Curse of the Rockstar

When you seek a "Rockstar" to join your team, do you know the message it gives out to the market? It may suggest that you are looking for heroics instead of someone who does their job consistently well. So what's wrong with that, you think? 

The trouble with heroism is that it is often a one-off thing. So as a people manager, what would you rather have? If you consistently expect heroism from one, you must manage the others better. 

Celebrating the heroism of one individual also lays the foundation for "star culture" in your business. 

What is a star culture? It is a team fabric that elevates one above the others while leaving the manager clutching on straws, eventually leading to a downfall. It happens because your team, business, and forecast turn into a pest, sucking blood off of the top performer and often making them larger than life in the process. 

Truth be told, all they are doing is doing their job well. That is why they were hired, remember? It is an essential requirement for any employee ever. So why glorify someone doing their job well? Why not? What is the harm, you think? After all, encouragement is part of a manager's job, isn't it? If nothing else, it's good karma.

But here's the fine print. By applauding heroics, you unwittingly admit that the job is tougher than advertised. Will that encourage more people or discourage them? That it takes a special effort by a special someone to execute it. Will it boost someone's confidence or deflate them? 

Not all think of themselves as exceptional, and it may lower the team's morale. Which in turn has a direct impact on output. Despite Pareto's law, you might still find yourself short on meeting the target besides being thoroughly stressed out in the process. There are instances of reps giving up even before trying. Your encouragement, for one, could become a crutch for the other.

Heroics induce a sense of thrill. Getting a deal in when all forecast seems to be sinking is a rush many sales addicts live and die for. It's their chance at glory. It's their victory lap. So what happens to the rest of the regular folk? They stand and clap?

You are addicted to the adrenaline rush of heroics because normal is now boring.

What happens when you get addicted? You want more of it. You expect the unexpected. You are oblivious to others around you. You'd do anything to retain this individual. As a result, you become unfair to the other team members and deny the process established by the organization. It makes you myopic to latent talent in the rest of the team.

What does it do to you as a leader? It makes you lazy. You don't invest in the rest of the team anymore. It makes you look like a petty criminal going around the table asking for money. You find yourself "telling" more than "showing." Also, taking the foot off the pedal on scrutiny in the process. In short, it makes you a poor leader.

So when this hero decides to leave, what happens? You find yourself in crisis mode. It is dark, and your stomach feels queasy. The management team is held ransom to this hero's demands, whims, and fancies. It hurts your ego. You get angry and want to discipline the rogue one. But it's too late, and it's out of your control.

What happens, then? More people question your approach. Because now you've compounded the problem. Finger-pointing or defending your inability to retain top talent in the following business review. So, where does it leave you?

The hero is gone, and the team left behind does not want you. 

With the non-performance of the team screaming in various reports, people begin to discover the spike in one performer and dissect it. In addition, people ask questions about your people management skills and why you failed to replicate the success with others in the team.

Meanwhile, the quarter end is near, and you have a forecast gap. You look around the table, and no one raises a hand to stand up and deliver. You shout and lose it. Make a comparison and further accentuate the problem.

Disaster strikes when the following best announces intent to move to another team as part of career progression. Before you dodge, they have preempted your objections and already sought approvals from your skip levels. You are left fuming and, more importantly, have no choice.

You scramble to the recruitment team, cursing the world, thumping their desk for a quick replacement superstar. They try to reason, but you are in no mood to listen. Do your job, you shout. And they do. 

The curse of the rockstar continues.