A conversation about staying grounded as a leader.
When you think of leaders you admire, you likely imagine them as authentic, at least in the sense of seeming genuine, real, and trustworthy.
Science confirms this is usually the case.
For example, data tells us that trustworthy leaders stand out for their “no thrills” patterns of behavior: They are, in other words, predictable, reliable, and unlikely to shock their employees or followers with erratic or excitable behavior that freaks them out.
Furthermore, the best meta-analysis (quantitative review of hundreds of independent top studies) on personality and leadership tells us that one of the most consistent predictors of whether someone emerges as a leader, and is in turn actually effective in that role, is conscientiousness—a trait embodied by people who are methodical, disciplined, gritty, and who excel at self-control and resisting temptations (in other words, the opposite personality to Charlie Sheen, though his current self has no doubt become more conscientious!).
Unsurprisingly, leaders with this profile also tend to create higher levels of psychological safety, which as my colleague Amy Edmondson and I have recently illustrated is likely to create the conditions that enable teams to experiment, take healthy risks, fail smart, and speak up without fear of being reprimanded. Ironically, then, the more leaders can edit themselves, the less pressure their teams will feel to edit themselves. In other words, if you want people to feel safe and included, focus on being your best rather than your “real” or natural self.
Works in progress
More importantly, every leader is a work in progress. That is, the growing complexities and uncertainties underpinning each and every one of the new challenges leaders must face (e.g., navigating the human-AI age, coming to terms with global geopolitical conflicts, managing shareholder and stakeholder value, having a voice on polarizing matters without alienating or antagonizing or acting like a cult leader), make it imperative that leaders improve, evolve, and develop. This requires being coachable, and having the necessary curiosity, humility, and motivation to not just be yourself—to not be limited by your past and present self.
As my colleague Herminia Ibarra noted, the evolution of the self always consists of going beyond who you already are and finding ways to broaden or enrich your identity. Inevitably, this means resisting the temptation to stay within your comfort zone, playing it safe or playing it to your strengths, and mastering new behaviors and adaptations.
Simple example: A naturally extraverted leader will probably have a tendency to dominate meetings, making it hard to let other people speak. However, if they were interested in becoming better and evolving as a leader, they could develop the “micro-skills” needed to shut up and listen! By the same token, a naturally creative and innovative leader may have a tendency to jump from one idea to the next, getting easily bored with executional details or tactical operational road maps. However, if they were interested in being more effective and becoming a more complete version of themselves, they would benefit from cultivating some patience and interest for these details, and so on.
Broadening skills
So, as it turns out, self-editing is not just helpful when it comes to making leaders understand that their obligation to others generally eclipses their right to be themselves, but also broadening the skills and behavioral repertoire leaders must possess to manage in complex times. Indeed, even if you think you are effective—perhaps even talented—as a leader, the only way to get better is by not simply applying your current skills, but learning new adaptations.
This means decoupling the trigger-response connection to allow for a wider range of possibilities, responses, and behaviors, turning you into a more diverse and broader version of yourself, a kind of personal enrichment that expands your potential and gives you more choices to respond appropriately to each situation. Because let’s not forget: Every situation benefits from the right response, rather than the first or most natural thing that comes to mind. In that sense, acting spontaneously and without much consideration or concern for what others think of you may make you feel more authentic, but also be less effective in the eyes of others.
With that, here are eight simple tips for being better at self-editing.
Eight practical ways to master the art of self-editing
- Don’t believe your own hype.
The moment you start inhaling your own PR, your learning curve flattens. Confidence is useful; self-delusion is not. Good leaders act like their reputation is a rumor they still need to verify. - Remember: It’s not how good you think you are—it’s how good others think you are.
Decades of psychological research show that self-ratings of talent or performance barely correlate (and often correlate negatively) with actual performance. Self-perception is comforting fiction; reputation is data. - Pause before you react.
