It’s a 25-year-old book packed with communication tips for managers, relentlessly practical, and written with the kind of cheerful confidence that only comes from never having questioned your own assumptions.

One tip stopped me. It’s about how to enter a meeting room — shoulders back, head high, slow scan of the space, then the smile. Like a circus acrobat stepping into the ring. Smiling confidently and ready to perform.

It’s not bad advice, really. The body does communicate before the mouth opens. If you practice these physical habits enough — eye contact, posture, the timing of a smile, how you modulate your voice — they become muscle memory. And that’s genuinely useful, especially for introverts. If your body already knows what to do, you don’t have to think about it during meetings. That energy stays available for what actually matters: your thinking, your listening, your ideas. Practice the mechanics until they disappear, and you free up cognitive space for the substance underneath.

But something still felt off, and it took me a while to name it.

The book stops there. It oversells the delivery of the message but never points you toward the deeper question: what are you actually there to say?

For introverts, that gap is significant. Most of us have been managing our physical presence instinctively for our entire working lives. We walk into spaces already reading the energy of the room, already deciding how much of our internal experience is visible to others. The book sees that natural instinct and tries to redirect it.

Stop protecting, start projecting. Show up bigger. Take up more space. In short, be extroverted.

What it misses is the cost. Every moment spent performing consciously — without the muscle memory to fall back on — is a moment not spent thinking, listening, or contributing the thing you actually came to offer.

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I experienced this myself not long ago.

I was brought in as an external consultant to present an emergency action plan to a client about to launch a new pitch. Twelve people total — eight in the room, four senior leadership figures on Teams. I was presenting alone against a room of middle managers challenging every operational detail before I’d finished laying out the concept. Timeline questions. Resource questions. Process questions. Designed to signal competence to the people on screen, not to improve the plan.

So I reached deep and threw in everything I had. Composure. Posture. Tone. Eye contact. Deliberate pauses. All the things Leil Lowndes would have approved of.

What I didn’t account for was the screen. The four remote leaders couldn’t see any of it. They saw a face, slightly tense, holding its ground against a room full of challenges. No body language. No spatial awareness. No smile landing in context. What read as composed professionalism in the room came across as aggressive on camera.

Here is what that meeting taught me. In a digital environment you cannot afford to follow the conversation wherever it wants to go. Every deviation from your core topic costs you disproportionately more than it would in person, because you don’t have the tools to recover. The moment you lose the thread online, you lose the audience. It’s gone.

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This is particularly relevant for introverts.

We tend to avoid conflict and are genuinely inclined to absorb feedback and integrate other perspectives into our thinking. Incorporating commentary feels like making the plan more solid, more collectively owned — even a form of validation. But in a digital meeting, that instinct will derail you. In a physical room you can recover with presence and energy. On a screen there is no recovery mechanism. You lose the room before you even notice it’s happening.

In digital meetings, protecting your narrative has to be a discipline. Acknowledge the question, redirect to your point, keep the throughline visible at all times. And accept that for certain conversations — where trust needs to be built, where nuance matters, where pushback requires a genuinely human response — a screen is simply the wrong room. Some topics need a one-to-one. In person. Where the full toolkit is available and the conversation can actually breathe.

I’ve started asking a different question before any meeting.

What am I actually here to contribute?

This question grounds you in something real — your perspective, your preparation, the specific thing only you can add. Entering a room on your terms — any room, including the digital ones — doesn’t mean arriving louder or more visibly than feels right. It means arriving with a reason that’s genuinely yours.

Grab onto it and don’t let anybody derail you.

The challenge wasn’t the structure itself. It was navigating the complexity of working directly with three founding partners who had given themselves the C-Level roles. Each had their own vision of what the department should become.

Charles, the quiet guy.

My first task was to evaluate the current resources and I remember giving an “exceptional” rating to Charles, one of our best PMs. He had been stuck at Senior Technical PM for a few years without getting a promotion, and I wondered why. One of the founders—our CTO—challenged me immediately.

