The Radical Communication Philosophy I (Try To) Live By
And why we owe it to everyone — at work and in life
When I was eleven, I played The Fairy of Toy Magic in a community theatre production of The Velveteen Rabbit. I wore a shimmery blue organza dress with long chevrons that draped delicately from my waist to my ankles. An oversized flower crown lay lightly on my head.
I emerged from a giant flower atop a raised platform, and three younger girls I adored played my sequined pixie companions. I performed the final magical act of the play — turning the love-worn Velveteen Rabbit into a Real Bunny.
I loved this role.
And I’d learn, over the years, that fairy/dancer/delicate ingenue would be one of my acting types.
But in real life, I’m more like the Skin Horse.
Remember him?
‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you . . .’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.
‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.
The Skin Horse could be trusted. He said what needed saying, even if it might sting a little. And he said it carefully, with love.
Coming from a place of love
Like the Velveteen Rabbit to the Skin Horse, my friends and colleagues have confided that they trust my input because they know that I consider my words thoughtfully. That I’m conscious of their impact. I believe that language has meaning and ideas have power, and I do my best to carefully carve out my compliments, criticisms, and observations.
Last week, two old friends and I shared an old-fashioned three-way phone call. “I always know I can trust Cathlyn,” one friend said to the other, and then addressed me. “That’s something I appreciate about you — you’re always going to tell me the truth, but it always comes from a place of love.”
And that’s important to me.
Most of the time, when I’m with friends and colleagues I’m able to balance truthfulness with mindfulness.
When I’m speaking to people I admire, but am not close to, I struggle to tell hard truths.
And if I feel disrespected by someone, well, that’s where it gets extra tough for me: outcomes the truth without the love.
I strive for balance. But I don’t always get there.
The “Radical Candor” philosophy
Kim Scott, author, and founder of Candor, Inc, calls the truth-without-love approach “Obnoxious Aggression,” and she’s right. It’s one of four quadrants on her diagram explaining “Radical Candor,” the philosophy she describes as “caring personally while challenging directly.”
Only “caring personally” or just “challenging directly” creates a communication imbalance that leads to listeners’ defensiveness, mistrust, or stagnation—none of which are great at opening doors to improvement. We need both in order to make room for change.
Ruinous Empathy
When a speaker engages in Ruinous Empathy, it’s because they struggle to balance the care they feel for the recipient with the directness that will make a comment helpful. “This is the quadrant,” Scott says in her talk at Hubspot’s Inbound conference, “where most of us make most of our mistakes.”
We’re caring personally, but not challenging directly (or sometimes, not challenging at all).
Our feedback is indirect to the point of ambiguity (or simply non-existent) in order to avoid hurting the recipient’s feelings or causing offense.
Manipulative Insincerity
This is when a speaker neither cares nor challenges. Like the category implies, it’s insincere because we know better. We know there is something that’s not quite right — but we don’t make the effort or take the risk to give the right feedback. It’s manipulative because we’re withholding information that might help the recipient, and we do it in order to mold the situation (or some situation) in our favor.
In an article published in Forbes, we’re given a common example of this kind of communication: the boss who thinks, “I’m just going to tell him the report was fine because I don’t have the time to explain why it was so bad. Next time, I’ll just have someone else do it.”
I’ve been that boss. I know I have. It’s so easy to fall into when so many plates are being juggled all the time, and of course, we have to “pick our battles.” But so often, a “battle” won by Manipulative Insincerity is a short-lived victory. this approach does not win wars.
Obnoxious Aggression
This is where I struggle when I’m feeling disrespected. (Note to self: just because I’m feeling disrespected doesn’t mean I am being disrespected.) When this happens, my instinct is to spit out the truth without the benefit of the thoughtful consideration I’d usually make. It’s challenging directly, but not caring personally. It’s aggressive. It’s obnoxious. And for me, it’s the hardest part of the Radical Candor philosophy.
In her Forbes interview, Scott laments, “I regret to say that if you can’t be radically candid, being obnoxiously aggressive is the second-best thing you can do [as a workplace supervisor]. At least then people know where you stand, so your team can achieve results.”
