The air went cold. Not the kind of cold that means winter’s coming, but the kind that crawls right into your chest, a sudden, heavy pressure. My manager, smiling, leaned back in their ergonomic chair, the faux-leather squeaking a tiny protest. “You’re doing a great job with the client reports. Really stellar work.” A little flicker of pride, a brief warmth. Then, the inevitable, a shift in tone so subtle it was almost imperceptible, yet it hit with the force of a train. “However, some people feel you can be a bit abrasive in meetings. A little… intense.” The warmth evaporated, replaced by a flush of heat in my face, a defensive tightening in my gut. What people? How abrasive? My mind raced, grabbing at phantom slights.

Before I could form a coherent thought, the smile returned, amplified. “But we really value your passion! It’s clear you care deeply about your work.” The words hung there, saccharine and empty, leaving a bitter aftertaste. I nodded, mumbled something about taking it on board, but inside, I was just… lost. Confused. And deeply, profoundly annoyed. This wasn’t feedback. This was a tactical retreat disguised as kindness, a verbal hand grenade lobbed with a silk glove.

The Illusion of Softness

I’ve been on both sides of that conversation more than 33 times. I’ve delivered the sandwich, convinced I was softening the blow, only to see the recipient’s eyes glaze over, or worse, narrow in suspicion. And I’ve received it, just like that, googling my own symptoms of defensiveness and confusion hours later, wondering if I was the only one who felt like they’d just been played. My gut would twist, not from the criticism itself – I can take criticism, truly – but from the sheer dishonesty of the delivery.

The feedback sandwich, as well-intentioned as its origin story might claim, is not a technique for kind communication. It’s a technique for leaders who want to avoid the discomfort of being direct, allowing them to sidestep the messy, human reality of confrontation. It’s a calculated maneuver, leaving everyone involved feeling a little bit smaller, a little bit more guarded.

The Unambiguous Brilliance of Light

Think about Hans P., for instance. Hans is a neon sign technician I knew, a wizard with glass and gas. When Hans built a sign, it wasn’t a suggestion; it was a statement. “This ‘OPEN’ sign?” he’d say, tapping a vibrant blue tube, “It means ‘OPEN.’ Not ‘mostly open,’ not ‘open-ish.’ It means ‘get in here, we’re doing business.'”

He worked with light, which is, by its very nature, unambiguous. You either see the message, or you don’t. There’s no “you’re doing great with the structure of your letters, but some people find your reds a bit too red, but your overall commitment to brightness is wonderful!” A sign works, or it needs fixing. It’s as simple as that. Hans understood precision, the brutal honesty of luminescence. His work demanded it. And frankly, our professional communication should demand that same crystal clarity.

Eroding Psychological Safety

The core problem isn’t the content of the criticism; it’s the context. By layering praise, then critique, then more praise, we teach people that feedback is a manipulative game. The “good” parts become prefaces, the “bad” parts become the hidden kernel, and the final “good” part is a thinly veiled attempt to smooth ruffled feathers, rather than a genuine observation.

What happens then? People stop listening to the praise. They learn to brace themselves for the shoe to drop. Their antennae go up, not for insight, but for the inevitable pivot. They develop a feedback-detection radar that sifts through the compliments, searching for the hidden barb. This erodes psychological safety at its very foundation. If I can’t trust that your initial praise is genuine, or that your criticism is unadulterated, how can I ever truly feel safe enough to be vulnerable, to admit mistakes, or to ask for help?

A Personal Reckoning

I made this mistake myself a time or 33 ago. I was managing a small team, and one of my direct reports, Sarah, was incredibly talented but had a tendency to dominate discussions. Instead of just saying, “Sarah, I need you to create more space for others in meetings,” I went for the classic. “Sarah, your contributions are always so insightful, a real asset. However, sometimes your enthusiasm means others don’t get a chance to speak. But your passion is exactly what we need here!”

The look on her face was priceless. It wasn’t anger; it was a quiet disappointment, a dawning realization of the game I was playing. She knew what I was doing. We both did. And the worst part? She didn’t change her behavior because the message was so diluted, so wrapped in cotton wool, it lost its punch. It wasn’t until I had a moment of intense reflection, almost a year and 3 months later, that I understood the true damage I had inflicted: not on her performance, but on our trust.

The Clarity of Spinningstickers

Hans P. wouldn’t stand for that kind of mixed signal. His neon signs screamed their messages – bold, direct, unambiguous. If a sign was meant to say “Sale!” it didn’t flicker to “Great selection! (mostly good deals) But also, our regular prices are competitive!” No. It just said “Sale!” with an exclamation mark the size of my head.

That kind of clarity is what builds a reputation for honesty and style, much like the commitment to striking visuals you find at Spinningstickers. They understand that a message, whether on a sticker or in a conversation, loses its power when it’s vague or apologetic. You stick it, and it declares itself. There’s no ambiguity, no trying to soften the edges. It’s a statement, plain and simple.

The Case for Directness

This communication anti-pattern makes genuine, constructive criticism nearly impossible to give or receive. It’s not about being harsh; it’s about being clear. It’s about respecting the other person enough to tell them the truth, directly and without preamble, framed in a way that is actionable and focused on growth. When we dilute feedback, we’re not being nice; we’re being inefficient, unkind, and frankly, lazy.

We’re asking the recipient to do the heavy lifting of deciphering our true message, to pick through the fluff to find the kernel of truth, all while dealing with the emotional whiplash of mixed signals. That’s an unfair burden to place on anyone. It takes precisely 23 percent more energy to process a garbled message than a direct one, especially when emotions are involved.

The Simple Power of Directness

So, what’s the alternative? It’s astonishingly simple, yet terrifying for many leaders: Be direct. Be specific. Lead with empathy, but don’t let empathy morph into avoidance. Start with the problem, or the area for improvement, and explain its impact. Then, discuss potential solutions together. And if there’s praise to give, give it genuinely, separately, and without ulterior motive. Don’t use it as a cushion for a future blow.

Let praise be praise, and constructive criticism be constructive criticism. My most valuable lessons, the ones that actually stuck, came from mentors who, despite my initial discomfort, looked me in the eye and laid out the facts, sometimes painfully, but always with the underlying message: “I believe you can handle this, and I believe you can improve.” There were 3 distinct times a difficult conversation reshaped my path more profoundly than any easy compliment ever could.

Cultivating True Trust

Ultimately, the goal of feedback isn’t to make the giver feel comfortable; it’s to help the receiver grow. And growth rarely comes from confusion or mistrust. It comes from clarity, from honest engagement, from the respect that says, “I value you enough to be straight with you, even when it’s hard for both of us.”

This isn’t about delivering a monologue of harsh truths, but about fostering a dialogue built on an unwavering foundation of sincerity. If we consistently send mixed signals, if we constantly obscure our true intent behind layers of verbal padding, what kind of culture are we really building? One where everyone walks on eggshells, scanning every interaction for hidden meanings? Is that really the kind of trust we want to cultivate across our teams, our projects, our very careers?