“Charles doesn’t fit the profile,” he said. To him, Charles was too reserved, too quiet. He wanted someone who could dominate a meeting with immediate answers and visible energy. We’d already lost two strong Project Managers that year to competitors (who probably valued their quiet consistency over performed confidence)—a pattern the CTO dismissed as “cultural fit issues.” Meaning he did not like them. I saw that Charles didn’t need to dominate the room because he dominated the details. He delivered consistently, and his stakeholders were the happiest in the agency. That was enough for me.

I won that argument tactically, but the bitter taste remained. The expectation was clear: leadership meant being the most visible person in the room. Research shows that 96% of leaders in senior roles identify as extroverted, and while that energy serves many situations well, it can create a blind spot.

The agency had gone through the start-up phase and had grown through the leadership of the three founders, and it reflected their personality. I was beginning to see that in our complex, matrix-driven structure, the leader who talked the most wasn´t always the one holding the structure together.

One Saturday that I will never get back.

The irony was that while I was supporting Charles, I was falling into a different trap myself. I thought being a “good leader” in this restructuring meant saying yes to every founder’s request—proving I could handle the pressure, keep all three visions aligned, never push back.

The project that broke me was supposed to be simple: a one-page operating model overview for the founders. One round of edits. Clean and done.

Then the “quick additions” began. The first founder wanted a compliance section. The second needed cost-allocation charts. The third asked for brand alignment language “while you’re at it.” By Thursday, my one-page overview had mutated into a twelve-section monster with appendices. I wanted to flag it, but I stayed quiet. I worried that saying “this changed” would make me look like I couldn’t handle the complexity of working with three C-level executives.

So I did what I thought a “dedicated” professional should do: I worked faster. I stayed late. I sacrificed my entire Saturday. The unspoken rule was clear: if you’re good at your job, you should be able to absorb more—silently. By Sunday evening, I looked at the result. I wasn’t a hero; I was just exhausted. And the document? It wasn’t better—it was just more complex. I had traded my rest for an over-engineered deliverable that strayed from the original goal. Later I would discover that across the department, this pattern was widespread and it was costing us roughly 15 hours per week in rework and misalignment.

I realized then that my silence hadn’t been a service to anyone. By absorbing the „scope creep” without a word, I had enabled a culture of confusion.

Charles and „The ConversationThat Changed Everything“

Monday morning, Charles noticed something was off. Over coffee, I told him about the weekend, about the twelve-section monster, about feeling trapped between three different visions.

He listened—really listened—and then said something I didn’t expect: “You’re trying to absorb their chaos instead of naming it. That’s not sustainable.”

He shared how he handled similar situations. He called it the SHIFT Method—a simple framework he’d developed for navigating scope creep without sounding difficult or creating conflict. It wasn’t about saying no; it was about making the change visible and inviting the decision-maker to own the consequence.

S – Spot the Change: Name what shifted from the original scope.
H – Honor the Impact: Quantify what the change actually costs in time or resources.
I – Invite the Choice: Give the stakeholder clear options with trade-offs.
F – Follow Through: Implement the agreed solution immediately.
T – Track the Pattern: Document the exchange for future reference.

“The founders aren’t trying to overwhelm you,” Charles said. “They just don’t see the cumulative effect. Make it visible.”

The Next Request

The next time a “small add” landed in my inbox—this time from the CEO—I didn’t reach for coffee to pull an all-nighter. I used Charles’s framework.

I sent a brief note to the three founders:

S – Spot the Change: “Three new sections were added since Tuesday’s brief.”
H – Honor the Impact: “This adds eight hours to the build and moves us from a one-page overview to a full operational manual.”
I – Invite the Choice: “I can deliver the original one-pager by Friday as planned, or we can scope this properly as a phased rollout with the full manual ready in three weeks. Which serves the immediate goal better?”
F – Follow Through: Within twenty minutes, the CEO replied: “You’re right—let’s stick to the one-pager for Friday. We’ll tackle the manual separately. Thanks for the clarity.” I updated the timeline and proceeded with the original scope.
T – Track the Pattern: I logged the exchange in our scope change tracker. By quarter-end, the data showed that naming changes early reduced last-minute chaos by 40% and improved founder alignment on project priorities.

Thank you Charles.

By naming the change instead of absorbing the pain, I finally stepped into the kind of leader Charles already was. I stopped trying to be the most visible person in the room and started being the dependable anchor. Charles’s quiet precision and my relationship management weren’t opposing styles—they were complementary strengths the structure needed.

