CHAPTER 8

Shaping and Delighting In Situ

Recognize the true nature of the world around you. Just like as if you were a plant . . . you have to know what kind of light situation you have. And the combination of plants [around you] is important, too, because some plants [always try to] take over the pot.

—Terry Izzo

The ability to delight is not always sudden and instantaneous—often it shows itself over a sustained period of time. Delighting frequently has to come in situ, drawing from a deeper understanding of the circumstances and backdrop of the position you find yourself in—or the place you’re in.

It’s what allowed me to recognize that Elon Musk saw Byron and me as two scrappy entrepreneurs trying to sell him a product. We gained a deeper understanding of what was going on within both Elon’s mind and his companies at the time, and that allowed us to relate to him and capitalize on our time with him in an exclusive way once we captured his attention. It’s what landed Sara Blakely, designer of Spanx, her first account—with Neiman Marcus, no less. Finding herself in the meeting where she was losing the buyer’s attention, and knowing she had just one shot, Blakely immediately recognized the conditions underlying the buyer’s criteria for purchases, and told the buyer to come with her to the bathroom. Blakely showed her the before and after versions of her wearing Spanx. It worked and the buyer was delighted with the brilliance of both the product and the pitch.

Understanding the circumstances and backdrop so that I could delight in situ is what launched my career. One of the most significant periods in the life of an academic is going on the job market as a PhD candidate and doing your “fly-outs”—two-day visits at academic institutions interested in hiring you as a faculty member. Among the most exciting visits I did was, hands down, at the Wharton School, which wound up hiring me as an assistant professor a few months later.

But at the time, I didn’t know that I would be offered a job, and hence should have been extremely stressed at the prospect. And yet, for some reason, I only felt a quiet calm—perhaps because I felt that Wharton was such a long shot for me anyway.

The centerpiece of fly-outs is a formal lecture that candidates give on their research, followed by a grilling by faculty. But the evening before my talk, I was to be taken to dinner. My hosts for this dinner were two of the senior faculty members in the department, Raffi and Mac. Both are revered scholars in the field; moreover, I had personally long admired (and been intimidated by) their work.

Raffi was to pick me up at the hotel I was staying at, and we would begin talking en route to dinner. Now, in my mind, I envisioned thoughtful, pointed questions about the rigor of my work, or deep conversations about the state of entrepreneurship research. Instead, as soon as Raffi picked me up, I could tell that we would be speaking more casually and freely. It was clear that I was going to like him—as much for his charm and personality as for his work. He started chatting with me about my family, Taiwan, and my childhood. We talked about the size of gas tanks and how I liked my steak. It was all as natural as if I were talking to an actual colleague, and I sensed that he was pleased with their choice to fly me out for a job talk. We got along spectacularly and I could tell he really wanted me to do well. At one point, he asked me, “What do you think your chances are here?”

To which I replied, “Honestly? Probably, like, three percent.”

I was surprised that I had even gotten a fly-out. I had even asked my advisor, “Do you think it’s just a joke that they invited me out? Like, they already flew out the four candidates that they really wanted, and then they were like, ‘Hey, let’s fly out the quirky girl who studies investor gut feel.’”

But Raffi, who seemed almost amused, didn’t miss a beat, and replied, “I assure you, you have a much higher chance of getting a job here than that.”

We arrived at the restaurant and the evening went on, with lots of conversation, with Mac asking me at one point to rate him on a scale of 1 to 5 on how trustworthy, likable, committed, and passionate he seemed (each of these a characteristic from my dissertation research that I had identified as impacting investors in their gut feel about an entrepreneur, so Mac’s question wasn’t nearly as random as it might seem at first glance). When I gave him a 3 for trustworthiness, followed by a 2 for likability, he roared with laughter.

I felt totally at ease with these two potential colleagues of mine. At the end of the evening, as Raffi dropped me back off at my hotel, he said to me, “You’re a delight.”