The gap between impulse and action is where leadership lives. Emotional self-regulation—thinking twice before sending that late-night email—is often the difference between credibility and regret. - Curate what you share.
Transparency doesn’t mean oversharing. The best leaders disclose enough to build trust but not so much that it burdens others. Edit for relevance, not confession. - Seek out editors.
Every great writer has an editor; every great leader should too. Surround yourself with people who challenge, critique, and occasionally deflate you. If everyone around you nods, you’re in an echo chamber, not a team. - Balance passion with predictability.
Enthusiasm is energizing, but mood swings are exhausting. Your team shouldn’t need to forecast your emotional weather. Reliability is charisma’s less exciting but more mature (and employable) sibling. - Audit your habits.
What you do repeatedly—how you listen, decide, interrupt, and delegate—forms your leadership brand. Record yourself in meetings, solicit feedback, or keep a behavior log. Then rewrite the bad sentences. - Edit forward.
View your leadership style as a draft in progress. Ask: What part of me needs less airtime now? What version of me do my team and context need next? Continuous revision is how leaders evolve rather than ossify.
In short, leadership maturity is less about finding yourself than about refining yourself. The best leaders don’t broadcast every thought or impulse, they run an internal editorial process that filters noise, amplifies value, and leaves others with clarity rather than confusion.
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My wife and I visited Singapore last week for the first time in a couple of years, and I was reminded how impressed I am with the country. It illustrates a great strategy point, the subject of this Playing to Win/Practitioner Insights (PTW/PI) piece, which borrows from Billy Preston, whose Billboard No. 1 hit song in October 1974, Nothing From Nothing, contained the immortal line: “Nothing from nothing leaves nothing.” This piece is a play on the line entitled Something From Nothing Leaves Something: How Strategy Choice Can Make Something out of Very Little. And as always, you can find all the previous PTW/PI here.
Impressive Singapore
The minute you land at Changi—one of the world’s truly great airports—everything about the country works. Singapore is efficient, clean, and safe. It is always ranked at or near the top of the ratings for low crime rate. It has truly awesome food and great architecture.
And it is incredibly prosperous. The International Monetary Fund ranks it as the country with the second-highest gross domestic product per capita in the world. I rank it first because the only one ahead of it, Liechtenstein, is a medium-size town of 40,000, not a real country (similarly for sub-1-million population jurisdictions like Luxembourg, Macao, or Brunei). Singapore may be small (population 6.1 million), but it is bigger than Ireland or Norway, other famously high-GDP countries. Its 2025 GDP per capita is estimated at $157,000, which is 74% higher than the U.S.’s. (Though the U.S. shouldn’t feel too bad. It is clearly harder to have a very high GDP per capita if you are a large country with more than 25 million people. The U.S. GDP per capita is 22% higher than the next biggest consequential country, Germany.)
Some may argue that you shouldn’t compare a city-state like Singapore to entire countries because there are lots of very rich cities. But even by that standard, Singapore is impressive. The highest GDP per capita of any other large city is San Francisco, at $145,000—8% lower than Singapore—and after San Francisco, there is a steep drop-off. The only sizable place richer is Silicon Valley, with a GDP per capita of $210,000, which is super impressive but not entirely comparable. It is a region anchored by one small city, San Jose.
The truly impressive thing about Singapore is not its current prosperity, but where it came from. Singapore truly created something from nothing—or at least from precious little.
Singapore became an independent country in 1965 after a fractious two years as a state of the newly formed Malaysia. Its GDP per capita at the time was estimated to be US$516, or just under $4,000 in 2025 dollars, which is around the same as the current levels of Uganda, Sierra Leone, and Papua New Guinea. So, it was a very poor country.
It had close to nothing with which to start. Its population was mainly ethnic Chinese, and there was no love lost between the Malays who surrounded it and the Singaporean Chinese. Singapore had zero natural resources. And in the 1960s global economy, it was in the middle of nowhere geographically—not known for a single thing other than the Singapore Sling cocktail.