Charles showed me that this approach works because it’s adaptable and empowering. It doesn’t require the spotlight; it requires the data to be right. It demonstrates value through integrity and attention to detail rather than immediate, high-energy responses.

The world doesn’t need more leaders „performing“ decisiveness at 9 AM Monday. It needs leaders who protect their teams—and themselve

s—from chaos by asking one clarifying question instead of sacrificing another Saturday.

Cheers to no more “lost Saturdays“!

And thank you Charles, wherever you are.

I was completely taken by surprise. I was interested. I was listening carefully. But my body language suggested otherwise. She was especially unsettled by me looking over his shoulder sometimes, like people coming through the door of the cafe where we were sitting.

This is one of the central misunderstandings between introverts and extroverts, and it is especially delicate in professional environments, where first impressions count. The problem is this: introverts do care. We listen very well, usually better than most. But our facial expressions and body language can communicate the exact opposite.

We expect engagement to signal itself in a specific way. Eye contact. Nodding in response. Big eyes. Shoulders and chest turned toward the person speaking. These are the universal signals we’ve all learned to recognize as “someone is interested in what I’m saying.” [Yet for introverts, this is often when we’re least present—because we’re managing the performance of being interested.]

When someone doesn’t deliver these signals, we assume disengagement. We assume coldness. We assume the person doesn’t care.

The consequences are real. You can find yourself excluded from conversations. You miss opportunities in getting to know better that colleague or impressing the client because people don’t realize you were engaged. Professional relationships become strained because your interest was never actually transmitted, especially in meetings. [The cost accumulates quietly.]

I experienced this firsthand during a client presentation. It was a formal pitch—the kind where you bring energy, voice projection, and visible enthusiasm. I performed well. I was present, engaged, animated in the way the moment required. The clients responded positively.

But then came the informal part. The small talk after the formal presentation ended. This is when I naturally shift. My body quiets. My face becomes more controlled, more serious. I’m still listening intensely, but I’m not performing the listening—I’m actually doing the listening. My eyes focus inward. I process what’s being said rather than broadcast that I’m processing it.

What I noticed was immediate: their facial expressions shifted. They mirrored mine. The energy that had been warm and open suddenly became more guarded. I saw the micro-moment where they registered the change—probably a bit surprised, than confused, then probably misreading it as coldness or lack of interest, when in reality I was more present than ever.

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The problem isn’t that I was disengaged. The problem is that I had suddenly stopped performing engagement, and they had no other framework to interpret that shift.

This is the cost for introverts who operate this way. We learn early that we need to wear a mask in professional settings. Not a dishonest mask—but a “performance” layer that translates our interior engagement into exterior signals others can recognize. And that performance consumes energy at an unsustainable rate. We’re not just doing the work; we’re also constantly managing how the work appears to others.

If you’ve felt this—if you’ve noticed people misread your quietness as disinterest, or if you’ve felt the exhaustion of constantly signaling what you already feel—you’re not alone. And more importantly, you’re not broken. This isn’t a flaw in how you listen or engage. [It’s a mismatch between how you naturally signal interest and what others have learned to recognize as interest.]

Here’s what matters: you’re not trying to change who you are. You’re trying to prevent a misreading that costs you both professionally and relationally.

This requires two things.

First: awareness. Understand that your poker face, your focused gaze, your quiet presence—these are genuine forms of engagement for you. But they’re also being read by others through a different lens. When you notice someone’s expression shift in response to your natural demeanor, that’s the moment misreading is happening. It’s not your responsibility to perform constantly, but it’s useful to know when the gap is widest.

Second: strategic communication. In moments that matter—client conversations, team meetings, important relationships—you can bridge that gap explicitly. You don’t have to smile on command or force enthusiasm you don’t feel. But you can say, clearly: “I’m listening to you. Looking away helps me concentrate on what you’re saying.” Or: “I’m fully engaged, even though my expression might suggest otherwise.”

[This isn’t performing. This is translating.]

The small act of explaining your signals prevents the mirror effect. Their expressions won’t shift into confusion because they understand: your quietness isn’t rejection. It’s attention.

