Owning Our Choices

There's a scene in The Devil Wears Prada that comes to mind whenever I feel uneasy about my rationale for leadership decisions.

Andi, played by Anne Hathaway, and her boyfriend, Nate, played by Adrian Grenier, are arguing. Andi feels guilty about betraying her coworker, but instead of admitting it, she lashes out at Nate, telling him that her tyrannical boss is to blame. She insists she had no choice. Nate fires back: "That's your answer for everything lately: I didn't have a choice. Like this job was forced on you. Like you don't make these decisions yourself." The problem isn't so much what she’s doing, he says - it's that she doesn't take responsibility for her choice in it. There's no integrity in it - in the person she’s become. She pauses. Is he getting through? Then her phone rings.

It's her boss. Another choice. She looks up apologetically as she puts the phone up to her ear. Nate walks away.

The first time I saw The Devil Wears Prada, I savored the familiar storyline. Andi was good at heart. But her moral compass got muddled, and I squirmed as - little by little - she faced each test and chose to do what was needed to get ahead. Each decision a little more self-serving than the last. With every tug to the dark side, I yelled a little louder for her to come back.

We love stories about moral corruption -- from Hercules to Darth Vader. Disappointment and frustration well up inside us as we watch characters prioritize themselves over doing what’s moral or ethical or just. Sometimes, we soothe all our inner turmoil with reassurances that we would be better if we found ourselves in similar circumstances. We trust that our character is sturdy enough to see the shadows trying to pull us in, and while we know we might be tempted and acknowledge we aren’t perfect, we are certain that we will take the high road when it really matters.

Unfortunately, there’s a problem with that certainty: We have a wicked ability to rationalize our choices to protect our self-interests and the image we have of ourselves. We’re so good at it that we often see our options through a lens that blurs or hides anything that puts our personal goals at risk. This is what happened to Andi.

With a fresh degree in journalism and some university accolades, she landed a job at a world-renowned magazine. The villainous Miranda, played by Meryl Streep, was the puppeteer at the top, orchestrating a cutthroat culture. And while she was making the rules of the game, every employee’s choice to keep playing reinforced them - Andi included. Sure, she scoffed initially, thinking she could weather the experience by working hard and staying true to her values. But as pressure mounted, she buckled.

My Own Rationalizing

When I reflect honestly, I can see moments when what seemed like appropriate compromises paved the way for behavior that didn’t match my values. The training for these bigger compromises starts early in our careers - staying silent when a colleague takes credit for your work, not speaking up when someone is unfairly criticized in a meeting, or choosing the politically safe response when there are obviously better options. These smaller moments are where we create increasingly believable stories of rationalization - we start letting organizational norms guide our choices instead of our values. We choose acceptance over courage.

My evolving response to layoffs offers a great use case for aspiring leaders.

The first time I experienced layoffs, I was young and only 2 years into my tenure as a help desk technician. I didn’t lose my job, but I was stunned when I learned that a couple of my friends did. I was devastated for them, and I remember thinking that the people in charge must have really had no other choice because many of the people they let go were incredibly talented and effective. I was relieved when both of my friends went on to find much better opportunities.

Later, I worked at an organization where layoffs were pretty routine. At least twice a year, when revenue didn’t quite reach expectations, “headcount was trimmed”. The organization was very inefficient, so these resource adjustments became an inevitability. It seemed like a bad way to run a business, so I did a little research. I found a lot of material saying that reductions in force are one of the toughest decisions leaders have to face, but sometimes there are no viable alternatives.

I also found the routine of it scary. I was a single mom of three and the sole financial support for our family. I had little savings, and losing my job abruptly would have been catastrophic. My heart broke for my coworkers when that nightmare came true for them.

Pragmatically, I found layoffs frustrating because the who and how many of my team members changed just about every time we finally found a groove. All the while, project deadlines and pressures remained unchanged. I remember thinking that I would consider layoffs an absolute last resort when I got high enough in leadership to have a say.

I developed two key rationalizations from these early experiences: that layoffs were always necessary evils and nobody would choose it if there were better options. And that being laid off can sometimes be beneficial. After all, my friends landed on their feet with better jobs.

