individual.

Keeping their clients invested: While managing career risk may seem like a rational but somewhat self-serving endeavour, there is a closely related behaviour whereby a fund manager adopts a different approach for their clients in an effort to keep them invested. There is no point in having a great investment strategy that nobody can stick with. An investment approach that can deliver 15% annualised over 10 years, but will at some point underperform by 30% over three years, could be ideal for their personal portfolio; it is just that their fund might not have many assets left at the end of the 10 years. Professional investors should seek to run money in a way that keeps clients invested (for the right reasons).

Team over individual: Most professional investors work in teams. The investment process adopted and decisions made are the result of interactions within that group, rather than a reflection of one individual’s ideas. When a fund manager invests for themselves, they can pay attention to, or ignore, their colleagues as much as they wish. It is reasonable to assume that we will overweight the value of our own opinions.

Living through outcomes: Nobody has to live through the short-run outcomes of their personal investments; we can check our portfolios as infrequently as we like. When fund managers make decisions professionally, however, they have to experience those outcomes on a daily basis and are subject to constant scrutiny. Even if they have a resolute belief that an underperforming investment idea will work over the long run, this conviction might be tempered if they have to justify it to a committee every quarter. The emotional toll can be heavy and one that many people would rather avoid.

Managing for the collective: When a fund manager makes investment decisions for their own portfolio, they are doing so with ‘perfect’ knowledge of the person they are investing for and to whom they are accountable. That is entirely different when those decisions are being made for a sizeable, largely unknown and diverse group of people. Managing for the collective is different from running money according to your own personal circumstances and views.

Norms and conventions: Personal portfolios are unseen, so there is absolute freedom to take decisions that may seem odd, anomalous or imprudent relative to industry conventions. This could lead to value-creating liberation or some unmitigated disasters (which clients may be spared)

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It is easy to assume that the constraints creating a gap between how a professional investor runs their own money and their funds are negative for clients – as if they are receiving an impaired version of a ‘pure’ investment strategy. I don’t think this is always the case. While some constraints can be an impediment, others can serve as an effective limit on sometimes erratic or self-centred individual behaviour.

There is no blanket answer as to whether a gap between personal and professional investment is positive or negative; it is simply important to understand whether it exists and why.

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

As we are currently in the midst of a wonderful summer of sport, I was considering writing a post about the factors which make some sports boring to watch and others exciting.* I am not, however, brave enough to put my head above the parapet on that subject quite yet. Instead, I decided to write about some vivid human behaviours that arise when we are watching the World Cup, all of which should feel very familiar to investors:

– Extrapolation: We can’t help but believe that what has happened in the past will continue into the future.

All it takes is one England victory and we are immediately checking our wall chart / bracket (delete based on age / location) to see who we will be playing in the final. 

– Momentum matters: Positive or negative progress can become self-perpetuating and an incredibly powerful force.

The wretched hydration breaks and their impact on World Cup games are a great example of how vital momentum is in many walks of life, and how significant interrupting it can be.

– We are overconfident: We all think we are better than we are.

We know more about what England’s starting XI and optimal tactical approach should be than their manager who has deep knowledge of the players and has won nine major trophies in nearly 17 years. 

– Emotions dominate everything: The judgments we make are often overwhelmed by how we feel.

As Paul Slovic highlighted when discussing the affect heuristic – when we feel emotional about something we lose sight of any nuance or reasonable perspective about it. We will see this in stark contrast when people react to England being knocked out (if, indeed, they are).

– Selective perception: We see everything through our own, partial lens.

If a player on your team suffers a potential foul in the area, then it is a certain penalty; if your team commits exactly the same offence at the other end it is absolutely not a penalty, and probably a dive.

– Narrative fallacy: Where there is randomness and chaos, we see compelling stories.

There will be some wonderful stories throughout this World Cup, and many of them will involve far more luck and fortune than anyone will be willing to acknowledge.  

– Halo effect / attribution error: We neglect the role of systems or chance, and focus on the impact of individuals.

We don’t want World Cup wins to be about teams, rather we want to put success or failure down to identifiable, individual agency – whether it is Mbappe driving France towards another title, or Ronaldo being responsible for Portugal’s lacklustre start. 