You’re still an introvert. You still listen the way you listen. But now others know how to read you.

And that changes everything.

You did fine. Maybe better than fine. But now you need to disappear.

Here’s what some people get wrong: they think introverts avoid the spotlight, never want to be the center of attention. Not true.

Some introverts love the stage. I’ve come to call this the performing introvert—someone who genuinely craves that connection, that energy of presenting or teaching, even when - yes- his/her batteries drain with every moment spent in the spotlight.

It feels like a contradiction, right? How could someone who

Needing solitude to survive and also wanting to perform? It’s not a contradiction at all. It’s something more.

Performing—whether delivering a keynote, running a workshop, or holding your own at a networking event—requires a specific kind of energy. You’re processing external stimuli constantly. Reading the room. Adjusting. Responding. And for introverts, this draws from a finite well.

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I learned this at an agency where I worked. My CEO was mid-pitch to a major automotive client—energized, riding the energy in the room. But he missed what I was seeing: the CTO sat with his arms crossed, jaw tight. Every signal said we were losing him.

So I stepped in. Asked him directly if he had concerns about our technical expertise—specifically, could we handle the e-commerce integration they needed? It felt like the attention of the room had shifted to him. He opened up. We manage to reassure him, by simply giving him the attention he required. After that, my CEO started asking me to debrief every client interaction in the quiet moments after the meetings. Who were the allies, who were the skeptics, what I’d read that he’d missed. Not that he always agreed with me, but he thought that my observation skill as an introvert helped him understand clients better. For a long time I didn’t even notice that I could do that.

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The quiet time after a performance isn’t just passive recovery.

It’s where everything you absorbed gets processed. That dinner conversation, that audience reaction, that unexpected question—all of it churns through your mind in the silence. And this is where, at least for some people, the real creativity happens.

The performance feeds the solitude, and the solitude feeds the next performance. It’s a cycle, not a contradiction.

The particular advantages that come with an introverted approach to performing might be exactly what make it worthwhile. The concentration required for deep work. The self-reflection that turns criticism into growth. The way introverts catalog everything they observe, which later becomes material to create something new.

I’ve seen people embracing this pattern intentionally. My former colleague Maria would deliver brilliant presentations, owning the room, then block out the next 30 minutes on her calendar without exception. Just her, her notebook, and silence. Another friend of mine who is a researcher and a professor always drives alone to conferences, even when carpooling is offered. He needs that solo commute to process everything and sometimes speak his thoughts loud.

Here’s my question: in a world that increasingly demands we be “on” all the time, how do we protect that essential quiet time? The time that isn’t just rest, but is actually where the intellectual work happens?

Because what gets called “recharging” is really not that passive stand-by.

It’s where observations become insights. Where experiences get transformed into something you can use. Where you figure out what you want to say next.

Maybe the real challenge for performing introverts isn’t the performance itself. It’s defending the right to disappear afterward. To say no to the after-event drinks. To understand that the silence isn’t avoidance—it’s part of the process.

One thing I always do after client meetings is ask my colleagues for feedback—it helps validate the fresh impressions I had. A quick regroup can provide precious insights.

And here’s what I’ve come to believe: if you’re someone who loves being in front of people but also needs substantial time alone, you’ve discovered something powerful. You’re following a rhythm that gives you access to depths the always-on performers never reach. The insights that emerge in your quiet hours, the connections you make in that reflective space, the creativity that flows when you sit with everything you’ve absorbed—this pattern is your advantage. This is what makes your performances richer, more thoughtful, more resonant.

The resolution I’m sitting with now is to make enough space for that rhythm in my own life. To protect those quiet stretches as fiercely as I should. Because without them, I’m pretty sure the performances start to ring hollow.

What about you? Are you giving the silence its due?

“We welcome all, and seek talented individuals who can bring their whole self to work…” (SaaS Company with $1+ Billion Market Evaluation)

“We appreciate different backgrounds, experiences, and perspectives—encouraging everyone to bring their authentic selves to work.” (Global HR Consulting Firm working in more than 40 Countries WW)

You probably have read postings like these before if you are familiar with online job-seeking. They reflect a trend in workplaces that promise radical authenticity—where you can be completely, unfilteredly yourself.

