The nicer the office, the more important you feel
Readtime: 2.5 minutes
Early in my career, I did a lot of my work out of damp Portacabins on industrial estates in the middle of Wales.
Small manufacturing clients, mostly. A kettle in the corner, some very old coffee, and a wobbly table where I'd spread the files out and get on with the audit. I'd drive an hour or more to get there, and the highlight was often whether the client had remembered to put the heating on.
I didn't think much about the rooms back then. I was too busy trying to work out what I was doing.
A few days ago I was sitting in the client area of a major insurance company, waiting to meet someone. Glass everywhere, lots of light, nice meeting rooms. Oh, and a proper coffee machine.
And sitting there, before I'd even met the person I was there to see, I noticed I felt good. The nice rooms had done that for me.
Which is a slightly embarrassing thing to admit, because the room has nothing to do with the work itself. Back in Wales, the work was audit. Now it's leadership advisory and executive coaching, which is different in almost every way. But the room changes none of that. It doesn't make me any better at what I'm there to do.
But it does change how the work feels, and I like how it does that more than I probably should. While I walked into that reception already knowing my work matters, the nice building made it feel more true.
Which taught me something uncomfortable: I'm more suggestible about my own importance than I'd like to admit.
A better chair, a nicer view, real coffee. None of it has anything to do with whether the work is any good, but all of it nudges the dial on how significant I feel while I'm doing it.
It might even go further than a passing feeling in a lobby. I work from home a lot now, but I still live pretty much in the City, right in among the fancy buildings. Yes, it's helpful to be able to walk to client meetings, but I do sometimes wonder whether I live there partly because I like the status of being close to all that.
I don't think it's just me. If you've ever been put in the worst room in the hotel on a company trip, I'm looking at you.
It isn't only the external environment. It's also your job title, who else is in the meeting, and who asked for your opinion. Small signals we treat as verdicts on how much we're worth.
There's a part of this that bothers me more, though.
The more senior you get, the nicer the rooms get. Better offices, better cabins on the flight, nicer cars to pick you up. It just arrives.
So the feeling of doing important work can keep climbing year after year, carried along by all of this, even in a year when you coasted a bit. The surroundings flatter you.
Early on, a decent room meant you'd probably earned your place in it. Now it comes with the rank, so maybe it can't tell you whether you're still earning it.
Here's a test I've been thinking about:
Picture the work you're most proud of at the moment. Then picture yourself doing it in the worst room you've ever worked in. A cold Portacabin on an industrial estate, files on a wobbly table, a fan heater losing the battle.
Would you still feel as important?
Thanks for reading.
Mostyn
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