The air crackled with a forced pleasantness, a thin veneer over something sharp and expected. My chair squeaked a familiar protest as I leaned back, trying to appear relaxed, though every muscle in my neck was a taut wire. Across the polished conference table, Alex, my manager at the time, was beaming. ‘Your energy in meetings, it’s just fantastic,’ he began, his voice a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. A cold dread settled in my stomach, a familiar chill. This wasn’t praise; this was the clinking of cutlery before the main course, and I knew exactly what was on the menu. Another one of those damned feedback sandwiches, a meal designed to be palatable but always leaving a bitter aftertaste.

It’s an old trick, this ‘feedback sandwich.’ First, a slice of lukewarm praise. Then, the chunky, unpalatable criticism. And finally, another thin layer of praise, like an afterthought. Managers, for years, have been taught this technique, believing it softens the blow, makes criticism easier to swallow. What it actually does is far more insidious: it teaches us to distrust praise. Every compliment becomes a precursor to an attack. Every positive word is just the sugar coating before the bitter pill. It’s a strategy that fundamentally misunderstands human psychology, treating adults like children who can’t handle a direct conversation. And I’ve seen it play out hundreds of times, perhaps 101, at least 41.

The Fatima H.L. Analogy

I remember Fatima H.L., a brilliant thread tension calibrator I once worked alongside. She had an uncanny knack for detecting the slightest imbalance in any system, not just the mechanical ones. Her work involved intricate adjustments, measuring forces down to the tiniest deviation. When a machine ran rough, she wouldn’t compliment its color scheme first, then tell it it was about to seize, then praise its ergonomic design. No. She’d walk up, point to the exact faulty spindle, identify the tension being off by a precise 0.1 gram, and then begin the calibration. Her directness was jarring to some, but it was profoundly respectful of the problem at hand, and crucially, of the machine itself. She treated the machine like it deserved the truth, not a gentle lie wrapped in fluff. She understood that delaying the truth, or obscuring it, only prolongs the issue, makes the calibration take 11 more minutes than it should, sometimes even 111.

Fatima once told me, ‘If you want to fix something, you need to see it, truly see it, without distractions. And if you want someone to fix something, you need to show it, truly show it, without apologies for its existence.’ This wasn’t just about machines; it applied to the delicate threads of human interaction, especially in a professional setting. Yet, we persist with this sandwich model, this elaborate dance around the truth. We worry about hurting feelings, about demotivating someone. But what truly demotivates? Is it direct, honest feedback given with a genuine desire to help? Or is it the exhausting mental gymnastics required to decipher hidden meanings, to filter genuine praise from strategic flattery? I’ve made this mistake myself, not with a feedback sandwich, but by trying to soften a blow with an overly long explanation that ended up confusing the point. I thought I was being kind, but I was just muddying the waters, like trying to explain a complex joke I didn’t quite understand myself, leaving everyone, including me, in an awkward silence. It felt like I’d wasted 21 precious seconds of someone’s time, perhaps even 211.

The Erosion of Trust

What it actually does is far more insidious: it teaches us to distrust praise.

The core issue here is psychological safety. When you consistently deliver feedback in this disguised manner, you erode trust. Every interaction where praise is given starts to feel like a trap. Employees, instead of genuinely hearing and appreciating positive reinforcement, begin to brace themselves, their internal alarm systems signaling: ‘Warning! Compliment detected! Brace for impending criticism!’ How can creativity flourish, how can vulnerability thrive, when every nice word is a potential prelude to a strike? It teaches a suspicion of good intentions. It creates a culture where people are constantly on guard, unable to relax and truly engage. Imagine a team where 91% of people feel this way, constantly scanning for hidden agendas. That’s a team operating at a severe deficit of trust. And trust, as any functional team leader knows, is the fundamental currency of collaboration. It’s more valuable than $1,711 worth of fancy office plants.

The Power of Directness

This isn’t to say praise isn’t important. It is, profoundly so. But praise should be given genuinely, spontaneously, and directly, not as a manipulative tool to soften a perceived blow. When someone genuinely does something well, they deserve to hear it, clearly and unequivocally. And when there’s an area for improvement, they deserve to hear that too, with the same clarity and directness. The intent behind the feedback is what matters most. Is it to genuinely help someone grow, or is it to make the manager feel more comfortable delivering difficult news? Far too often, the feedback sandwich is about the latter, a comfort blanket for the manager, not a growth tool for the employee.