Delight is something you have to figure out as you go along, but it is built on a rich history and knowledge of what has come before. As we talked about in the previous chapter, having prototypes and exemplars in your mind can help, whether the type of delighting is quick and improvisational in nature, requires a bit more detail, or is sustained over time. During the dinner with Raffi and Mac, I was already familiar with their scholarly work and how foundational it was for the field of entrepreneurship—and I understood where my research fit in. I also had a tacit comprehension of the types of people they both ordinarily discussed scholarly literature with, and I saw how frequently they were approached at academic conferences by yes-men and sycophants seeking their approval.

When I dubbed Mac a 3 and a 2 on my scale, rather than all 5’s as he presumably expected to hear, I bucked the trend, and furthermore gave him an opportunity to see me as an equal—a potential colleague—rather than as his junior. It provided the entrée for us to engage in an academic sparring of wits, in an area of research where I knew I had a commanding control. It both amused and delighted him, and it’s a memory he tells me that, to this day, he still relishes. Rely on what you already know to help you make the most of the situational cues and chance opportunities you are given.

There Is Such a Thing as Indispensable

Before I was a professor, I was an engineer. Well, to be more accurate, before I was a professor, I was an investment banker, and before I was an investment banker, I was a consultant, and before I was a consultant, I was an engineer. In one of my first engineering jobs, I had a manager named Kathy Keller, who had been with the company for more than forty years. I once asked her why she had stayed with the company for so long, and she chuckled as she told me the story of how she only barely made it to three years.

Three years in, the company was going through a round of layoffs. She was one of the people on the list. They were told that they had two months, and would be given a two-month severance package starting that day. What they chose to do with those two months was up to them—they could continue coming to work, or they could take that time as personal time. Most of the people, understandably, decided to take the two months as personal time—some used it to travel; some buckled down and focused on finding their next job; others wanted time to rest and learn a new hobby.

Kathy? She kept going to work. Within days, she realized that because of all the employees who were now no longer at the company, the company was in short supply of people to actually do the work. As they looked for people to take on temporary assignments, Kathy offered. As committees were formed to try to figure out the succession plan going forward, as they looked for volunteers, Kathy stepped up. And as work was being redistributed, Kathy offered to take on as much as she could. “Why not?” she thought. “It’s not like I was doing anything else, and searching for a new job was not taking up extensive amounts of time,” she told me.

All these new roles that she took on gave her a distinct advantage: she created the opportunity to engage with and delight all the people who would remain in the organization—many of them senior managers and directors who were scrambling for talent.

You can probably guess what happened. At the end of the two-month period, she had multiple offers from senior leaders to stay. She had her hand in so many critical business needs that now depended on her. Not only had she managed to get to know and delight the senior managers who were in need, but her ability to enrich had also become indispensable.

Maybe Your Passion Is Cars, but It’s Okay if It’s Not

About a year ago, an acquaintance of mine, Erica, became a rep for a line of hair-care products that branded itself as luxury hair care, with “naturally based” products that promise to “nourish” hair. The company boasted a signature dry shampoo that promised to deliver “bounce and body.”

At first it wasn’t clear that Erica was a sales rep, as she didn’t start out stating that she was offering any products for sale (in fact, I’m not sure she ever came right out and said it). Instead, what caught my attention was a series of strange Facebook Live videos that she broadcast. In each video, only about half was content—the other half was drivel, in which she would say things like “Thanks so much for joining!” and “Wow, Amber, so glad to see you on, hope your family is great,” all throughout the video.

It was all so bizarre, yet enthralling. I began noticing regular comments from a number of people whose names I didn’t recognize. And almost all the remarks were people talking about how beautiful her hair looked (“Your hair looks A-MA-zing!”; “Don’t know what you’re doing with your hair these days, but whatever it is, keep doing it . . . it is looking so healthy and beautiful”).

It soon became clear that Erica and these commenters were participating in a multilevel-marketing shampoo business, with two goals: sell shampoo and get other people onto your sales team to sell shampoo through “inspirational” content.

