A lot of what people do at work is easy to read. You can see whether someone writes a clean email, builds a spreadsheet you can follow, or holds a room on a sales call. That stuff sits on the surface.
The hard part is drawing a fence around who belongs on the team and who does not. Doing so is deeply uncomfortable, because it is judgmental, it is exclusionary, and it runs on preference. So we reach for objective criteria over subjective ones, hoping to be fair. But much of what actually matters about working with people is hard to put your finger on. Those are the squishy things.
The squishiest of all is whether it is okay to simply want to like the people you hire. Positive preference feels loaded with bias, because it is, and ethical leaders stay on alert for their own. Too often, though, the effort to be bias-free mutates into something counterproductive: the leader overrides a real read and defers to a borrowed set of values that sounds more acceptable, and builds an ineffective team as a result. That reflexive defense against bias is what keeps most people from ever making the squishy legible.
To make the squishy legible is to take one of those fuzzy reactions, “I don’t like how that person talks to the team,” and finish the job. You name the behavior underneath it, you make the case for why it helps or hurts the team, and you turn it into something you can say out loud, filter for, interview for, and call out.
But squishy things aren’t all bad. Dr. Jenna LeJeune and Dr. Jason Luoma call a value an appetitive, something you are hungry for, and an anti-value an aversive, something you want to push away [1]. Both deserve to be made legible, and most of us are lazier about the appetitive: naming what repels us comes much easier than naming what draws us in.
Fear of bias freezes many leaders in their tracks. Here’s an antidote: get specific. Interrogate “I don’t like this person” and you almost never land on “they went to a different school” or “they don’t look like me.” You land on a behavior that genuinely corrodes a team: the person is insubordinate, or mean, or unreliable, or bad at the job. Don’t let the fear of bias stop you from getting specific about what builds a great team and what wrecks one. More often than not, that fear is what does the damage.
This is why “culture fit” is not quite the cop-out it is accused of being. It is the first step, un-followed-up-on. “I don’t think they’re a culture fit” is so general it tells your team nothing. Finish the job. Why not? Name the behavior you can get agreement on and defend as genuinely counterproductive, and you can build a filter and run it as a test. You might be wrong about which trait predicts success, and that is fine, because having an opinion about it is the job.
Skip the work and be prepared for two things to happen. First, you’ll hire the wrong people. It will feel unpleasant, and then their output won’t be up to snuff. And so, second, the day of reckoning will arrive and they’ll either quit or you’ll have to fire them. Here, you have a choice: leave it illegible or solve the root cause once and for all, get clear on what you failed to codify, and make a change to how you filter people in and out.
Underneath all of this sits the idea of permission. In “Managing Oneself,” Peter Drucker argues that bosses and coworkers alike are individuals entitled to work their own way, and that what matters is whether they perform and what their values are [2].
One of my favorite things to tell leaders is that the one altar they should worship is that of effectiveness. Effectiveness is partly a matter of preference. If you are at your best around concise communicators, then hiring concise communicators is just you taking responsibility for the team you have to build.
But another way of thinking about it: maybe all the talk of effectiveness is just a permission structure. To put it as Claire Vo does, “sorry homies, this is how I roll and I’m king of the castle.” [3] No apology required.