– Incentives matter: Most decisions are driven by the incentives of those who hold the power.

See: FIFA.

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Sometimes it is hard to get across behavioural investing concepts amidst the complexity of financial markets, but all of the same issues occur in sport and will be vividly apparent during the 104 games of the World Cup. Keep an eye out.

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* As a sneak peek, exciting sports (in my opinion) have high and persistent levels of jeopardy, but more on that another time.

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

All opinions are my own, not that of my employer or anybody else. I am often wrong, and my future self will disagree with my present self at some point. Not investment advice.

There has been plenty of talk about elevated levels of market uncertainty this year, but until very recently equities have been contradicting this notion. When markets are exhibiting pronounced levels of dispersion driven by a singular theme – in this case AI – it is a sign of conviction rather than doubt. Yet the extreme moves we have witnessed seem like an exaggeration of the level of confidence anyone can have about how the future unfolds.

There are many excellent examples of the intense equity market dispersion that has occurred. It might be the crushing outperformance of momentum versus quality stocks, TSMC holding a substantially higher weight in emerging market indices than India, or more than 50% of the Korean market being made up by two companies. It seems fair to say that the AI trade has been running extremely hot.

The problem with the ferocity of the move in names within the AI eco-system is that it seems misaligned with the vast number of unanswered questions about the longer term impact of AI on markets and the economy.

Here are a few that spring to mind that I don’t have confident answers to, and I doubt anyone does:

– What level of ROI are companies seeing from AI implementation?

– What levels of ROI are companies hoping to deliver in the future from an AI rollout?

– How much are companies willing to pay for tokens when subsidies are reduced?

– What is the moat on an LLM? How do they ‘sustain’ high margins if their only edge is time to market?

– If AI is to be genuinely transformative, why were the corporate users of AI being left behind in the rally?

There are many more questions without clear resolution, and the dramatic level of market dispersion seems at odds with the profound uncertainties ahead.

This is not to say that the most bullish base case is wrong, rather that the probability of it occurring is not 100%.

Of course, I am being a little naïve here. The market conditions we witnessed in recent months had little to do with fundamentals or probabilistic nuance, and much to do with thematic performance chasing driven by an incredibly powerful narrative. Although there has been some respite in recent days, if that environment resumes the danger is that performance pressure eventually drags everyone in.

In times such as these the market becomes starkly binary. The questions are: is the rally justified or not? Is AI in a bubble? Are software company models irrevocably broken?

This is unhelpful and dangerous. The future is messy, complicated and uncertain, that is always the case – even if markets seem to be telling us otherwise. The most important question to answer remains this: am I appropriately diversified given all that I can’t possibly know?

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

All opinions are my own, not that of my employer or anybody else. I am often wrong, and my future self will disagree with my present self at some point. Not investment advice.

I recently read an article about another high-profile ‘star’ fund manager whose performance had been flagging severely. You can probably guess who it was, but that is irrelevant. What matters is the depressingly repetitive pattern of fund managers being lauded as geniuses after a spell of strong returns and dismissed as frauds when gravity brings those returns back to earth. This dramatic shift in sentiment is symptomatic of how most active fund investing works, and it is an almost sure path to failure.

The comments beneath the piece lamenting the latest star fund manager’s downturn were inevitably vitriolic. Here is a sample:

“A has-been definitely proves he is a has-been.”

“Finally exposed.”

“Poor excuses for poor decisions.”

“It was a complete open goal in 2025. Any fool could have made money.”

“Having endured years of presentations from active fund managers, I can confirm that the only real skill they possess is selling snake oil.”

Although I wasn’t surprised by the tone, it did jar with the universally positive perspectives I was sure I had read about this very same fund manager when their relative performance was a little healthier. I looked at the comments responding to a far more positive article from 2021:

“An absolute legend who deserves every penny.”

“Great man – and a great team.”

“Fantastic and fully deserved. May you have many successful years ahead.”

“Great guy. I’m heavily invested. Worth every penny. Those who say he isn’t simply aren’t good at valuing his contribution. Their loss.”