There’s something beautiful about the intention behind these words, a recognition that we’ve spent too long asking people to hide some parts of who we are.

And yes, we absolutely need to keep moving away from the toxic conformity of the past. Conformism has been the norm for Baby Boomers and GenX, they work better in authoritarian and hierarchical environments.

There is also a long history of work environments pushing people to fit in and hide who they really are:

Gay people having to pretend to be straight.

Women told to act like men.

People of all colors conforming to white norms.

Parents pretending their children were nonexistent or unimportant.

And old people—well they are not even on the radar.

All of this is prejudiced, and it diminishes both employee engagement and productivity. We don’t want any of that. That era needed to end.

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But here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately: there’s a difference between bringing your authentic self to work and bringing your whole self.

Let me tell you about Marcus (the name is completely invented), a brilliant creative director I knew who took the “whole self” message quite literally. He’d always been someone who found his best ideas came during altered states of consciousness —late-night sessions with wine, weekend experiments with psychedelics, the kind of boundary-dissolving experiences that opened up new creative territories.

When his company started emphasizing radical workplace authenticity, Marcus began incorporating these elements into his workday. A beer during brainstorming sessions at 4PM. Microdosing before client presentations. He genuinely believed he was bringing his most creative, uninhibited self to work.

The results were initially promising—some genuinely innovative ideas emerged. But gradually, his team started feeling uncertain. Clients sensed something was off. What Marcus experienced as creative freedom, others experienced as unpredictability. No wonder that, within six months, he was asked to step down.

The sad thing isn’t that Marcus was wrong to seek aliveness and creativity. It’s that he confused personal exploration with professional expression.

Of course Marcus´s story is borderline. Nevertheless, it tells us that there are a few thing that maybe we could leave home before going to work. Here are some examples:

• Your sexual feelings for co-workers. Sooner or later, just about everyone finds a co-worker sexually attractive. Sometimes is a very good idea to keep those unfiltered thoughts to yourself.

• Your strong political or religious beliefs. Of course there are non-negotiable values that have to be defended at all costs. Most of us have opinions and views—work is not the place to to impress other with that. Or be ready to accept the consequences, since politics can be very divisive.

• Probably the most easy to underestimate: Your fears and self-doubts. Certainly, there is a time and place for sharing your anxieties at work with your work buddy. But be careful. Too much sharing can work against you at your next performance evaluation. And can bring other people´s morale down as well. They already have their problems. And if you’re a leader, too much sharing can undermine your team’s confidence in you and even in the company.

• Your boredom and laziness. There are lots of times when the work is boring, but you’re being paid to work, so give yourself a break and get on with it. Go for a run to clear your mind.

• Your enjoyment of large quantities of alcohol and other substances. Unless you work in a very unusual environment—enough said. Ask Marcus if you do not believe me.

Your romantic attractions, your existential anxieties, your political frustrations, your weekend habits—these are essential parts of your life. But they aren’t necessarily serving the collective purpose you’re all gathered to achieve in the workplace.

It’s not about suppression or shame. It’s about discernment. It’s about recognizing that work is just one context among many in your rich, complex life, and that different contexts call forth different aspects of who we are.

Here’s what I think we’re really after when we talk about authenticity at work: bringing the parts of ourselves that enable us to show up fully focused - for the task at hand and for the people we work with.

Your curiosity? Absolutely bring that.

Your capacity for deep listening? Essential.

Your willingness to admit when you don’t know something? Revolutionary.

Your ability to see patterns others miss? Yes, Invaluable.

What if instead of bringing your whole self to work, you brought your best self? Not the version that’s performing or hiding, but the version that’s most ready for the collaboration, most present to the challenges at hand, most generous with time and attention?

This isn’t about returning to some corporate straightjacket or hierarchy. It’s about something more sophisticated: understanding that true authenticity sometimes means choosing which parts of yourself to emphasize in the moment. More important than your need for individual expression.

The most alive workplaces I’ve experienced aren’t the ones where everyone shares everything. They’re the ones where everyone brings their deepest capacities—their attention, their creativity, their care—to bear on work that matters. And earning respect for that.

And that, it seems to me, might be a more sustainable path to the kind of workplace aliveness we’re all actually seeking.

See you next time around!

