Wild Courage

1

Weird

Win as you or lose as "who?"

Weird

(adj.): of strange or extraordinary character.

Weird redefined: The courage to stand out.

Before catching the right man on the New York City subway, I embarked on a painful, long-drawn-out chase after the wrong one: "Brian." Instead of moving on when the wrongness of the match became obvious-to any rational person, anyway-I refused to accept defeat. By the time I stopped twisting my authentic weirdness into his idea of normal, I'd done real damage to myself.

Never again.

There is no normal. We're all Weird in different ways. I'm bold, outspoken, driven, confident, and a bit loud. I dance down the sidewalk in public while listening to a cappella Broadway show tunes on my headphones. I've never been one to play it cool, dim my light, or curb my enthusiasm, and some people find me odd or a "bit much."

My attributes have always been strengths or weaknesses, depending on the context and how well I've leveraged them. Unfortunately, with Brian, my iron determination quickly became a weakness. From the start, he wanted someone demure and quiet. A wallflower. More accurately, a blond and petite wallflower. Ignoring this disconnect, I pursued him, and eventually, we started dating. Sort of.

"I want to be with someone gorgeous but insecure," Brian once told me. "Someone who doesn't realize how pretty she is." How do you respond when someone you're supposedly dating says that? However, as embarrassing as it is to admit, Brian's distancing behavior drove me to continue chasing him. The more he pulled back, the more I leaned in, becoming less myself while getting no closer to becoming the person he really wanted.

Short of dyeing my hair blond, I did everything I reasonably could to fit Brian's specifications: I behaved demurely, spoke quietly, and even dressed differently. When Brian suggested I wear tighter jeans, my heart sank. But I bought the jeans anyway.

It took six full years of flirtation, dating, friends with benefits, and "what even is this?" conversations to hit bottom. While I was squatting in the rubble of my old self, it finally struck me: I would never be Brian's person. Mustering the courage, I made a clean break. (See Brutal for more on those.) One of the best decisions I've made, however late. If you keep squeezing your square peg into a round hole, you'll get bent out of shape.

Brian has wonderful qualities. To this day, I think of him fondly. My Weird just wasn't compatible with his. In retrospect, my reluctance to abandon pursuit drove some of his questionable behavior. I needed someone who wanted me as I was. Learning to own my Weird instead of repressing it rescued me from endless heartbreak and set me on the path toward finding the love of my life. Embracing my authentic self also elevated my other personal and professional relationships, improving my life and accelerating my career.

Are you ready to own your Weird?

In defense of being a little weird

After World War II ended, US fighter pilot casualties kept rising. The air force suspected the cockpit design. Pilots were struggling to reach the controls while maneuvering, with disastrous consequences. What was happening? Why didn't cockpits fit their pilots anymore?

Had the average pilot gotten larger since the 1920s? After all, the American diet had become more abundant. To his surprise, Gilbert S. Daniels, the Harvard-educated lieutenant assigned to solving the problem, discovered that the "average pilot" didn't exist in the first place. Cockpits had been designed around average measurements-average height, average arm width, and so on. However, no air force pilot was within 15 percent of the average on all ten body measurements. Like the American family with 2.5 kids, the average pilot around whom cockpits had been designed was a statistical mirage. Every pilot was Weird.

The aircraft controls had never been easy to reach. Accidents happened more frequently because planes had gotten faster and their controls more complicated. With less time and more complexity, that extra half an inch required to hit a button or flip a switch went from annoyance to deadly hazard.

Once Daniels convinced the top brass that every pilot was unique (i.e., Weird), the air force introduced adjustable seats, and the accident rate plummeted.

(There's still room for improvement today. As a five-feet-four-inch private pilot, I sit on three cockpit cushions to see over the nose of the plane.)

Within your Weird lie your greatest strengths. Unfortunately, parents and teachers try to buff out these quirks. If you have young kids, you probably do the same thing, consciously or not. Teaching kids to fit in is a protective instinct that long ago helped humans survive in small tribes. As adults, we must rediscover our rough edges. To stand out and thrive, hone and highlight every ounce of Weird you've got. All that talk in the corporate world about personal branding? Forget hiring a graphic designer to pick cool fonts for your website or a consultant to tweak your LinkedIn profile. Building a personal brand means revealing what makes you distinct.

