On Reputational Risk

The script was supposed to flip. Where’s all the power I was promised? We live in an age where a single dissatisfied customer can deep-six the reputation of any small business. It’s a time where a handful of morally wronged individuals can end the career of someone seemingly untouchable, like Russell Brand. Or, speaking of brands, an age where Bud Light can go from being practically the third tap on the faucet to Superfund-quality effluent, all because of a single false note in the cultural cacophony. A final state of judgment often occurs within 24 hours for anyone paying attention. The damage is done. The lesson is simple: shut up.

Maybe the restaurant was always terrible. People have the right to know. Or maybe the restaurant was savaged by a rival. Or Russell Brand was always terrible and had it coming. Or maybe Russell Brand was terrible and there’s a lot more to it. Or Bud Light was always terrible, and it took a little bigotry for half of Americans to realize it. Maybe Bud Light was trying to do something good by putting a Trans person out there. I bet that won’t happen so easily next time.

But what about my Brand (get it?)? It turns out that I’m supposed to have one: Brand Me. I sell myself to an employer, and then the employer sells itself to the customer. Whatever I sell, they sell, so it better be good. More important, it better not make my employer look bad. I’ve had more than one job that devoted significant HR bandwidth to my Brand and its importance to theirs. The message is always something like, “Be the great person we know you are. But don’t express any opinions in writing, especially about politics, religion, economics, the state of the world, justice, sexuality, debauchery, culture, or current events.” This leaves a select list of topics: Cute family anecdotes, recipes, cleaning tips, some charitable causes, or vague generalities about nothing in particular.

I get it. Don’t bite the hand that provisionally feeds you. But I’m pissed off that anything I say outside of very limited circles comes with a Mark of Cain caveat appended to it.

It turns out that the script flipped for everyone, myself included. What if I really have something to say; something that people would benefit from hearing, and I can’t or don’t for fear of these risks? I could share it anonymously, but that’s pathetic. I could keep it to myself, but then nothing happens. How much collective action is stifled by this fear? Of course, not all collective action is good, and not all opinions are worth sharing. But speaking as a small microbe in a big ocean, that’s not what I’m concerned about. For me, reputational risk means it’s almost always best just to say nothing, mind your LinkedIn profile, and post pictures of pets, (your own) children, and sunsets. Be a good capitalist and shut up (maybe I shouldn’t have said that).

OK, so there’s a risk. I have sense. I’ll take reasonable chances. Taking a step back, a lot of this is a fuss about nothing. The vast majority of humanity has lived and died without a word they said surviving its very utterance. Reputation used to be about obeying the strictures of kin and clan. Then, for a little while, it was largely just a problem for people that others would bother to write about. Now anyone can write about anything or anyone to everyone. It turns out that we’re all as important as Bud Light. We decide what to stand for and what we’re willing to sacrifice. If only someone would listen.