The remaining 90%

I have been called feisty more times than I’ve had hot dinners.

In a place where everyone says a fraction of what they mean, speaking your mind makes you scary

And although I roll with those punches, what else can you do? I don’t like it.

Feisty is a word used for women and small dogs who don’t seem to know their place. Let’s face it. You don’t call your male colleague feisty. You don’t call a tiger feisty. No, no: you save that word for women and yappy labradoodles and, although we all pretend it is not disparaging… come on now. It is belittling. You know it, I know it. Let’s move on, but let’s not pretend.

Being called feisty stopped being surprising years ago.

This piece isn’t even about that, believe it or not. It never became comfortable, but it has lost its sting. What has not stopped being a source of puzzlement, however, is when I get called feisty. What events trigger and precipitate it.

Because the reality is, sometimes you know you are taking things up a notch. But more often than not, the word is deployed because you pointed out to someone else that they are incorrect, out of line or hasty. I mostly get called names when I choose to put someone back in their place, re-establish a boundary or return a punch, figuratively speaking. I have said it before: I never start a fight, but I will always finish it. Not physically. I am a wuss when it comes to physical violence. But a confrontation of principle or battle of wits will never be abandoned. So if you don’t want to get as good as you are giving, don’t start it.

Why is that so hard to comprehend?

It always amazes me that people cross a line, say something controversial, go back on an agreement or a principle and then act all wounded that you don’t let them.

I get called feisty when I don’t let people get away with things.

Aggressive, also. I am aggressive for not letting you get away with things.

I was told I am aggressive recently because I pointed out to someone that the numbers they were quoting in defence of their argument were not correct. The numbers. It was not abstract science. It was a two-digit number. And the one he kept quoting was not even close to the real numbers.

Uncle Joe territory, remember? He didn’t have the right numbers and me pointing it out makes me aggressive. Even though I was speaking in an even voice and not threatening violence. I didn’t even threaten to withhold dessert. I just pointed out that the EBITDA number on all our packs… in front of everyone in the room, right there, was not what he kept saying it was and one of those numbers had to be wrong – the laws of physics and accounting being what they are. Either the number in the pack or the number in his speech bubble was wrong and therefore his conclusion may or may not stand.

But I am aggressive, apparently. Because his right to choose the numbers he prefers is God given and protected.

We didn’t get anywhere, in case you are wondering. But that in itself is incredible as a study in human nature.

And then it hit me.

In our industry, we have departed considerably from the formality of old, but we are not quite out of it yet. There are rules around how we speak to each other, what is considered the done thing, what is said and what isn’t. And I know about those rules because I have been enthusiastically and intentionally bending them for the last 25 years of employment. Not for me, the faux pas. If I pushed your button, it was on purpose and with intent.

I guess that’s where I get called feisty.

But my realisation was more basic than that. In an industry of convention, restraint and very specific ways of deploying language, most people say a fraction of what they mean as a matter of both course and convention. We all know that is what we do. We say a fraction of what we think and a fraction of what we know in the name of propriety, deniability and self-preservation.

We are so adept at reading the unsaid 90% of people’s statements when passive aggressive committee meetings roll on into hours of half-truths and unspoken frustrations. When incorrect statements are made and left unchallenged until everyone leaves the room and mutters to each other, “What nonsense.”

I had a colleague once who claimed work was complete in every review meeting his boss was in. We all knew it was a load of nonsense. But when challenged (by me, on occasion, but also by others) he was so eloquent in his defence, so passionate in his hurt surprise that we wouldn’t believe him, that people sided with the drama of clutched pearls and hurt feelings just to get out of the awkwardness. Even when, with alarming consistency, we discovered that he had lied every time in those meetings and the work was not done, or if done it was not shipped, or if shipped it was buggy as all get-out.

And yet.

What happened next time?

You got it.

I was called feisty for calling time on this and most people didn’t say what they knew to be true or what they knew was actually happening because that is what we do in our industry, isn’t it? We say 10% of what we think and know in the interest of keeping the peace.

So here is my realisation: in a place where everyone says a fraction of what they mean, speaking your mind makes you scary – not in your honesty, but because once you have said your piece and broken the unspoken omerta of silence, the people around the room now think ‘here we go’ and frantically try to work out what is your remaining 90% and whether it will come tumbling at them. They are trying to work out… if that is what you just said… what is the remaining 90% in your capacity for outrage and disclosure? And that is the scary part for them. Not what you just said. But what else there may be behind this.

Meanwhile, you are done. You said your piece. That was your 100%.

Because you don’t do that thing of withholding information or letting a piece of work flounder to avoid putting your head over the parapet or letting someone cross a line, hurt a colleague or peddle a lie just because they think nobody will call them out on it.

In a world where people only say 10% of what they mean, speaking your mind makes you scary, because they are wondering what comes next. That’s why we are called feisty and aggressive and opinionated and all sorts of things. Because the idea that there isn’t an unspoken avalanche behind your truth is even more uncomfortable than the idea that you should not let people get away with lies, aggressions and cut corners all the time, at 100% of your knowledge and ability.

#LedaWrites

Leda Glyptis is FinTech Futures’ resident thought provocateur – she leads, writes on, lives and breathes transformation and digital disruption.

She is a recovering banker, lapsed academic and long-term resident of the banking ecosystem. 

Leda is also a published author – her first book, Bankers Like Us: Dispatches from an Industry in Transition, is available to order here.

All opinions are her own. You can’t have them – but you are welcome to debate and comment!

Follow Leda on X @LedaGlyptis and LinkedIn.