In 2004, a group of pranksters called Improv Everywhere embarked on a project to “pick a struggling rock band and turn their little gig into the best show of their lives.”
They chose Ghosts of Pasha, who had only played three shows, and recruited 35 people to memorize all of the band’s songs, print t-shirts and create temporary tattoos.
The Improv Everywhere crew infiltrated the venue to avoid suspicion, mingled with the few paying customers of the evening, and then, when Ghosts of Pasha took the stage, went completely crazy, chanting the band’s name, shouting requests and singing with perfect timing.
Meanwhile, the band was baffled. Singer Milo Finch later said, “I remember turning to the drummer… and asking, ‘What’s going on?’ It was really weird, honestly… guys were ripping their shirts off and swinging them over their heads, like they were being flown in a helicopter.”
Most bands dream of playing to a screaming audience, so on a superficial level, Ghosts of Pasha got exactly what they wanted. But they couldn’t enjoy it, because they knew it was manufactured.
A lot has happened since 2004, but I think about this farce more and more because I see similar performances playing out in the workplace. I recently witnessed such a spectacle at a branding agency, when the company’s head of growth said she wanted to “relieve me of some tasks so I could focus on my ‘Genius Zone.’”
Although it was nice to think that I had a “genius zone,” at that moment I couldn’t help but feel like the singer of Ghosts of Pasha. Something was seriously wrong. Probably because until then, my name and the word “genius” had never been associated. And also because she then explained to me that a project that usually takes a month had to be done in two days.
Later, I Googled “Genius Zone” and learned that the phrase was the subject of several self-help books and countless blog posts.
There’s been a lot of talk in recent years about “toxic positivity,” usually described as a form of social pressure that stigmatizes anything that isn’t optimistic, but toxic positivity isn’t exactly a new phenomenon. After all, the term “yes man” has been around since 1912, and the “yes man” phenomenon aptly sums up the dynamics of suppressing one’s true thoughts in order to pander to the powers that be.
What’s really new, though, are the absurd verbal acrobatics employed to reframe the worst aspects of the job so that people with less power can feel better, too.
The problem is that these tactics never work. Often, the inherent manipulative side only adds insult to injury.
For example, instead of being “fired” or “laid off,” employees are now sometimes told that their “position has been eliminated,” as if being told “We don’t need anyone to do what you do” would make them feel better.
An even more recent entry is the concept of “feedforward” – because “feedback” is apparently too threatening – in which the emphasis is on how a better result might be achieved in the future rather than examining previous work.
While I don’t like the term “Zone of Genius,” it’s important to recognize that the problem isn’t the person who used it. The problem is that a month-long project can’t be done in two days.
In other words, this new form of managerial bullshit isn’t due to a lack of character, but rather is a symptom of how people are tasked with solving important organizational problems with nothing but buzzwords they learned on TikTok.
These terms are invented as a way to cope with impossible situations but, much like tequila shots, the coping mechanism only makes the situation worse because it doesn’t address the problem and causes people to say weird things.
And while the intention may be sincere, these efforts intensify the growing distrust and alienation we see in the workplace.
Many businesses have faced legitimate economic challenges this year, leading to stress and tough decisions. But that’s not an invitation to charades. So if you find yourself in a no-win situation, do everyone a favor, stop acting, and just be a person.
This is the only role worth playing.
Ben Cake spent most of his career in New York City, working for Esquire magazine and various other publications. For several years, he also edited books for Penguin Random House. Today, he is a freelance writer and editor who lives in Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, with his wife and two sons.