Shattering the Toxic ‘Rockstar’ and ‘Superstar’ Workplace Myths
Unveiling the dark side of ‘Rockstar’ and ‘Superstar’ employee labels and why shifting to a ‘Team Player’ mentality drives long-term career success
In her popular business book, Radical Candor, Kim Scott introduces the framework of Rockstars and Superstars to distinguish between two kinds of top performers, and how businesses need a balance of both types of employees to thrive.
The Medium article below establishes a good summary of the definitions of each term and the “golden ratio” for Rockstars and Superstars depending on the stage the company is in. Give it a read:
I won’t expound further on this concept. I am here to talk about how labels such as “Rockstars” and “Superstars,” reinforced by frameworks such as the one above, have the dangerous potential to contribute to toxic work cultures.
Top performers, dopamine hits, and toxic cultures
The terms “Rockstars” and “Superstars” are used interchangeably by most employees since only a handful have read Radical Candor.
Employees who are considered “Stars” are undoubtedly high performers.
These are employees entrusted with the hardest, most complex problems because of their track record of strategy, execution, and impact. These are employees that need little management oversight because they demonstrate high agency, are results-oriented, and can get shit done. Their glowing annual performance reviews mean the company will invest in them without giving it a second thought.
These employees relish the opportunity of being called a “Rockstar,” or “Superstar,” or the “Chosen One,” or the “Expert,” or the “Go-To Person.” They get dopamine hits from being assigned big projects and getting involved in important meetings.
I know because I’ve been that “Star” employee. And I take pride in the work I’ve done, the relationships I’ve built, and the impact I’ve made.
However, after over ten years in the workforce, I’ve come to learn that always being the “Star” is not at all sustainable, especially in company cultures that glorify “hardcore” workers — those that constantly work beyond 9-to-5, those that are perennially online, those that show up to work despite feeling ill.
When you work hard and drive impact, you are called a “Star” and get recognition. But then you also get more work for being so good, which in turn, leads to more recognition. It’s a vicious cycle of hard work > recognition > more work > more recognition.
It is as if you are running inside this guinea pig wheel, accelerating your pace every time they feed you more food. Then one day you realize that you’ve been running so fast for so long that you can no longer maintain your pace. But you can’t do a hard stop, lest you fall off the wheel. And slowing down is a terrifying option, because what if they no longer feed you food?
This is where the toxicity comes in. When you’re labeled a “Rockstar” or a “Superstar,” it’s hard to not want to hold onto that status because of the fear of repercussions. If you’re always giving 150%, scaling down to a sustainable 80–90% would seem like you’re not pushing yourself hard enough because your colleagues have been anchored by the version of you that’s always doing more.
So despite HR’s efforts to promote work-life balance, this is all but a fever dream to you. You make sacrifices to get the job done at all costs — no matter the impact on your health, well-being, and relationships outside of work.
Team stars and role players
I’ve never thought of a company as a family; I’ve always considered it a team, which I believe is the more appropriate analogy.
You all are working towards a common goal. You have players with designated roles to play. When someone isn’t performing well or no longer fits the team culture, they get removed from the roster — traded or waived.
Since I thrive the most when I know I am trusted, I used to share this basketball analogy with my managers:
“When we’re down a point and there are 5 seconds left on the clock with the championship on the line, you want the ball in my hands — either to orchestrate the play or to take the damn shot.”
That was the kind of employee I was. I was their star. I was Steph Curry.
However, after repeated cycles of highs and lows, of the most triumphant achievements and severe bouts of burnout, I’ve come to realize that maybe Steph Curry isn’t the right player to compare myself to. I don’t want to be a star forever. I want to win like everyone else, but I also just want to play ball and earn a living.
Maybe I should consider being Andre Iguodala instead. Iguodala was an all-star in his prime with the Philadelphia 76ers and the Denver Nuggets, but as he aged and his star began to wane, he became a reliable veteran and a formidable role player with the Golden State Warriors — helping them win four NBA championships.
Career arcs are long. I’m in my early 30s, so I’ll likely be working for 25–30 more years. I’m coming to terms with the realization that I don’t want to be an all-star forever.
Instead, I want to be a role player — the player on the team that doesn’t necessarily get the accolades or the fanfare, but the one with consistently high efficiency ratings who makes other players look good and helps teams win games and championships.
It certainly is a huge mindset and behavior shift, but a necessary one for the sake of my longevity, health, and sanity.
