The Geometry of Brokenness

Victor M.-L. is leaning so close to his monitor that the blue light reflects off his glasses in 29 different fractals. He is currently balancing the difficulty of a boss fight in a neo-noir platformer, and his eyes are bloodshot because he has spent 19 hours trying to figure out why playtesters keep falling into the same spike pit. The pit isn’t the problem. The feedback is the problem.

Every report he receives is formatted in that ubiquitous, suffocating corporate style: ‘The atmosphere is incredible! However, the jumping feels a bit floaty. But I really loved the soundtrack!’ Victor wants to put his head through the wall. If the jumping is floaty, the game is broken. The fact that the soundtrack is good doesn’t fix the physics. The bread of the sandwich is stale, and the meat is invisible.

The Comfort of Confusion

We have all been there. You sit in a performance review with a manager who clearly read a leadership book from 1999 on the flight back from a conference. They look at you with a practiced, empathetic gaze. They tell you that you are a vital part of the culture. Then, they drop the bomb: your last 49 reports were late and lacked depth.

You leave the room feeling a strange mixture of relief and confusion. Did I get fired? Am I a rockstar? Should I change my behavior, or should I just keep being ‘positive’ while I miss deadlines?

The Awkward Truth at the Wake

This is exactly what we do at work every single day, and it is killing our ability to actually be good at anything.

Gravity Does Not Send Compliments

In the world of game design, where Victor M.-L. lives, vague feedback is a death sentence. He needs the truth. He needs someone to say, ‘This level is frustrating, the timing is off, and I hated playing it.’ That sounds harsh, but it’s actionable. It’s clean. The feedback sandwich, by contrast, is a form of gaslighting.

This directness is actually a form of respect. It assumes you are capable of handling reality. When I took a segway tour koeln, I was struck by how honest the machine was. There is no room for a sandwich.

The sandwich is a ritual of conflict avoidance that produces mediocrity.

The Ship Hits the Iceberg

We create a culture where being ‘nice’ is valued more than being ‘right’ or ‘helpful.’ We worry about ‘psychological safety,’ but we mistake safety for the absence of discomfort. True safety is knowing that if you are messing up, someone will tell you before the ship hits the iceberg.

We are effectively training the most useful people in our organizations to be less efficient so that the least resilient people don’t have to feel a momentary sting of inadequacy.

The Disaster of Dilution

I am guilty of this too. I once spent 9 days drafting an email to a freelancer whose work was consistently subpar. I wrote and deleted 19 different versions, trying to find things I liked.

By the time I sent the email, it was so diluted that the freelancer thought I was giving them a promotion. It was a disaster of my own making.

The Cold Shower of Clarity

What happens if we just stop? It doesn’t mean we have to be cruel. Cruelty is about demeaning the person; directness is about addressing the work. ‘This report is missing the data we need’ is not an insult. It is a fact. Adding ‘But I love your energy!’ doesn’t make the fact more true; it just makes the conversation longer and more annoying.

There is a peculiar relief in being told the truth without the padding. It feels like a cold shower. You know exactly where you stand. You can just do the work.

The Immunity Achieved

Victor eventually stopped reading the first and last paragraphs of his playtest reports. His productivity tripled. The game went on to sell 999,999 copies. When the reviews came in, he went straight to the negative ones to see what to fix for the sequel. He had become immune to the sandwich.

Just Give Me the Meat

We need to stop agreeing to the lie. If someone tells you that you’re a ‘valued team member’ right before they tell you that you’re failing, ask them to stop. Tell them you’d prefer the meat without the bread. It’s uncomfortable. They might look at you like you’ve just laughed at a funeral.

★

Directness is the highest form of respect.

If the answer [to who you are doing it for] is ‘me,’ then shut up and just give them the feedback. They’ll thank you for it later, or they won’t, but at least they’ll know what to do next. And that is more valuable than any ‘positive attitude’ in the world.