Massimiliano

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Eugene Healey (Considered Chaos) recently wrote something that struck me: "Authenticity simply can't survive an environment of constant performance“.

In his post he talks about social media and the age of surveillance, but he made me think about the modern workplace. We've built organizations that don't just prevent authenticity – they actively waste time, energy, and money by forcing interaction systems that most people can't sustain long-term. We become alienated from our own actions because every moment is filtered through the question of how it will be received by others.

The result? Teams stuck in dysfunctional communication patterns they can't evolve beyond, burning through talent and missing opportunities while we pretend this is just "how business works."

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The Need for Visibility

A former colleague was responsible for a big corporate client at a holding advertising agency – I'll call him Thies. During an informal feedback session, his manager told him that he needed to be "more visible," meaning talking more. To quote the exact words: to "occupy more bandwidth" during meetings. The boss explained that perception sometimes mattered more than substance when developing a business relationship with a client.

So he tried. He became more vocal, speaking first in meetings, or speaking up even when he had little to add. People initially responded positively to his increased "engagement." But here's where the story gets interesting: over time, his client began scheduling larger meetings, inviting multiple stakeholders. They said they "did not see the added value" in the weekly, small, detail-oriented sessions that they previously had with Thies.

In short, they moved away from the content-deep conversations where my colleague naturally excelled and toward the very format that exhausted him most. It became a weekly ritual where everybody competed for visibility while little got accomplished. The more he tried to keep up, the more he felt like he was not actually solving any problem.

Eventually, the substance caught up with the performance. The client had sensed something was off.

And Thies realized only long after that session with his manager that he had internalized the feedback as confirmation that his natural way of being quiet was fundamentally wrong – a disadvantage to overcome. He told me that he even pitched to recruiters that he "learned how to make himself visible" as a challenge he had overcome in his professional growth.

Here's the problem: Thies' experience isn't unique – it's systemic.

Many organizations are trapped in interaction patterns that exhaust their people while producing suboptimal results. The rules are clear: be visible, speak up, show engagement, communicate more. But these rules sometimes prevent other critical outputs that organizations need: authentic contribution, deep thinking, and the ability to evolve better ways of doing things.

The cost isn't just individual burnout. It's organizational stagnation. Teams that can't access their full cognitive diversity can't innovate effectively. They're stuck performing the same interaction rituals while missing the insights that could transform their output. They can't evolve more effective ways of working because the system punishes the very reflection and experimentation that drives improvement.

The Evaluation Game

This story reveals a deeper problem with how we evaluate talent and potential. We've built systems that often reward the performance of engagement over genuine engagement itself. We measure visibility over insight, speaking frequency over speaking quality, immediate reaction over thoughtful reflection – with virtually no accountability for outcomes.

Introverts' natural tendency toward observation before performance often reveals details others miss (Gollwitzer, A., & Bargh, J. A.,2018). This keen observation becomes invaluable in roles requiring attention to subtle cues, like reading a room full of client stakeholders. But our evaluation frameworks rarely capture this kind of contribution. We don't have metrics for "prevented the crisis that never happened" or "asked the question that simplified the scope of the project" or "created the conditions for others to do their best work.“. The quiet observer gets overlooked more often than not.

The Hidden Costs: it isn't just about individuals – it's about organizational efficiency

When evaluation systems reward performance theater over genuine contribution, companies lose their best insights. The price shows up everywhere once you start looking. Multiple studies reveal the scope: 67% of employees complain about excessive meeting time (Otter.ai, 2021), 71% of meetings are considered unproductive (Zippia, 2023), and teams spend at least 4 hours per week preparing for status updates. Projects can fail not only because of technical issues, but because the people who spotted early warning signs couldn't get heard through the noise. They were in meetings to discuss the work that hadn't been done because they were in meetings.

Katherine Benziger's research on "falsification" quantifies this cost. She shows that when people operate outside their natural strengths for extended periods, productivity drops by up to 30% while stress-related health costs increase. They experience weakened immune systems, memory impairment, sleep deprivation, and chronic stress. What we call "burnout" is often just the consequence of a poor match between personality and role expectations.

On top of individual issues, another critical loss is what never happens – the innovations that don't emerge, the problems that don't get solved, the efficiencies that never develop.