In the space of five years the fund manager has gone from investing genius to greedy and incompetent. I spent years having to justify why I hadn’t invested in this particular manager and was apparently a fool to be missing out on such an obvious winner. Now everyone says they knew all along it wouldn’t last.

Neither of these binary perspectives is true, but they do perfectly represent how most people seem to approach investing in active funds: find the funds that have generated the strongest performance over three to five years, latch onto the narratives that have built up around either the manager or their investment style, and then sit tight for mean reversion to take hold.

It is hard to overstate what a terrible approach to investing this is, yet it is accepted practice across every part of the industry.

All high-conviction actively managed funds will experience prolonged spells of outperformance and underperformance – and by prolonged, I mean years. This is entirely irrespective of whether the manager possesses genuine skill or edge. If a fund is enjoying an unusually strong period of relative returns, it is almost inevitable that leaner times lie ahead, even if the timing is uncertain. Yet each time it happens we act as though we have never witnessed it before.

There is no process, no matter how robust, that works in all environments and at all times.

The endemic performance chasing in the active fund industry is driven by two powerful behaviours: outcome bias and extrapolation. With outcome bias we judge the quality of a process – or a fund manager – purely by the results delivered, which in a noisy system is an incredibly dangerous assumption to make. Extrapolation compounds this. When a fund manager is outperforming, not only is their investing ability considered unimpeachable, we cannot see any end to those high returns.

When a previously high-flying manager begins to struggle, the same outcome bias that gave us such conviction in their acumen now leads us to spot weaknesses in the process. It becomes easy to identify changes in approach and construct plausible-sounding reasons why returns have deteriorated so sharply. The last thing we want is to acknowledge our own failings, or accept that we misjudged the inherent cyclicality of fund manager returns. Instead, we have to build a compelling case for why things outside our control have changed, and why we need to sell.

One of the most frustrating features of this hire-and-fire culture is that we treat each high-profile case as a unique instance with its own particular circumstances. Yet it is the same pattern repeating. It is about our behaviour far more than the capabilities of any individual fund manager.

Few of us readily admit to performance chasing when selecting funds. We always construct persuasive stories justifying our decisions and explaining why historic returns were incidental to the choices we made. It is just a coincidence that, if you know a fund’s past performance, you can almost perfectly predict the outcome of any research carried out on it. It is not merely that we don’t want to admit it – we are genuinely wired to find a good process behind good outcomes, and a flawed one behind poor outcomes.

Even investors who sincerely try to avoid performance chasing find it extraordinarily difficult when it is such a powerful industry norm. Everyone is happy when you sell a struggling fund or buy into one topping the performance charts, despite the evidence suggesting that this is unlikely to be a good idea.

If you want to invest in high-conviction active funds with genuinely differentiated returns, you need to do three things: identify a manager with real skill or edge; be willing to sit through potentially years of underperformance even when you believe in that skill; and develop the ability to distinguish between cyclical underperformance and a genuine deterioration of process. None of these is easy.

The good news is that there is no obligation to do any of it. Index or diversified systematic funds remain a perfectly sensible option and a far better one than investing in high conviction active funds with wholly unreasonable expectations. If you do want to identify skilled, differentiated active managers, it is extraordinarily hard to do well, made significantly harder by a set of very human behaviours. To have a chance of succeeding you need to approach it very differently. Or not do it at all.

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

All opinions are my own, not that of my employer or anybody else. I am often wrong, and my future self will disagree with my present self at some point. Not investment advice.

Whenever we experience a spell in financial markets where high quality bonds lose value at the same time as equities a glut of commentaries appear either announcing the ‘death of the 60/40’, showing rising equity / bond correlations or proclaiming bonds have lost their diversifying properties. While part of this is usually an effort to sell alternatives, there also seems to be a genuine concern that bonds have evolved to develop a new set of characteristics. I find this puzzling – high quality bonds seem to be behaving just as we might expect them to. They are a good diversifier to equities but not a perfect one.