I saw Erica trying to delight. But it was planned, it seemed simulated, and it was the opposite of delight. Delight is authentic. Delight comes from a place of honesty and sincerity because all it does is give you what was already warranted and deserved in the first place: an opportunity to show how you can enrich.

I cannot emphasize this enough. Delight is not flattery. It can be humor that gives you an opening to demonstrate the other ways you enrich. It can provide a softer landing for most of the bluntness that people erroneously use to get things done. It can be disarming. But it can’t paper over shortcomings.

It came to a head when I saw Erica doing another Facebook Live video and she noticed a former high school classmate of ours watching the live stream, a guy who is known for loving muscle cars. As Erica started to talk about passion, she tried to delight by saying:

Cars. Maybe your passion is cars. And you . . . whatever you do with cars, you’re a car guru. Maybe you love taking apart the engine. You just love handling and tuning up cars. Maybe you like to do something with cars. I don’t know . . . you know . . . soupin’ them up. And you can’t live without that passion.

There was no way Erica was going to convert that into showing any of us her ability to enrich. There are too many gurus out there talking about interactions with other people in a sales job. There are books and books about influence. But it’s not about influence for the sake of influence.

You gain an edge when you take an authentic opportunity and surprise people so that they leave with a pleasant feeling that allows you the opportunity to enrich and provide true value. People will remember how you delighted them—that’s the “frosting”—but only because it’s built on the foundation of some damn good cake. Frosting without the cake is too saccharine and doesn’t stay pleasing for very long.

Reality, Sincerity, Authenticity

Authentically delighting in situ requires you to be constantly fine-tuning, as well as constantly attuned to how you can shape situations to present the opportunity for your talents and core competencies to become apparent.

In research I’ve conducted along with two exceptional women, Francesca Gino and Ovul Sezer, we’ve found that people overwhelmingly tend to cater to the interests, preferences, and expectations of others, rather than drawing from their own. This advice gets perpetuated a lot; we’re told that people are more likely to like you when you ask them about their interests and talk about things that are relevant to those interests, and you allow people to talk about themselves. I don’t disagree in principle, but the problem is that this guidance has become so pervasive that we can spot people trying to predict our preferences from a mile away.

Delight is not predictable. One of the reasons it gives you the upper hand is because you are able to surprise in a way that’s simultaneously pleasing and unexpected. When we try to cater to others’ interests, it puts them on guard.

This research demonstrates an even more dramatic negative effect when we contort ourselves to fit the interests, preferences, and expectations of others. Doing so negatively impacts outcomes because trying to anticipate and fulfill others’ preferences increases our anxiety and feelings of inauthenticity, and creates an unease about actually being able to provide and sustain value later on. As a result, we are less able to interact with others in a natural way, and less able to riff on the comments of others.

Be okay with being authentic to your own thoughts and interests. Give yourself permission to demonstrate your own personality, and trust that your words and actions will delight even if they’re at odds with another person’s interests. We can delight only with our authentic selves, rather than hollowing ourselves out to please others.

It’s especially difficult to resist catering to people when the stakes are high, like when you are trying to land a job. Year in and year out, I see the anxiety this elicits in hordes of students, many of whom end up receiving wonderful job offers right off the bat—but just as many start off discouraged by all the rejections they receive. I can tell you this, from years of observation: there is little correlation between those who receive the most coveted jobs and those who are actually the most deserving of those jobs.

Out of those who have bucked this trend, I have noticed one thing in common among them: in addition to being spectacularly bright and deserving, they seem to have a special capacity to delight—and the ability to do so authentically—so that they have the chance to show how bright and deserving they are. And in doing so, they gain an edge.

One such student, a woman named Antonia, stumbled upon a job that was exactly what she was looking for—head of business development for a health-care firm, a role that would provide her with the opportunity to learn, progress, and contribute to the organization. However, when she went to interview for the position, she found out that the job required her to be based in Belgium or France, and she could only take a role on the East Coast of the United States.