But it then proceeded to increase its GDP per capita at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 6.3% for 60 years—unprecedented in the modern global economy. No jurisdiction has kept up that rate of growth for that long.
Something from Something Strategy
If you have a rich endowment of valuable resources—whether you are a country or a company—the strategy imperative is to exploit those resources to overwhelm any competitor (i.e., to play chicken).
For example, if you are the U.S., you start with the richest endowment of natural resources in the world, the largest endowment of arable land, a favorable geography (mainly protected by oceans), and a large flow of motivated immigrants, and you invest heavily to exploit the natural resources. Then you use the wealth generated to invest more than any other country in becoming the world’s manufacturing superpower, including building a vast and efficient rail system—and later an interstate highway system—to move goods. Then you use that wealth to invest more in education and scientific research than any other country to become the world’s technology superpower. During your ascendancy, you simply out-invest every other jurisdiction in extremely expensive sources of advantage—and there is nothing they can do to stop you.
The same dynamic applies to companies. If you are relatively better endowed, your imperative is to invest in expensive advantages that your competitors can’t match. For example, when upstart Reebok challenged Nike in athletic shoe sales, Nike invented a new scale-sensitive cost category—athlete endorsement (e.g., Air Jordan, Dream Team, etc.)—and cranked up the investments in this category to heights never even contemplated before until Reebok said “no mas.” The rest is history: Reebok flatlined and Nike solidified its dominance.
The general rule, then, is that when you have a resource advantage over competition, look to invest in the most expensive sources of competitive advantage.
Something from Nothing
But if you are at a major resource disadvantage, like Singapore was in 1965, the imperative is to seek sources of advantage that are cheap and doable for you, but tricky for the competition to follow—not an easy strategy choice task.
That was the brilliance of Lee Kuan Yew, Singapore’s prime minister from before its independence through 1990. His fundamental strategy choice was to make Singapore the most efficient and secure place to do business in South Asia. He would ensure that it would be easy to do business in Singapore for foreign companies, and they could be confident that they could transact business without fear of the corruption endemic to that part of the world.
Strategically, I love this because it didn’t require a huge expenditure of capital (which they didn’t have). It required clever choices—for example, to have the best-paid bureaucrats in the world, so that they don’t feel compelled to make extra money on the side. Is that free? No, but the cost pales in comparison to, say, a single giant infrastructure project.
And it required building and nurturing a judicial system that was willing to fight corruption—and punish it severely. Again, this is not an expensive investment. Rather, it requires extreme commitment and careful ongoing attention.
The other strategy tool that Singapore deployed was flexibility. The island nation famously transitioned through multiple economic phases—from labor-intensive to skill-intensive to capital-intensive to tech-intensive to innovation-intensive—across its relatively short history, pivoting more quickly and proactively than competitive jurisdictions.
These are the kind of things that many well-endowed competitors are just not willing to do—i.e., they pass the “won’t” part of the “can’t/won’t test.” They would rather spend big on something easier for them to carry out. Prime Minister Lee was absolutely resolute in ensuring adherence to his key strategy choices for the many decades during which he was in charge.
Of course, as Singapore became rich, it was able to spend heavily on more expensive things like its massive investment in education and logistics infrastructures, like the aforementioned Changi airport in the late 1970s—and then the airport’s recent enhancement, the award-winning $1 billion Jewel shopping mall featuring the world’s tallest indoor waterfall.
Personal Cases of Something from Nothing
The something-from-nothing strategy approach is near and dear to my heart because I have needed to employ it in multiple personal leadership roles—for example, with the Rotman School at the University of Toronto and with Tennis Canada.