Radical Candor
This is the goal: to care personally and challenge directly, giving valid and valuable feedback without shutting the recipient down. This combination allows the recipient to remain open to our feedback, to accept it, and to grow.
It’s about more than the words we say
Throughout her writing, speaking engagements, and interviews, Kim Scott gives some examples of “Radical Candor” that on the page might sound more like “Obnoxious Aggression.”
But with a little more thought, their place in the world of Radical Candor becomes clearer.
In Scott’s Hubspot talk, she tells the story of an interaction with her former boss at Google, Sheryl Sandberg. Scott had given a presentation that she thought went well — but Sandberg asked her to walk with her back to her office. “Uh-oh,” Scott thought, “I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what it is.”
On the walk, Sandberg praised a few elements of her presentation. She then pointed out that Scott had said “um” throughout the presentation. “Are you aware of that?” she asked.
Scott, feeling relieved, gestured to “brush off” the comment, saying “Yes, I know, I do that . . . no big deal, really.”
Sandberg offered to provide a speaking coach.
Scott gestured again. “I don’t have time for a coach!”
Then, Scott says in her talk, Sandberg stopped walking. “She looks right at me, and she says, when you make that gesture with your hand, I can see I’m gonna have to be a lot more direct with you. When you say ‘um’ every third word, it makes you sound stupid and insecure.”
Scott acknowledges that those words might sound “mean.”
“But in fact,” she explains, “it was the very kindest thing she could have done for me at that moment in my career.”
Without the benefit of context (What was Sandberg’s tone? Did she soften her voice? Lean in? Smile?), Sandberg’s words do sound harsh to me.
But when I recreate the scenario in my mind, I can imagine the exchange fulfilling the requirements of Radical Candor — showing Sandberg’s personal care in addition to her candid feedback. While I may not have chosen the exact words that Sandberg did, I can see how the sentiment would be able to be shared with care when paired with thoughtful non-verbal communication.
Scott goes on to give another example in which she was waiting at a crosswalk with her golden retriever puppy, Belvedere, who was untrained and unruly. When the dog jumped in front of a cab and narrowly escaped being hit, a tall, bearded stranger standing next to Scott said, “I can see you love that dog.”
But he had another thought for her, too, as she explains on her blog:
“If you don’t teach that dog to sit, she’s going to die!” said the tall bearded man in blue jeans standing next to me. He pointed at the ground, bent down to get in Belvy’s face, and bellowed at her, “SIT!!” To my astonishment, Belvy sat. She didn’t just sit, she pounded her butt into the pavement, and looked up at the man wagging her tail.
The man was in my face now. “See? It’s not mean, it’s clear.” The light changed, and the man strode across the street, leaving me with words to live by.
This was the moment, she explains, that her concept of Radical Candor was born.
Telling a stranger that they’re going to kill their own dog seems pretty harsh to me, but again, it’s possible that with the right tone, facial expression, and body language, the speaker could challenge directly and still leave the recipient feeling cared for (and open to change). It certainly had that effect on Kim Scott.
Not just for the workplace
Radical Candor has gotten most of its attention as a management communication philosophy, teaching supervisors and executives how to communicate with the people who work for and with them.
But it’s just as important that we practice Radical Candor in our personal lives. Our friends and family, the cashiers and delivery people, bank tellers, and strangers at the crosswalk, all deserve our personal care and directness.
“Caring personally,” Scott tells us, “is something that you owe to every human being you interact with, either at work and in life.”
It’s only through the practice of Radical Candor that we (at least, most of us) will accept challenges and make an effort to change for the better.
(And, honestly, even further, appreciate the feedback. Have you ever walked around with lettuce in your teeth without realizing it until you got home? Someone, at some point, probably noticed and, falling into Ruinous Empathy, decided not to tell you!)
But also . . . maybe not for every occasion
It might be that not every interaction requires Radical Candor. Sometimes “if you don’t have anything nice to say . . .” could be the way to go.
But kindness is different than being nice. It’s “nice” to ignore someone’s minorly embarrassing situation, like lettuce in their teeth. But if you’re aiming for kindness, let Radical Candor be your guide.
Because like the Skin Horse, we often need to tell the truth — with love — even when it might hurt a little.