Consider the practical implications for reviewing these conversations. If a manager delivers feedback via a sandwich, and then you try to review that conversation, what do you even focus on? The employee might remember the praise, glossing over the criticism, or conversely, dismiss the praise entirely, focusing only on the negative. This ambiguity can be massively counterproductive. For crucial discussions, especially performance reviews or development talks, having a clear record of the exact words used can be incredibly illuminating. It removes the guesswork. It eliminates the ‘did they really mean that?’ internal monologue. It brings precision to what is often a vague and emotionally charged interaction. This is where tools that allow you to convert audio to text become invaluable. By transcribing 1-on-1s or feedback sessions, both parties can review the exact words used, ensuring nothing is misconstrued. It encourages managers to be more thoughtful and direct in their communication, knowing their words will be recorded. It compels employees to engage more actively, secure in the knowledge that they can revisit the specifics later. It shifts the dynamic from a performance to a partnership, fostering a level of accountability that the feedback sandwich actively undermines. Think about the clarity that comes from being able to point to an exact sentence, rather than trying to recall the ‘gist’ of a conversation that was intentionally muddled. It could save countless hours of misunderstanding, perhaps 31 or even 51.

The Irony of “Niceness”

The irony is, by trying to be ‘nice,’ we become ineffective. We cultivate a culture of passive-aggressiveness. People start guessing what you *really* mean. They don’t trust your compliments because they’ve been conditioned to expect a ‘but’ to follow. This is not kindness; it’s a form of disrespect. It implies the other person isn’t capable of handling an honest conversation. It suggests their emotional resilience is so fragile that it needs to be constantly protected by layers of performative pleasantness. But resilience isn’t built by shielding people from truth; it’s built by exposing them to it in a supportive and constructive environment. It’s built by having the courage to say, ‘Here’s what needs to improve,’ and then the empathy to follow up with ‘How can I support you in making that happen?’ – not ‘You’re great… but you’re failing… and you’re still great!’

The managers who cling to the feedback sandwich often do so because they fear confrontation. They haven’t learned how to deliver difficult news with grace and directness. They confuse directness with bluntness, and honesty with cruelty. But there’s a crucial distinction. Directness, when coupled with empathy and a genuine desire to help, is empowering. Bluntness, without those elements, is just rude. Honesty, when delivered constructively, is a gift. Cruelty, well, that speaks for itself. The difference lies in intention and delivery, not in the presence or absence of a preliminary compliment.

A Winding Journey

My own journey with feedback has been a winding one. I’ve been on both ends of the sandwich, and I’ve tried to make them, convinced I was doing the right thing. I’ve walked out of performance reviews feeling both praised and utterly confused, wondering if my boss actually thought I was good, or just trying to navigate some HR mandate. I’ve delivered sandwiches and watched as the recipient’s eyes glazed over during the ‘praise’ sections, clearly waiting for the axe to fall. It’s an exhausting charade, a waste of energy for all involved. My specific mistake? Thinking that simply *knowing* the technique was flawed meant I wouldn’t unconsciously default to it when nervous. It took a few awkward silences, a few blank stares, and one very direct ‘What are you trying to say?’ from a frustrated colleague to truly shift my approach. That colleague, bless their directness, saved me from repeating that mistake for perhaps 1001 more interactions. It was a wake-up call, a realization that my comfort wasn’t nearly as important as their clarity.

The Straight Path Forward

So, what’s the alternative? It’s simple, really, though not always easy. Lead with intent. State the problem or area for improvement directly. Offer specific, observable examples. Explain the impact. And then, crucially, collaborate on solutions. Praise, when earned, should be given freely and enthusiastically, completely separate from a criticism session. It loses its power when it’s just a garnish for something else. When you’re proud of someone’s work, tell them why, tell them exactly what they did well. Don’t attach it to a preamble about their email etiquette. The goal of feedback isn’t to make anyone *feel* good during the delivery; it’s to help them *do* better afterwards. It’s about growth, not comfort.

The next time you’re about to deliver feedback, ask yourself: Am I being truly respectful of this person’s intelligence and capacity for growth? Am I genuinely trying to help them, or am I trying to make myself feel better about a tough conversation? If the answer to the second question is ‘yes,’ even a little bit, then you might be about to serve up an insult, not a sandwich. You might be preventing genuine transformation, perhaps delaying it by 41 days or 111 weeks. The real magic happens when we dare to be honest, when we trust each other enough to speak plainly, and when we create environments where directness is not just tolerated, but celebrated as the shortest path to improvement.