Rotman School
When I became dean of the Rotman School in 1998, we had very little going for us. We were poor, with a budget one-quarter the size of our leading competitor, and we were running a deficit on that tiny budget. The business school was hemorrhaging professors to U.S. universities because the Canadian dollar had plummeted from 87¢ to 67¢ over the previous several years, leaving Rotman salaries uncompetitive relative to U.S. professorial salaries. The school’s alumni were disengaged, and we weren’t connected at all to the Toronto business community. Overall momentum was significantly negative.
We had to figure out how to build advantages cheaply—and I mean really cheaply. One way was to take our very expensive academic research—that only other academics normally read—and make it readable and interesting for a broader business audience, which we did inexpensively through Rotman Magazine, transforming it from a mediocre alumni magazine to an internationally valued source of business thinking. It helped put the school on the map for its business ideas at a tiny cost. Other schools didn’t follow because they were run by academics who placed a low value on engaging businesspeople with their research findings.
We developed a narrative that Rotman stood for fundamentally transforming business education—A New Way to Think. Our boldness earned us a massive amount of earned media—more than all the other Canadian business schools combined—at a time when we had zero resources to invest in paid media.
I learned that I had a cheap but valuable currency when it came to motivating professors—my love and affection. The ones that taught well and contributed to translating research into actionable business ideas received disproportionate public accolades from me, and that moved the needle on their efforts more dramatically than I might have imagined. They would bring back stories from colleagues at other competing schools who wished their deans cared as much as I did for the work of my professors.
Those cheap but effective strategy choices enabled us to build resources to subsequently invest in expensive things—like professors, student services, and a new building.
Tennis Canada
When I joined the board of Tennis Canada in 2005, we were deeply in debt from having built a new tennis stadium in Toronto, we had little history of success internationally—and the modest successes were in the relatively distant past—and, as a cold country that had never prioritized tennis, we had very few year-round tennis courts. (They had to be indoor courts or outdoor courts that were bubbled during the winter months.)
We were an also-ran competing against established tennis nations that had historical advantages and orders of magnitude more resources. Nonetheless, we sought to become counted among the leading tennis nations—like the U.S., Spain, France, Germany, Australia, and Russia.
A key potential resource that wasn’t being exploited was Tennis Canada’s ownership of both a men’s (ATP) and women’s (WTA) top level (1000 series) tournament (of which there are only nine and 10, respectively), the biggest and most important annual tournaments after the four Grand Slams (U.S. Open, Australian Open, Wimbledon, and Roland Garros). We ran it as a competitive sports event, not a valuable economic property.
We hired an experienced sports entertainment executive, Michael Downey, as our new CEO, and he turned them into the second-highest revenue pair of 1000-series tournaments, trailing only Indian Wells, the plaything of Larry Ellison, the centibillionaire with unlimited investment resources.
We were able to invest the massively increased cash flow provided by the tournaments in an innovative approach to player development. The resulting success of our Canadian tennis stars generated plenty of earned media and sponsorship dollars. We leveraged Canada into a leading tennis nation by inexpensively transforming a wasted asset into a powerful strategic tool.
Practitioner Insights
If you lag your competitors dramatically in resources, don’t cry yourself to sleep at night and give up. You have a tough and tricky strategy task—but not an impossible one. Your central task is to think through how you can gain an advantage on the cheap.
Start by refusing to focus on and obsess about how and on what your competitors are spending their massive resources. Instead ask, despite all that spending, what are customers missing? By the way, that means customers of all sorts because many modern markets are two-sided (including Rotman’s and Tennis Canada’s).
Then spend all your strategic thinking energy on finding inexpensive ways to achieve uniqueness in meeting those unmet customer needs.
Search along two vectors. The first is to recognize the assets right under your nose that you aren’t utilizing for strategy purposes—like the two 1000-level tournaments, academic research that had zero impact on businesspeople, and the dean’s love and affection. The second is to identify cheap but valuable assets that you can create—like a low-corruption environment, or a more exciting and appealing approach to business education.
As Lee Kuan Yew amply demonstrated: Where there is a will, there is a way to create something from nothing.
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