The laziest form of management
We traveled to see family over the weekend. Three generations, under the same roof. All together for the first time in three years. However loud you're imagining it, you will need to turn the volume up several notches.
Before we got on the plane, we made up a game to play with the kids. One point for every time a relative remarks on how tall you are. One point for every time someone comments on Johnathan's hair. And one point for every time someone with a hardcore New York accent laughs about how Melissa "sounds so Canadian."
The kids were delighted anytime someone said one of the point phrases. They'd whisper to each other (and us), "point." At the end of the trip, we did a final tally. Twenty-five, in case you were curious.
The distance exaggerates the difference
To be kind to the point-givers in this story, if you haven't seen someone in a long time, the changes do feel big. If the 6-year-old was a 3-year-old the last time you were together, that's basically a whole different kid. And a much taller one, too. The point game doesn't work the same way for people you see everyday. It'd be sorta weird to get comments on how tall you'd gotten overnight.
That distance does funny things, though. It blurs the edges. Instead of the actual grandkids, you superimpose the grandkids as avatars for the passage of time. Instead of actual humans, you get personified change.
And when we pull that model into the work world, you get the single laziest form of business writing.
Kids today
No one. Not a single person on the receiving end of this blurred-edge, not-quite-real-human writing enjoys it. Not Gen Z. Not Millennials. Not Gen X. Not Boomers. Perhaps Greatest Generation folks are ok with it cause at least their version is flattering. But even then, it's still lazy.
It starts with a time-bound assertion that's not falsifiable. The introduction of color TV. The rise of personal computers. The move to mobile devices. Toddlers drooling on tablets, parented by algorithms designed to radicalize them.
Next, bring in a gripe. Not a generic gripe like "kids today don't want to work hard." A specific gripe, ideally one that can be attached to the time-bound assertion. Something like, "Kids today expect everything to be handed to them. What do you expect? Entire generation was raised by apps that make all the decisions for them."
Then find some kerosene, a match, and post the piece online. Watch how quickly people share it to agree that kids today are coddled and awful. And how quickly the aforementioned "kids" rush to rail against it. The algorithms don't care. Inter-generational rage makes for good viral content.
It also makes for really shitty management.
I would never
At the core of every boss quoting some article about kids today is a two-part management failure. First, a failure to adapt to the changing workplace. And second, a failure to listen to the feedback that they are part of the problem. One of these has a forgivable quaintness. The other doesn't.
In our work, this line of thinking shows up with the phrase, "I would never." It generally follows some kids today anecdote.
I had a 23-year-old ask me why they weren't a director yet.
My new hire sends emails without subject lines.
I found out my team members all share their salary info with each other.
Seriously, have you seen how they email?
I would never.
We're not here to tell you that nothing has changed – so much has. And we aren't pretending that no one under 30 has ever said something ridiculous at work, either. We have certainly said our share. What we're saying is that management models are only as good as their results. And when you're earnestly trying to understand your colleagues, it matters which one you choose.
One lens on this is that your colleagues are a different species. And from that place, all you can really do is sit there, mouth agape in astonishment, reading think pieces about how they do things that you would never. It might give you comfort, but it's a management dead-end.
Another lens is that they are reasonable humans trying their best to play the hand they've been dealt. And the benefit of that lens is that it gives you concrete things you can do.
How is it supposed to work?
Once you allow in the possibility that your colleagues are humans trying to make it all work, a cool thing happens. You give yourself permission to get very curious about why they do things so differently.
Start from the assumption that we all want some of the same things from work – dignity, equity, clarity, security, growth. And then ask yourself why they're seeking those things in such a different way. Does your organization provide those things in anything like the same package you got on your way up? Does it provide those things at all? And how would they know?
Surprised by new hires angling for promotions? When did you last walk them through how growth and recognition work in the organization? Is it documented somewhere? Can they situate themselves on a path that makes sense and feels achievable? Has anyone senior to them actually used that path to get where they are?
We're old enough to have friends who've worked in the same place for 20 years. Who kept their head down, and managed up, and are pretty comfortable. That used to be a more common story. An understanding. That if you took care of the company the company would take care of you. That story was never true for everyone. But if it was true for you, or for your parents, maybe you didn't feel a need to ask about promotions.
So does your organization offer a compelling view of that future today? Does your industry? Or has the world changed in ways that make that infeasible? If so, okay. Fair enough. But if the old rules don't apply any more, is it really so silly and strange for them to ask how it's supposed to work, now?
I suffered, so should you
The ugliness behind a lot of these stories is a collective belief that the new generation has it too soft. They quit jobs to protect their mental health. They walk out when their employer falls out of integrity with their values. They report sexual harassment.
And when they do their bosses say, I would never. And what they mean is, I didn't. What they mean is, the same things happened to me and I put up with it and I don't know what to think about the fact that you won't.
And when you say it that way, it's obvious. Yes, it's unfair that you had to put up with that shit. But no, we shouldn't want them to suffer just to balance some imaginary scales. We should want them to have the support, and clarity, and security to do better, more creative, more sustainable work than we ever could.
It starts by taking your colleagues – even your fresh out of school, don't know how a fax machine works colleagues – seriously. By realizing that if they're asking questions it's because they don't know the answers. Because the default answers you had aren't there any more, and no one has yet offered them some new defaults. That's an opportunity. That's you being invited to tell a story that makes any sense at all. And to stand out from the crowd of bosses too busy mocking the questions to figure out a real answer.
They are actual humans, not personified change.
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One More Amazing Thing
If all this generational badmouthing has you exhausted and you need a palate cleanser, we've got you covered.
In the evenings, when the little kid is asleep and the big kid is not yet asleep, we scroll TikTok for cool recipes. And while it is a platform that varies wildly depending on your feed, ours mostly has people (young and old!) getting along and cooking delicious food.
There's the kid interviewing his nonna about how to make 300 jars of pasta sauce. And the young chef remaking all his family favourites, but vegan.
But every so often the feed makes a mistake, in the way that robots sometimes do. And serves up something that seems related to wholesome cooking but is actually not at all about that.
Right now our entire house is obsessed with the egg. It's... it's not a recipe.
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