The Sound of Success Isn't Always Real

It’s honestly kind of wild to think about how easily we buy into things. Like, I finally understood that with the Phoebe Bridgers show—how a piece of writing, something I made in my bedroom while listening to Elliot Smith, could suddenly reach people I’d never met, people who lived in places I only saw on maps. That was a first real jolt. But this new study, the one about corporate jargon and how it messes with decision-making? It’s that feeling, that disconnect, amplified.

I saw it happen with my dad. He works in sales, and for a while, he was really into this whole ‘synergy’ thing. It was like a new religion. He’d throw it around in conversations, even when it didn't really *mean* anything. My mom would just smile politely, pretending to understand, and I’d roll my eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck. He genuinely seemed to believe that sprinkling in buzzwords made him look smarter, more important. He thought it was a key to success.

And the thing is, people seemed to *agree*. My dad started getting more responsibilities, more recognition. It felt… unfair. Because he wasn’t doing anything different, just… talking differently. It’s like everyone got convinced that the sound of the words was the actual *thing* being accomplished.

This study confirms that, doesn’t it? That we’re all susceptible to it. Apparently, there’s a whole scale now—a Corporate Bullsh*t Receptivity Scale, someone told me—that can supposedly measure how easily you fall for this kind of thing. It's ridiculous, but also kind of brilliant. Imagine if companies started using it to vet candidates instead of relying on resume fluff and carefully crafted LinkedIn profiles.

I remember the National show in Columbus. Before that, my blog felt like shouting into a void. A few people in my town knew about it, mostly my mom’s friends who’d skim the articles and offer vague praise. But then, after that show, I started getting reblogs from Tumblr, from people in Oregon and California. Suddenly, these strangers were engaging with *my* words. It felt like proving something, but also, it highlighted how isolated I'd been. How much bigger the world was than my corner of Ohio.

The funny part is, I always felt a little guilty about my cynicism. My mom always encouraged me, in that gentle, supportive way that doesn’t actually involve understanding what I’m doing. She’d say, “That’s great, honey! Keep writing!” But I’d feel this pressure to be more… positive. To embrace the ‘growth mindset’ and all that stuff. But how can you embrace something that feels inherently manipulative?

There's a part of me that wonders if it’s a defense mechanism, too. This jargon, this constant stream of meaningless phrases, is a way to avoid responsibility. It's a shield against criticism. It’s easier to talk *about* solving problems than to actually solve them. And we, the audience, the employees, the investors, let it happen because we're all trying to look smart, too.

It makes you wonder about everything. About the people we trust, the decisions we make, the future we’re building. Maybe we should all take a minute to pause, to really listen to what’s being said, and to ask ourselves: does this *actually* mean anything? Or is it just a really good-sounding noise?