When the interviewers asked her if that would be okay, she initially thought she should try to show her flexibility. After all, she had always been advised to say yes first and negotiate later. But then Antonia thought the company might appreciate her honest take on the role and its location. She says, “I engaged them in a dialogue about why the job location needed to be in Belgium or France, whereas all their growth and business development was poised to come from the US. They were surprised at first, but then looked really pleased with me and told me that I was right.”

The company was so impressed with this unexpected argument that demonstrated why she would be valuable that they offered her the job on the spot—and promised that it would be based on the US East Coast.

The experience of another student of mine, Peter, also impeccably illustrates the power of delighting in situ, as well as his capacity to dynamically iterate in a way that allowed him to show his competence and dexterity. Peter was approached by a private equity company offering an internship—an extremely prestigious organization that everyone wanted to work for. After getting the offer, he found out that it was an unpaid internship.

So he reached out to one of the partners to inquire, and the partner quickly got to the point: “We have never paid our interns. At the end of the internship period, we make offers to those that are qualified, and our salaries and bonuses are within the highest quintile of all financial institutions. If the fact that this is an unpaid internship is a problem, there are dozens of qualified candidates for this internship who would gladly take your place, and we have never had a problem filling our intern class.”

To which Peter replied, “People who work for free do shit work, and I don’t do shit work. Therefore, I should be paid.”

When we are in situ—in the midst of a particular context—we get a sense of our audience and how we can shape the conversation. Private equity has a distinct culture, one that Peter quickly became attuned to and used to his advantage. Had his discussion been a part of another field or industry, the way he envisioned his capacity to delight may have been entirely different.

But that day, with that particular partner, the partner was absolutely delighted. After hearing Peter’s response, the partner paused for a few seconds, and then followed with thunderous laughter, saying, “You are going to fit in perfectly. You will be compensated adequately. I will see to it myself.”

The takeaway is not that we should be brash and presumptuous. What worked for Peter that day was not audacity or arrogance—it was his ability to read the situation. He exhumed his preexisting knowledge about the importance of candor and sophisticated, polished delivery in the private equity industry, and was able to authentically delight by shaping the conversation in situ. Delighting others requires you to have an opinion or point of view—being authentic while having the audacity, or the stomach, you might say, to take a bold, surprising stance.

What Peter and Antonia both were able to do is delight by looking for the unexpected, and making the most of those incongruities. This is accomplished and appreciated by neophytes—as in the case of Peter and Antonia, to a certain degree—and experts alike. I once heard Michael Ovitz, the great talent agent who cofounded Creative Artists Agency (CAA) and then later served as president of the Walt Disney Company, describe delight as “the point where your brain and your stomach meet.”

Aileen Lee, venture capital investor and founder of Cowboy Ventures, once described delight to me in a delightful way. Incidentally, she is best known for coining the term unicorn to describe those start-ups that are valued at a billion dollars or more (because, you know, “valued by public or private markets at over a billion dollars but less than ten years old” is a cumbersome thing to say). Aileen is similarly eloquent when she describes how she invests. She looks for brands she calls magical—“new services that are delightful, and product-oriented founders who create magical experiences for customers”—companies that delight her.

She spoke about Uber in this way, describing the first time she was picked up in an Uber as a “magical” experience. “Uber certainly felt like that—once you started doing it, you were still thinking, ‘Wow that was so cool, it was so easy, it made me feel so special.’”

It’s about feeling special, and the additional effort or money that you’re willing to put out because of it: “The Starbucks-ification. Like, coffee used to be ninety-nine cents, and now you’re willing to pay three or four dollars for it because it makes you feel so much better. It’s like a little treat during the day.”

How do you recognize something magical and delightful? Seek out people, products, and situations that you yourself see as delightful, and consciously try to pinpoint what makes them delightful to you. Aileen honed her sense of what’s delightful, both in companies she invests in and in herself. The more you do so, the more it helps you refine your own sense of delight and your own ability to delight. I’ve seen many people successfully do this to help them learn what is unexpected and, just as important, what feels inauthentic.

We all have the capacity to enrich. But when you are able to also delight, that is where the real magic happens. That is how you allow them to let you in, and how you build your edge.