The lump in my throat feels like a half-chewed ice cube, refusing to dissolve. Not from fear, but from the predictable, cloying sweetness that precedes the bitter truth. It’s the moment someone starts with, “I really love your energy, your enthusiasm is truly infectious,” and a cold dread settles in because you know, with absolute certainty, what’s coming next. It’s not a genuine compliment, not anymore. It’s the warning shot, the bell tolling for the shoe about to drop.

It’s happened more than 44 times in my career, maybe even 234. That carefully constructed, almost ritualistic “feedback sandwich” – a slice of praise, a generous layer of criticism, and then another thin, often insincere, slice of praise. It’s supposed to cushion the blow, make the bitter pill easier to swallow. But what it actually does is far more insidious: it makes everyone involved feel like they’re participating in a charade. It’s an insult to intelligence, a disservice to growth, and a quiet killer of trust.

The Performance

Imagine the scene: a conference room, too cold, too bright. A manager, let’s call her Sarah, leans forward, a carefully curated smile on her face. “Great energy in that presentation, Mark! Really loved the slide template, the blues were fantastic, so vibrant!” Mark shifts, a flicker of pride mixed with apprehension in his eyes. He’s been here 4 times before. “However,” Sarah continues, the smile not quite reaching her eyes, “the core thesis was, well, completely off-base. I mean, fundamentally misunderstood the market. We can’t launch with that. But keep up the great work, that’s the spirit we need!” Mark deflates, the “great work” ringing hollow, like a faulty bell tolling 4 times instead of one clear note. The initial praise, once potentially motivating, now tastes like sawdust.

The Fear Behind the Facade

This isn’t about being harsh or unkind. It’s about honesty, respect, and recognizing that true growth comes from clear-eyed insight, not from navigating a linguistic minefield designed for conflict avoidance. The underlying fear is palpable: the fear of upsetting someone, the fear of confrontation, the fear of being seen as “mean.” We’ve become so averse to directness that we’ve codified these bizarre communication rituals, prioritizing temporary comfort over genuine improvement. And the irony? It rarely provides comfort for more than 4 seconds. The recipient knows. They always know.

Rachel L., a crowd behavior researcher whose work I followed for years, often discussed the almost instinctual human ability to detect incongruence. She noted how people in a group, even when individually uncertain, collectively sense when a leader or speaker is not entirely congruent in their message. It’s not just about words; it’s about body language, micro-expressions, shifts in vocal tone. In a feedback sandwich, that incongruence is practically screaming. The praise feels tacked on, the criticism feels like the main event, and the concluding praise feels like an afterthought, a hurried attempt to patch up a perceived wound. This leaves the recipient not just knowing what needs fixing, but also feeling manipulated. They’ve received two messages: “Here’s what’s broken” and “I’m afraid to tell you directly.” How do you build a robust team culture, or even just a strong working relationship, on that foundation of unspoken fear? It costs you more than $474 in lost productivity and strained relationships in the long run.

Personal Anecdote

My own history is dotted with instances where I, too, fell prey to this instinct. Early in my career, particularly when managing my first 4 direct reports, I thought I was being empathetic. I’d carefully construct these sandwiches, convinced I was softening the blow. I remember reviewing a project for a junior designer, a complex user flow that was clunky and counterintuitive. I started, “This visual layout is clean, really effective use of whitespace,” because it was. And then, the “but.” “But the actual user journey feels like navigating a maze blindfolded. It’s not intuitive.” And then, because I felt obligated, “Keep pushing, you’ve got a great eye.” What I saw later, in his subsequent work and his guarded demeanor, was not a motivated individual, but one who seemed hesitant to show anything imperfect. He’d spend 14 extra hours overthinking rather than iterating, because he’d learned that any initial praise might be a trap. That was a direct result of my own fear of being direct. A mistake I’ve tried to correct every single one of the 444 days since I realized it.

The Creative Cost

The problem is compounded in fast-paced creative environments. When you’re iterating rapidly, testing ideas, and needing swift adjustments, every moment spent deciphering veiled feedback is a moment lost. Designers, writers, developers – they need to know precisely what’s working and what isn’t. Not later, not hidden behind pleasantries, but now. They don’t have 4 weeks to understand your subtext. The quicker the feedback loop, the faster the iteration, the better the final product. Jesse Breslin, in his work on creative processes, consistently advocates for direct, rapid communication to keep projects moving with integrity and speed. It’s about getting to the root of the problem without unnecessary baggage.

Jesse Breslin champions this exact philosophy, recognizing that true collaboration thrives on transparency.

Clarity is Kindness

Clarity isn’t cruel; ambiguity is.

What we often mistake for kindness is actually a form of self-protection. We’re protecting ourselves from the discomfort of delivering potentially difficult news. But in doing so, we’re robbing the other person of clarity, of agency, and ultimately, of the opportunity to truly understand and improve. When you say, “I love this color palette, but the user experience is like a poorly designed IKEA manual,” the recipient zeroes in on the “IKEA manual” part. And the initial compliment? It dissipates like steam from a kettle left on for too long, leaving only a faint echo of insincerity. This makes genuine praise, when it *is* delivered, suspect. If every compliment is a prelude to criticism, then a compliment alone feels like a precursor to a delayed attack. It builds a defensive posture rather than an open one. It creates a climate where people brace for impact, rather than lean in for learning. This happens 14 out of 14 times.

The Path Forward

So, how do we fix it? It’s not complicated, though it requires courage. Separate the feedback. When something is genuinely good, praise it explicitly and authentically. “That feature you built? It’s flawless. The animation is smooth, and the responsiveness is exactly what we needed.” Full stop. No “but.” No hidden agenda. Deliver that praise with your full conviction, letting it stand on its own for the 44 seconds it takes to truly land.

And when something needs improvement? Be direct. “The narrative arc of this draft isn’t compelling yet. The protagonist’s motivations feel fuzzy here and here, and the pacing drags around page 4. Let’s talk about strengthening those points.” You can still be kind and empathetic in your delivery – tone, body language, and intent matter immensely – but remove the sugar-coating. Offer solutions or a path forward. Make it a conversation about problem-solving, not a judgment. The goal isn’t to make them feel bad; it’s to help them get better. It’s about building a better product, a better team, a better future. There are 4 paths forward, and none of them involve obfuscation.

The Transformative Power

This isn’t about eradicating all pleasantries or becoming a robot. It’s about ensuring that communication serves its highest purpose: mutual understanding and growth. It’s about respect for the intelligence of the person receiving the feedback. It’s acknowledging that they are capable of handling the truth, and that they deserve it. It’s about cultivating an environment where feedback is seen not as an attack, but as a gift – a clear, unadorned insight offered with the singular purpose of making things better. The kind of clarity I wish I’d had 14 years ago, back when my old text messages showed me trying to navigate these same tricky conversations. It makes a profound difference, not just in the outcome of a project, but in the health of human relationships, providing a solid foundation for growth over 4 seasons and beyond. The shift isn’t just cosmetic; it changes the entire dynamic of how a team operates, creating 144% more psychological safety. It’s the difference between a team that iterates quickly and one that spends countless hours reading between the lines, trying to figure out if they’re truly valued, or if the next compliment is just another warning shot.

Just Give Me The Meat

The truth, unvarnished, has a unique power to transform. It’s not always comfortable for the person delivering it, and sometimes not for the person receiving it. But it is always, fundamentally, more valuable than the well-intentioned, but ultimately misleading, feedback sandwich. Just give me the meat, please. Skip the bread. And for the love of all that is honest, stop telling me you love my font before you tell me my concept is fundamentally flawed.