Building Better Evaluation Systems

So what would authentic evaluation look like in practice? How do we design systems that capture real value instead of performance theater? Here are some ideas worth considering:

Redesign Meeting Culture: Instead of defaulting to large group discussions, create multiple formats – small breakout sessions, written input periods, follow-up one-on-ones. Give people multiple ways to contribute meaningfully.

Expand Soft Skills Definitions: Move beyond "communication skills" and "leadership presence" to include "deep listening," "systems thinking," "conflict prevention," and "creating psychological safety." Recognize that influence doesn't always look like commanding a room.

Evaluate Impact Over Activity: Measure outcomes rather than inputs. Did the project succeed? Did the team gel? Did we avoid potential problems? Did someone's questions lead to breakthrough insights? These matter more than who spoke first or loudest.

Create Reflection Space: Build in time between performance and evaluation. Some contributions only become visible in retrospect. Some insights need space to develop. Some people process externally, others internally – both can be valuable.

The Real Challenge: Questioning the Bias

The hardest part isn't redesigning systems – it's questioning our own biases about what effectiveness looks like. When we see someone quiet in a meeting, do we assume disengagement or thoughtful processing? When someone needs time to respond, do we interpret that as uncertainty or careful consideration?

Introverts themselves often internalize these biases, doubting their own capabilities because they don't fit the traditional mold of what leadership or expertise is supposed to look like.

The goal isn't to flip the script and favor quiet people over louder people. It's to build interaction systems that actually serve their purpose: getting the best thinking from everyone while allowing teams to continuously improve how they work together.

This isn't about accommodation – it's about optimization. When teams can tap into both rapid-fire brainstorming AND deep reflection, both bold vision AND careful implementation, both inspiring leadership AND thoughtful analysis, they don't just perform better. They evolve. They adapt. They solve problems that seemed impossible when everyone was trying just to fit in or to control the room.

Because authentic performance isn't about putting on a show – it's about creating conditions where everyone can contribute their genuine best work.

What evaluation blind spots have you noticed in your workplace? Hit reply and share your thoughts – I read every response.

References

Benziger, K. (1995, 2018) Falsification research on personality type and workplace stress.

Healey, E. (2025). The Authenticity Delusion. Considered Chaos.

Otter.ai (2020). Meeting statistics and workplace productivity research.

Zippia (2023). Meeting effectiveness and employee productivity statistics.

Many people around 40 have some sort of realisation that they are in a way midway though their life. I am 42 years old and I definitely do. I looked back to the choices I made and to what I think I have learned on the way. When I evaluate my professional career, there is something that I learned and that took me years to understand: the most productive, professionally fulfilled - and at the end of the day, happy - people I know are not the ones desperately trying to prove themselves. They're the ones who've given themselves permission to stop performing.

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The Overachiever's Trap

In the so-called "West“, we've established a culture that worships the grind, declined in all local cultural nuances. Germans tend to keep work and private life separate. For Italians colleagues are sometimes a second family. The common factor is that working extra hours as a proxy for commitment and motivation is the norm.

This is hard for everybody, especially for introverts, who already feel pressure to "act more extroverted" to succeed. The message is clear: work harder, network more, speak up louder, and maybe—just maybe—you'll earn the right to feel good about yourself as a professional.

Gen X and Millennials abandoned the introspection and self-awareness that took center stage in early 1990s pop culture, forgetting these lessons when the internet revolution began. Gen Z is bringing it up again, but their sensitivity on the matter has not reached mainstream yet.

Anyway, here's the paradox of Grind Culture: the harder you chase external validation, the further it moves away.

I have seen this everywhere in corporate environments - and I have seen a few. Talented people—particularly introverts—burning themselves out trying to fit into extrovert-designed systems. They think if they just push through one more networking event, nail one more presentation, or force themselves to be "more visible" in the next client meeting they'll finally get that promotion, or at least feel secure. Imposter syndrome, Burnout, Anxiety and Depression at Work are now mainstream topics to be discussed during lunch break or afterwork drinks.

The liberation? It comes from embracing a totally different realisation.

From Performance to Authenticity

What if our best work—the most creative, impactful, authentic—would not come from insecurity, but from a place of feeling okay about who we are?

