
Growing Together: The Journey of Followers and Authentic Connections
My eyes were glazing over again, a familiar, faintly metallic taste forming at the back of my tongue. It wasn’t the stale office coffee or the too-warm air, but the words themselves, sliding across the screen like oil on water, refusing to be absorbed. It felt like I’d just stepped into a parallel dimension, where everyone spoke a dialect comprised of exactly 11 keywords.
My boss just said we need to ‘synergize our core competencies to operationalize our deliverables.’ And in that moment, the actual mechanism of brain-rot felt almost palpable. This isn’t just about sounding important, or even just being lazy. It’s an unconscious strategy, I’ve come to believe, a velvet rope drawn around an inner sanctum of presumed expertise, effectively obscuring the very real absence of clear thought.
I’d been caught in this web many times. Just last Tuesday, a company-wide email landed, heralding a new ‘strategic vision.’ Three paragraphs deep – past the leveraging, the ideating, the inevitable ‘unpacking’ of paradigms – and my mind was blank. Not because I hadn’t read it, but because the words had built an impenetrable wall, a shimmering, self-referential edifice that conveyed absolutely nothing tangible. What was changing? No one seemed to know, or perhaps, no one dared to ask for fear of revealing their own perceived deficiency.
The degradation of language, you see, isn’t just a linguistic curio; it’s a silent erosion of our collective ability to think clearly. If you can’t articulate an idea plainly, perhaps the idea itself isn’t fully formed, or worse, it’s designed to mask something.
This creation of an in-group, this ‘cognoscenti’ who supposedly understands the secret language, fosters an environment where questioning is discouraged. To admit you don’t understand is to admit you’re not part of the club, not ‘strategic’ enough, not ‘aligned’ with the vision. It’s a powerful social barrier, almost tribal in its function, and incredibly effective at maintaining the status quo, even when that status quo is utterly nonsensical. The cost of admission to this club is often your genuine curiosity and your ability to think for yourself. It’s a steep price, wouldn’t you say? Especially when the ‘knowledge’ being protected is often just a vacuum of real insight.
Take Diana B., an emoji localization specialist I met at a conference last year. Her entire job revolved around precision. A misplaced comma or a slightly off-context emoji could completely alter a message across different cultures. She once explained how the nuance between a ‘slightly smiling face’ and a ‘grinning face with smiling eyes’ was a difference of $1,001 in marketing impact for one client. Her work was about stripping away ambiguity, finding the exact visual analogue for a feeling or an instruction.
Yet, she confided, her biggest daily challenge wasn’t cultural translation, but internal corporate communications. ‘They want me to find an emoji for “optimizing cross-functional bandwidth for agile iteration,” she’d said, throwing her hands up. ‘What even *is* that? A confused face? A facepalm? It’s gibberish dressed up as serious business, and my job is to translate gibberish into globally understandable pictograms, which makes me feel like I’m in some kind of existential loop, trying to localize nothing.’
It made me think about my grandmother, bless her patient soul, when I tried to explain ‘the cloud’ to her. Not the fluffy white things in the sky, but the amorphous digital ether. I started with technical terms, talked about servers and distributed networks, and watched her eyes glaze over much like mine had done with the ‘strategic vision’ email.
It was a humbling moment, a quiet realization that the burden of clarity always lies with the communicator, not the recipient. And yet, I’ve still found myself reaching for the occasional ‘leveraging synergies’ in a moment of panic or intellectual laziness, especially when I haven’t quite articulated my own thought fully. It’s a bad habit, a quick fix, like hitting snooze on the alarm clock of genuine understanding.
It’s why, when I encounter businesses that genuinely strive for clarity, it feels like a breath of fresh air, a testament to true client focus. You see it in places like
Floorpride Christchurch, where the focus isn’t on ‘architecting innovative floor-based solutions with integrated aesthetic paradigms’ but on helping you choose the right carpet, explaining the benefits simply, and ensuring you understand the process. They speak *to* you, not *at* you, valuing your understanding over their own perceived linguistic sophistication.
This isn’t just about making things easy; it’s about building trust, the bedrock of any meaningful relationship, be it client or colleague. When language becomes a labyrinth, you’re not just confusing people; you’re subtly implying they’re not smart enough to keep up, or that what you’re saying is too complex for their civilian minds. It’s a form of corporate gaslighting, really, a slow chipping away at confidence.
This isn’t just inefficient; it’s unethical, in a quiet, insidious way.
We often fall into the trap of thinking jargon makes us sound smart. But truly smart people don’t need to hide behind a fog of buzzwords. They can distill complex ideas into their essence, making them accessible to anyone. Think of the greatest scientific discoveries – they weren’t communicated in obscure academic riddles but often in surprisingly simple, elegant terms once fully understood. Newton didn’t ‘operationalize gravitational force vectors across planetary bodies’; he observed an apple falling.