Carlye Kosiak was one of our best hires at Google. After rising through the ranks, Carlye is now a global product lead. Did I choose to interview her because of the remarkable accomplishments on her résumé? Accomplishments are table stakes at a company like Google. No, I interviewed Carlye because, besides her impressive work history, her résumé indicated an interest in "recipe tasting in pursuit of the perfect oatmeal raisin cookie." Carlye had the chops to work at Google, but so did fifty other CVs in my stack. She got the interview because her résumé featured a pop of personality the other résumés lacked. In only ten words, Carlye conveyed Weird (a personal revelation that I wouldn't have known otherwise), RECKLESS (taking a risk with the quirky addition that wasn't strictly necessary), Nosy (curiosity to learn about baking), and OBSESSED (pursuing perfection in oatmeal raisin cookies). Talk about efficient communication (BRUTAL)!

Don't run off to add hobbies to your résumé just yet. Being Weird isn't about saying something "wacky" to catch a hiring manager's attention. It's about being yourself and revealing that self appropriately, both in your résumé and everywhere else. While many people list hobbies on résumés, Carlye didn't write foodie on hers. She revealed something specific, fun, and creative about herself. And that was only part of it. Carlye landed the job because the candidate I met matched the colorful clues in her résumé. It wasn't a tactic. It was her. Authenticity won the role.

To stand out, let it hang out . . . within reason. Figuring out who you are-how you think and solve problems, what you enjoy and dislike, the values that matter most-is essential in (a) deciding what to chase in life and (b) actually catching it. Aiming for average always feels safe, but the results are boring and forgettable. Being forgotten is the real danger in any career. Life is too busy and competitive on this crazy planet for well-rounded to make a dent. Get angular.

Put yourself in the other person's shoes. When someone plays it cool in a job interview or on a first date, you know you're seeing the mask, not the person. The irony is that we crave reality in others yet project a fantasy about ourselves to others. Especially on social media. Then, we wonder why no one pays attention.

Risk authenticity or ensure anonymity.

New Google employees-"Nooglers"-discover that exceptional is expected at the company. These big fish find themselves in an even bigger pond where diligence, intelligence, and competence are par for the course. If they don't make a splash, they sink without a trace.

Think about that intern who worked in your department last summer. They played it safe. Rather than rock the boat, they formatted their résumé according to the guidelines, arrived promptly in the expected business casual attire, and quietly observed every meeting. Where are they now? And what was their name again?

Follow the rules and meet expectations. Pay your taxes and sign on the dotted line. But remember that the unwritten rules we obediently follow to "fit in" aren't rules at all. They're traps, filters to weed out people without the guts to transcend them. Study the careers of notable figures in business, science, politics, or the arts. Breaking with convention is the only rule they consistently follow.

We interpret unconventional behavior as a sign of unusual talent. Jason Feifer, editor in chief of Entrepreneur magazine, pointed me to an eye-opening study by researchers at Harvard identifying the "red sneakers effect": we perceive people who dress unusually-wearing red sneakers to a formal event, for example-as higher in status. Because breaking with conventions can theoretically get you in trouble, it follows that someone choosing not to conform must be powerful enough to get away with it.

To be clear, it has to be done with thoughtfulness and intention. Wearing a wrinkled suit that doesn't fit properly looks accidental. Pairing bright red sneakers with an elegant tux at a black-tie event is obviously a choice. The choices can be meaningful: "Nonconforming behaviors," the researchers write, "as costly and visible signals, can . . . lead to positive inferences of status and competence in the eyes of others." In other words, when someone deliberately breaks the unwritten rules of behavior in a given context, we usually assume they're good enough to get away with it.

It's called a power move for a reason.