This isn't about lowering standards or becoming complacent. It's about understanding the difference between action from anxiety and action from authenticity.

When you're acting from insecurity:

• Every project becomes a referendum on your worth.

• Success often feels like relief rather than joy.

• You're always performing for an invisible audience, answering to others' expectations

• And it is no wonder that under this level of stress your energy depletes quickly.

On the contrary, when you're acting from authenticity, your work becomes an expression of who you are. You naturally tap into your strengths (like deep focus, careful analysis, thoughtful communication) and your energy feels renewable, not finite.

When you unlock this level of confidence, results improve because you're working with your nature, not against it.

The Introvert Advantage Unlocked

A few studies suggest that introverts who give themselves permission to work authentically often outperform those trying to fake extroversion. Studies show that when introverts lead in ways that match their natural style, they achieve better results. Why?

Because authenticity is efficient. When you stop spending energy thinking about performance, that energy becomes available for actual performance. It sounds like a paradox, but it is real.

I remember a strategy director I worked with. Let’s call her Janine. We were colleagues for about two years at an HoldCo agency. She really liked the preparation work before starting with strategy development. But of course she also had to lead a team, prepare workshops and sessions with creatives. Working for e global Pharma Brand for a new Product Launch, she forced herself to lead meeting sessions the extroverted way—fast-paced, loud, quick responses. After the initial hype, she was exhausted and her team's ideas were surface-level. That brought frustration and extra re-work rounds, stalling the project. She tried to do something different: she sent the workshop presentation beforehand, gave people time to think, and facilitated deeper, quieter discussions. She did not accept discussion with people that did not came prepared. Not everybody liked at the beginning. But the result made them change their mind. Her team stormed through a 6 week workshop-marathon to create a 3 years communication plan for the global launch of a new product, and Janine felt more energized than ever, rather than drained. In one of the meetings that I had with them, The client praised the depth of strategic thinking—something that never emerged from her previous "fake extrovert" approach

So what is the story?

The world needs what you have to offer—not a staged performance of what you think it wants.

The most successful introverts I know aren't the ones who've learned to act like extroverts. They're the ones who've learned to be unapologetically, strategically, powerfully themselves.

Some questions for reflection:

• What would your workday look like if you truly believed you didn't need to prove anything to anyone?

• How might your leadership style change if you trusted that quiet confidence was enough?

• What projects would you pursue if you weren't worried about looking impressive?

The Practice

This isn't about overnight transformation. It's about gentle experimentation.

→ Send the email without overthinking every word

→ Talk in the meeting in your natural communication style

→ Take that quiet lunch break without guilt

→ Say no to the networking event that drains you

Not because you're giving up on ambition, but because you're reclaiming the energy that authentic ambition requires, and stop trying to fit-in at any cost. It won´t work anyway in the long run.

What permission do you need to give yourself today?

#TAP #TheAuthenticityProject #AuthenticityAtWork #IntrovertLeadership #ProfessionalAuthenticity

About TAP:

The Authenticity Project explores the intersection of personality, productivity, and workplace authenticity. It´s a project that I wanted to start for a while and I am excited to launch it. I plan to post every 2 or 3 weeks. Le me know what you think, hit reply and tell me: Is authenticity important for you? What do you think about introversion at work? What permission do you need to give yourself this week?

Sources

Grant, A. M., Gino, F., & Hofmann, D. A. (2011). "Reversing the Extraverted Leadership Advantage: The Role of Employee Proactivity." Academy of Management Journal, 54(3), 528-550.

Harvard Business Review (2010). "The Hidden Advantages of Quiet Bosses" by Adam Grant, Francesca Gino, and David A. Hofmann.

Inc. Magazine (2022). "Pretending to Be Extroverted Doesn't Help Introverts Be More Successful, New Study Finds" by Jessica Stillman.

CNBC (2025). "5 phrases introverts use that set them apart: Extroverts bring energy, 'but not much more,' says psychology expert."

Thrive Global (2020). "Introverts, what's the cost of faking extroversion?" by Summer Turner.

Knowledge at Wharton (2010). "Analyzing Effective Leaders: Why Extraverts Are Not Always the Most Successful Bosses."

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