It makes me wonder how many truly innovative ideas are stifled, not by a lack of vision, but by a lack of plain language to describe them. How many potentially groundbreaking projects never get off the ground because their proposals are impenetrable thickets of ‘scalable ecosystems’ and ‘disruptive capabilities’? It’s like trying to navigate a dense jungle where every signpost is written in a secret code only a few initiated members can decipher. And often, those members are just as lost, but too afraid to admit it. After all, admitting you don’t understand ‘value-added synergies’ could be career limiting, couldn’t it?
And this degradation isn’t just about communication breakdown; it’s about a deeper cognitive issue. When we habitually use vague, abstract terms, we train our brains to be vague and abstract. We lose the muscle for concrete thinking, for precise observation, for direct problem-solving. It’s like habitually using a calculator for basic arithmetic; eventually, you struggle to do it in your head. Our intellectual sharpness dulls. We become adept at manipulating symbols without connecting them to reality, like a puppeteer whose strings are tangled, but who keeps making the puppets dance anyway, hoping no one notices the lack of grace. What kind of leadership is that, truly? A leadership that prizes obfuscation over enlightenment, or a leadership that is simply too lazy or too afraid to articulate their own thoughts with the kind of clarity that would stand up to genuine scrutiny?
I’ve heard the counter-argument, of course. That jargon creates a shorthand, an efficient way for experts in a field to communicate without needing to explain every single foundational concept. And there’s a sliver of truth to that. A surgeon doesn’t need to explain cellular biology during an operation, and a programmer won’t explain binary code to another programmer when discussing an API.
But corporate jargon rarely operates with that kind of precision or necessity. It’s not about technical shorthand; it’s about obfuscation. It’s about making ‘we need to cut costs’ sound like ‘we must right-size our fiscal responsibilities to optimize stakeholder value.’ The first is clear, direct, and actionable. The second is a rhetorical smokescreen, designed to soften the blow and distance the speaker from the actual, sometimes unpleasant, reality. It’s like putting a fancy, complicated label on an empty bottle, hoping no one notices there’s nothing inside. It’s the ultimate intellectual sleight of hand.
I recall one particularly egregious presentation where every single slide was an abstract diagram, connected by arrows labeled with phrases like ‘holistic alignment’ and ‘interconnected digital touchpoints.’ The presenter proudly stated this was a ‘101-page deck, detailing our future state’ and then spent an hour talking around the content, never actually explaining what any of the diagrams *mean*. At the end, I raised my hand and asked, ‘So, what’s the single most important action item from this?’ The silence that followed felt like it stretched for a full 21 seconds. A nervous laugh, a shifting of weight. No answer. Just more jargon, attempting to fill the void of actual substance. It became clear that the presentation wasn’t meant to inform, but to impress, to dazzle with complexity rather than illuminate with clarity. It was a performance, not a communication.
It’s tempting to think this is a new phenomenon, a symptom of our increasingly complex world. But I suspect it’s always been there, a human tendency to use language as a shield or a weapon. The specific words change, the corporate lexicon evolves, but the impulse remains. And I won’t pretend I’m immune. There have been moments, caught in a high-pressure meeting, where I’ve defaulted to a ‘leveraging best practices’ or ‘synergistic outcome’ simply because it felt safer, more accepted, than admitting I hadn’t yet distilled my own thoughts into something truly concise. It’s a subtle pressure, a quiet conformity that can slowly, almost imperceptibly, chip away at our authentic voice. It’s a mistake, yes, but a very human one, born of a desire to fit in or to appear competent when we feel anything but.
But what if we collectively decided to push back? What if, in every meeting, every email, every presentation, we demanded clarity? What if we valued directness over corporate poetry, substance over style? Imagine the cognitive load lifted, the meetings shortened, the actual progress made.
“Strategically pivoting our paradigms to foster scalable, impactful deliverables within a dynamic ecosystem.”
“We’re changing X to achieve Y.”
Imagine a world where ‘what are we doing?’ is answered with ‘we’re changing X to achieve Y,’ instead of ‘we’re strategically pivoting our paradigms to foster scalable, impactful deliverables within a dynamic ecosystem.’
What kind of world would that be? A world, I suspect, where we might actually understand each other a little better. A world where the ideas, not the jargon, truly resonate. This isn’t just about language; it’s about respect. Respect for the listener’s intelligence, respect for the precious commodity of their time, and ultimately, respect for the truth of the matter at hand.
Are we brave enough to speak plainly?