Earlier this week I shared some evidence-backed (and slightly depressing) findings on the most common paths to leadership — which, sadly, aren’t usually paved with actual leadership skill. The research indicates that it’s often the good-looking, ambitious, conversationally dominant people who end up in the corner office, not necessarily the strongest leaders.
That reminded me of two leaders I’ve worked with who both fit that description on paper — good looking, polished, magnetic in a room. One of them is also a genuinely great leader. The other, sadly, is not. Let’s meet them.
Glenn, the Good
When I was running marketing at a boutique consulting firm, I often worked with big tech alliance partners to co-promote our services alongside their products. My first glimpse of Glenn was watching him emcee a stage in front of about 5,000 people at a tech conference. The man was impressive — looked and carried himself like Mitt Romney: tall, handsome, polished, articulate. The full package. (And admittedly incredibly intimidating).
As the alliance developed, I had the opportunity to work with him at many conferences and events and that first impression never wore off. I vividly recall the first webcast we did together. If you’ve ever done a corporate webcast, you know the “green room” chaos — speakers, “producers”, marketing and comms folks all logged in, everyone testing audio and video, double-checking slides, nerves running a little hot. My first green room with Glenn was different. He lowered the tension in the room just by being in it.
“Glenn treats his team as the reason he’s any good at all. Barbara treats hers as scenery.”
I’ll never forget how he made a point of learning the name and role of every single person there. There was a behind-the-scenes “operator” the webcast vendor had assigned to handle technical issues — someone off-camera we’d never met before and would likely never meet again. Glenn took the trouble to ask her name. Peggy. When it came time to go live, he looked at the camera and said, “Okay, Peggy, we’re ready — go ahead and start the broadcast.” He called every one of us by name, because he actually saw us, whether we worked for him or not.
Over the years I had plenty of other chances to work with Glenn, and he was consistently that supportive, that respectful, every time. One memory I’ll never forget was when we were at a small conference in Chicago and one of my consultants was giving a genuinely disastrous presentation — boring, poorly delivered, painful to watch. Glenn caught my eye and gestured toward the hallway. Oh boy, I thought. I didn’t prep this speaker well enough. Here it comes.
I was wrong. Instead of calling me or my speaker out, he merely wanted to tell me how he learned how to own a stage himself — that his polish wasn’t an accident, but the product of intensive training with a former 60 Minutes producer. He shared it with generosity, clearly hoping it might help my speaker improve, and help me become a better coach for my own team. Not a single word of criticism. Just the gift of constructive feedback, offered quietly, in a hallway.
Barbara, the Bad
Now contrast that with another leader I’ve worked with — let’s call her Barbara. Like Glenn, she’s tall, attractive, and owns every room she walks into, with her sights locked on the corner office. Unlike Glenn, her only real interest in the people around her is how well they can make her look good.
When I first met Barbara, she described her leadership philosophy as “people are my number one priority.” I never once saw evidence of it. She never bothered to learn most of the members of her team’s names. She was never available. She didn’t answer emails. She never met with them. She was too busy smoozing with senior execs and sending directives down the food chain to the people actually doing the work. Sometimes at 5pm expecting a turnaround by 8am the next morning.
I watched her walk through a conference in Vegas a team had spent months preparing for — the booth, the materials, the pitch, all of it — without stopping once to find a single one of them. She breezed past her own people to get to the executives she actually wanted to be seen with.
The result was exactly what you’d expect: a team that felt invisible, unsupported, and unseen. Skepticism took root. Trust never had a chance. She made it to the corner office but once she got there the results were mediocre at best. Turnover was off the charts and for those who stuck around, rather than rallying to help her take things to the next level, the team simply collected a paycheck and little else. Nobody was particularly invested in whether she, or the mission, succeeded, and chaos ensued.
The Difference
Glenn understood something Barbara probably never will: that supportive leadership isn’t a nice-to-have, it’s the secret to your success. People perform better for someone who sees them — and that performance is exactly what gets a leader to their own goals faster, not slower. Barbara treats her team as scenery. Glenn treats his as the reason he’s any good at all.
The same traits got them both into the room — good looking, magnetic, hard to ignore. Only one of them figured out what to do once they were in it.
I remember early in my career, on the way to a leadership conference (for those in my field, early-mid career who were nominated to attend based on the perception that they were future leaders), I read an article about “service leadership”. It really stuck with me and was a guiding principle in my own leadership style. I was in service to the people and organization that I was leading, not for my own gain.