The Dichotomy of Candor

The fashion industry has produced countless progressive leaders and artists who have inspired my leadership and ignited the integration of creativity into my work. Although healthcare has consumed most of my career, I find a natural intrigue with the fashion industry, often giving my mind a break from the mundane flow of corporate and embracing a more imaginative perspective on my life.

My prior years of fashion engagement consisted of aimlessly flipping through Vogue's inspiring fashion ads and contemporary photographs, creating elusive visions in my mind. Imagining only the glamorous side of a career in a creative space, surrounded by artists and designers. Sewing for countless hours and living in New York City.

What would my life have looked like had I chosen the Art Institute of Chicago vs Trinity College of Nursing and Health Sciences? Could I have become a runway model had I grown to be six feet?

I had to settle years ago with the idea that I would never be the creative director of Dolce and Gabbana or walk the runway for Ralph Lauren. But through all my illusions and fantasies I discovered a depth of knowledge that can be gained from studying and understanding fashion and its corresponding artists. Grasping the journey of the creative process yields a different level of appreciation than merely flipping through pictures of a $10 magazine in 15 minutes.   

The summer issue of Vouge was released amid my new personal commitment to genuinely reading every hard copy article. Attempting to capitalize on the wisdom that went beyond the aesthetic of the magazine. The issues cover story was 26-year-old pop singer song writer, Gracie Abrams.

My familiarity with her music was limited to a pandora station my cousin had created for me to modernize my music taste. The station however was quickly dissolved at the bottom of my frequented list by Akon, Seether, and my new love of Flogging Molly.

I read the article out of sheer discipline. My interest was more peeked by Larissa Hofmann’s incredible photographs of Abrams around the Lucus Museum of Narrative Art. My eyes were consistently averting away from the words and back to the photographs, yet I kept catching and focusing on the word candor.

The headline of the article highlighted candor as one of Abrams’s endearing qualities that has helped shape her as an artist and enabled those around her to connect with her message.

My understanding of candor was always a direct synonym with honesty, and some would argue they are very close. Candor is surrounded by words like open and unfiltered, and ideas such as proactively sharing concerns or thoughts. Through various AI generated definitions, it’s clear that having candor is identifying and expressing concern and thoughts before opinions are sought or input warranted. It provides honest detail and information without tailoring the story to spare the audience their feelings.  

As I did some self-reflecting I quickly realized how much I relish giving unprompted feedback. And while Abrams's candor can be described as endearing, mine has held many different descriptions over the years.

Never have 6 letters and 2 syllables described so many positive and negative traits about my personality. Candor is simultaneously who I want to be as well as everything I would like to change about myself. My candor can be graceful or ungraceful, warranted or unnecessary, thoughtful or reckless. It can be palatable, rude, proactive, abrasive, overly abundant, productive, and possibly self-deprecating.

There have been many moments throughout my life where my candor could be described as endearing and productive. However, I remember the distinct day I realized it could also be repulsive.

I was an Associate Administrator at one of our sites. My CEO had been covering another location, and I had been independently supporting the team for several months. We were working together on a strategic initiative.

I remember sitting at the head of the conference room with an exceptional level of comfort surrounded by 4 or 5 executives. I likely didn’t have a piece of paper in front of me but am positive I was flicking a pen around, clicking the ink in and out of the plastic sleeve and rocking back and forth in my chair.

One of our most pragmatic leaders began to present. She was organized and likely had the highest probability to successfully execute on the team. She began to explain a well thought out idea on the topic. She was able to articulate about one minute worth of her plan before I intersected.

‘I hate that idea,’ I stated. Calmly, professionally, and without remorse.

As I type this out today, years later, I'm still overcome with shame. Unfortunately, my shame was very delayed. Truthfully, I proceeded with the meeting as though there was no need to pause and steered the team toward another idea.

I hate that idea. The words later bounced in my head like a racket ball that was cut loose on an empty court. Not only was it the harshest phrase I had ever used in a meeting, but it said something about my level of humility at the time.

I never apologized for the situation. Once I left the meeting and realized what had occurred my level of embarrassment required complete compartmentalization. In fact, I didn’t admit to the situation for several years.

When I did finally admit it to someone they began by giving me a lesson on grace. It started with how to inform a team member you may not be keen on an idea. Now when I want to irrationally react to an opinion, I pause and find one positive thing about it. I take a minute to acknowledge the individual’s time and effort and the good notions within their plan. This also gives me a minute to pause, and determine if my abrasive assessment of the situation was accurate.

As I look back at Abrams’s article, I identify that her candor is with herself and her personal experiences. These are the most endearing interactions, when artists and creatives allow you into their personal space and are openly vulnerable to their audience. Whether through their work or regarding the process that took place to achieve their work. It helps define their mission and frame understanding about what they are trying to convey.

When identifying and progressing with openness within yourself you are creating a platform for the observer to understand. Often when candor is used in the professional space it’s often to critique a plan proactively or identify when there needs to be a strategy shift. In my mind the existing openness and honesty is the same, however the audience perception and positioning is different.

It’s hard to identify if the abrupt candor of the professional environment will ever completely soften to that of artists and creators. After this second round of sitting with my candor, I now ask, am I using it to create understanding for those around me? Allowing them to connect with the vision and where we are strategically going? Or am I simply being critical and attempting to be kind while doing it?

Although my relationship and understanding of candor has grown over the years, I still find myself actively ensuring it’s a quality that is pushing me and our team forward. When used properly it can yield positive results and refreshing interactions. When a ravenous approach is used it quickly becomes unwelcome, and nonproductive. Causing those around you to withdraw and abandon all innovation.

It’s a natural instinct, and an active part of how I carry myself, and therefore is open for consistent evaluation and improvement.