As with every Trait in this book, there are right and wrong ways to approach Weird. For example, wearing a black T-shirt to a Michelin-starred restaurant won't convince the maître d' that you're a rock star. Yes, this is the kind of thing rock stars do, but always together with other subtle, contextual details you'll never effectively mimic. If nonconformity signals status, clumsy imitation signals the opposite. We know the real thing when we see it. Stick to what you know and who you are: it's Weird enough.

According to research, authenticity drives "work outcomes such as job satisfaction, in-role performance, and work engagement." But being yourself isn't just a good strategy for getting ahead. It's good for you. Struggling to meet some imagined template-cool, hip, "leadership material"-leaves you feeling alienated and sad. Instead, get comfortable with the discomfort of being yourself. Stop suppressing every impulse and instinct. This liberates enormous mental and emotional energy you can invest in going after what you want. For example, my team at Google was once up for an award we really wanted to win. Rather than fill out the submission form with dry details about our project and its business impact, we spent way too much time making a goofy music video. Talk about Weird.

We all felt so proud of the final product. Unfortunately, we lost anyway. For days afterward, I cringed every time I passed one of the decision-makers in the hallway. I imagined them laughing behind my back: "There goes Jenny Wood, the senior leader who wasted everyone's time on a music video."

Two years later, one of those decision-makers mentioned the incident during a coaching session: "That music video was exactly the kind of thing that sets you apart," he told me. "It was bold and memorable. You do things other leaders wouldn't dare. People notice. It serves you. Keep going."

I took this as confirmation that I'd been too harsh on myself after exhibiting my Weird. But consider the alternative. What happens if you make a bold, authentic move at work and get pulled aside by your manager for a word? Oof. No matter what you read in some book, getting castigated sucks, especially for doing something that felt smart and genuine. It might not be a music video in your case, of course. The Weird that gets you in hot water might be speaking an uncomfortable truth about a leader's suggestion, proposing an unconventional solution to an unimaginative manager, or testing an idea without running it up every inch of the flagpole to keep it from dying in committee. The occasional short-term discomfort is real, but I promise you that Weird pays off in the long run. Push through. Bounce back. Believe in yourself and in what only you have to offer.

The so-called safe alternative to Weird is trying to be everyone's cup of tea. Going along to get along feels perfectly comfortable when you're doing it, but it's so much riskier. The obvious move is easily forgotten. Why make it in the first place? When you put your unique spin on things, from how you speak and act to how you get the job done, you discover kindred spirits, just as banging a tuning fork creates sympathetic vibrations in objects that resonate on the same frequency. Weird leads to dependable allies, better gigs, and more compatible romantic partners.

You've got a big blue sky to explore. How will you fly the plane if you're squeezed into someone else's cockpit?

Play it hot

People tell you to play it cool when you're trying to impress. That might work in high school, but planet Earth is slightly bigger. Adding so many people to the mix changes the risk-reward ratio. Weirding out your circle of friends in high school is social suicide. Weirding out someone you met on Tinder is par for the course if you want to find an authentic match one day. Different stakes make for a different game. In the real world, you either stand out or sink into obscurity.

Play it hot.

Playing it hot is a strategic commitment not to blend in. It's a mindset: I will bring energy and excitement to every interaction, confident that the benefits outweigh the risks. Because, in the long run, they always do.

Back in high school, kids strive for popularity, but they'll accept invisibility if necessary. Being invisible is still safe. You can quietly get good grades and get into a good college without being invited to every party. (Frankly, getting good grades is easier without a social life.) Everybody knows that the real danger is being noticed for the wrong reasons. If you say something embarrassing in math class, it can spread to the whole school by the end of the day. You're finished.

In your career, on the other hand, you're only finished if you're invisible. If people don't know you're there, they can't send opportunities your way, no matter how talented and ambitious you are. That means no exciting side projects. No promotions. No getting poached by that under-the-radar, high-potential start-up. Sticking your neck out is a risk, but plenty of people who play it safe at work still don't make it through the next round of layoffs. There is no perfectly safe path. All you can ever do in life is maximize the risk-reward ratio.