When bonds and equities lose money in unison there is almost always the same explanation – inflation. Bonds can offer strong protection from equity market risk when there is a growth shock (profits fall, but so do interest rates and inflation); they are not, however, a helpful equity diversifier when an inflationary problem arises (yields push higher and Central Banks are unable to cut rates).

This behaviour has always been a feature of how high quality (nominal) bonds act relative to equities in a portfolio. Very little has changed in that regard. All that has happened is that inflationary shocks have become far more common after decades where disinflationary pressure was the dominant trend.

This doesn’t mean that the relationship between equities and bonds doesn’t matter, it is just that it is important not to misdiagnose the problem. The real issue is that through a prolonged spell of subdued inflation, many investors became complacent about the role bonds play in a portfolio – neglecting the scenarios in which they might struggle.

Since we have experienced a succession of inflationary supply shocks through COVID, Russia-Ukraine and now the Iran conflict, these risks are now front and centre in our thinking. This has been coupled with a huge amount of angst about ‘fiscal sustainability’, which for countries who issue bonds only in a currency that they can also print (such as the UK and US) ultimately comes down to a question about future inflation.

These issues have led to bonds getting a very hard time.

It is worth reiterating that high quality bonds are a superior diversifying asset for portfolios where equities are the most prominent risk factor. Equities are a volatile asset class that can generate high long-term real returns, but are acutely vulnerable to weak growth and recessions. Bonds almost certainly diversify this risk better than any other option. This remains true today.

If an investor is considering reducing their allocation to bonds within their portfolio (which unsurprisingly more people seem keen to do at 5% yields than they did at 0%); it should not be because bonds no longer play a valuable role, but rather because they are attaching a higher probability to the occurrence of troublesome inflation.

This is a perfectly sensible view to hold, but we should remain cognisant of our propensity to exaggerate whatever risk is salient or fresh in our minds. The dangers of the availability heuristic notwithstanding, investors should be seeking to create portfolios that are well-balanced and resilient to a range of economic scenarios, including those in which equity and bond correlation is on the rise.

There are supplementary asset class options that might fill the gaps not covered by high quality bonds – inflation linked bonds, commodities and even trend following strategies. These choices are not unreasonable and a case can be made for their use in a diversified portfolio (alongside many other candidates). They all, however, come with weaknesses and require the acceptance of trade-offs (some very significant). Most importantly, none work as consistently well as a diversifier to equities in a growth downturn.

If we are in a world where the incidence of inflation shocks relative to growth shocks rises then we should expect a higher (average) correlation between equities and bonds, and probably some extra term premium (if inflation risk is greater, I want some additional compensation). This might impact portfolio allocation decisions, but I would be wary about our ability to anticipate future economic environments. I would be more confident in predicting that when the next recession arrives, we will all be glad to be holding high quality bonds in our portfolios.

Despite all the noise, bonds are behaving in just the way we should expect them to. It is probably fair to say that in an era of low inflation and falling yields investors didn’t make their portfolios sufficiently resilient to scenarios where bonds don’t complement equities as effectively. Yet this is the fault of investors, not the bonds. Making some adjustments to portfolios because of this oversight seems prudent, writing off bonds for performing in a perfectly predictable way far less so.

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My first book has been published. The Intelligent Fund Investor explores the beliefs and behaviours that lead investors astray, and shows how we can make better decisions. You can get a copy here (UK) or here (US).

All opinions are my own, not that of my employer or anybody else. I am often wrong, and my future self will disagree with my present self at some point. Not investment advice.

Remarkably, it has been over a year since our last Decision Nerds podcast, but I am delighted to say that we are able to fill that yawning void in your life by releasing a new episode.

Inspired by one of the reasons for the pod’s absence, this episode looks at the problem of communication in the investment industry and why it is so difficult to do well. We cover:

– The curse of knowledge: Why explaining something you know to someone who doesn’t is so difficult.

– The dual audience problem: How to communicate to different people with different levels of knowledge in the same audience.

– The role of affect: How people react to communications is often dominated by how they feel (what we might call affect); considering the emotional impact of communication is often neglected.

As a bonus, you can also hear why I may never again read the detailed feedback on my own presentations.

You can listen here, and the episode is also available in the usual spots.

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