By the time I was in a role where my voice might matter, I had already weathered many reductions in force. I had even been laid off myself a couple of years earlier. At the time, I was still the only financial support for my family. One of my kids was in college, and the other two were right behind her. I felt firsthand the frantic thoughts and sleepless nights, worrying that we’d lose our home, or that college would have to wait. So, when, as a leader, I was clued in about upcoming layoffs and invited to join a planning conversation, you would think I would have used my voice to question the logic and paint a picture of the human impact.

I didn’t.

The decision had come down from the C-Suite to make the cuts, and this meeting was to finalize who to let go. I clicked the link to the private spreadsheet containing employee names, salaries, and other relevant information. Tiny faceless boxes representing humans who had contributed to the company's success. I told myself that these were talented people who were sure to find better opportunities. We talked about the “generous” severance packages, which were much better than mine two years earlier. It felt better to have some evidence that my company cared.

Nobody on my team was on “the list”, so I spent the first few minutes trying to figure out how to contribute to the discussion. Then, I weighed in with ideas for adjusting project timelines and ensuring we distributed the workload across teams. I fell in line, focusing my attention on business continuity. I posed questions like “What skills are we losing?”, “What strategy are we optimizing for?”, and “How will this affect our ability to achieve our stated goals?” I don’t remember it crossing my mind that I had any choice to do something other than jump on the train that was already barreling down the tracks.

When I reflect, I can see how much I adhered to norms without even detecting that they were at odds with my values. I loathe the idea of harming people, and whenever I realize I have, I take responsibility for my actions. Yet, I sat there rationalizing the harm I was a part of inflicting with a complete lack of self-awareness.

The language we used lightened some of the moral load, too.

We said things like “It will impact about 2% of our staff.” Somehow 2% seemed small. I didn’t think about that translating to 50 people who started the day with a job, only to end it without one. It was lost on me that, statistically, it was inevitable that some employees were probably in the middle of working through enormous life events like getting ready for a baby or buying a house. Some were possibly caring for aging parents or loved ones with special needs. And there’s a good chance that someone on that list was battling or had a loved one battling cancer. How many were coping with mental health challenges? The tiny boxes in a spreadsheet and spruced-up language masked all that.

This isn't about vilifying the leaders who do layoffs.

It’s an attempt to offer a resonant example of how the rationalization pattern builds, and we so easily fall into the trap of failing to see that we do, in fact, have more choices than we immediately recognize. This is a warning to aspiring leaders, because I wish I had been more aware.

There's usually a moment—like Andi's ringing phone—when the moral weight becomes clear. It might be during the layoff planning meeting when someone questions the decision and suggests a pause to collaborate on alternative solutions that don’t involve job terminations. In that pause, leaders have a choice: lean into the discomfort and explore alternatives or heed the norms.

The phone rings, and you have a choice to answer.

Owning the choice would sound different, and what I'm about to say sounds harsh, but it creates more clarity about where we’re falling down.

It’s now common for companies to do layoffs even when they are profitable. Owning that choice would be a leader saying: "Just to be clear - we are choosing to prioritize short-term profit margins over the financial security of 50 families. We believe this trade-off serves our shareholders' interests, even though we could maintain current employment levels and still remain profitable. We are making this choice because we value growth metrics more than employment stability."

The Illusion of No Choice

As leaders climb the ladder, we get so focused on learning and developing leadership skills that we unwittingly adapt to some of the most harmful organizational and industry norms. It makes it difficult to see when our choices diverge from our values. By the time we're in a position to make the biggest difference, we've already made dozens of smaller compromises that got us there. Each one felt reasonable at the time. Each one moved the line just a little until we stopped seeing the line altogether.

This is what makes Andi's story so relatable. She didn't wake up one day and decide to become someone she didn't recognize. She isn’t inherently callous or narcissistic. She’s someone who made a series of small, seemingly rational decisions that fit with the norms of her environment and that collectively transformed her.

The question isn't whether we'll face these moments – as leaders, we absolutely will. The question is whether we'll recognize them before we've answered that phone call.

Being a leader means having the power of choice. And every single one of them is ours to own.

None of this is simple. Organizations create real pressure, and sometimes difficult decisions truly are necessary. But recognizing when we have more options than we think we do - that's where our power lies.

Whether you’re an aspiring or established leader, before your next difficult decision, ask yourself: If I had to explain this choice to someone I respect, using only honest language, what would I say? And would I be ok if that person were the one most impacted?