The Likability Trap™

In the last few weeks I’ve been asked how I tolerate not being liked, triggered by the multiple dissenting stories about women leaders. It’s a question I’ve been asked many times — by leaders, colleagues, even family. It tells me two things: they already feel the sting, and they know the real cost of leading isn’t workload but judgement.

Being disliked is part of life — even the people who love us don’t like us all the time. Leadership and likability are not happy bedfellows.

I’ve been called unlikable to my face — I’ve heard people moaning about me as I enter a room. And I’ve felt the shift when I’ve said the thing no one wanted to hear. The temperature drops. Smiles stiffen. The truth — that’s when I know I’m leading.

But let me be clear: I don’t enjoy being disliked. It hurts. It displaces me, creates a sadness and a disappointment that burns. I can also feel rejection sensitivity dysphoria (RSD) — a symptom of my neurodiversity I work hard to contain. These days it only really gets triggered when I’m tired and teetering on the edge of burnout, but when it strikes, the sting of criticism can feel amplified a hundred times over.

I wish I could say I was immune. But I don’t have mythical “thick skin” — just the usual human version that bruises.

Sadly, whether you are liked or disliked, the correlation with respect is uneasy. I can’t reassure myself with the line: “They might not like me, but they still respect me.” Respect isn’t guaranteed — not for women leaders, anyway. Research shows women who are seen as competent are often judged as less warm, and in turn, less respected (Heilman & Okimoto, 2007; Cuddy, Fiske & Glick, 2008). The whole framework is rigged, patriarchy wired.

So what does that leave? Not likeability. Not even respect. In the end, both are mirages if they become the metric you measure yourself against. The only thing that matters is whether you are leading with evidence, integrity, moving the work forward, and staying anchored in your values.

Because here’s the uncomfortable reality: the women who are universally liked rarely lead revolutions. They smooth egos. They keep the peace. They soothe and stroke away the accountability of others’ failure. It’s often the women who refuse to be liked who shift the ground beneath our feet.

Society has always policed women with this label. Men are decisive; women are “hard work.” Men are bold; women are “too much.” From Joan of Arc to Angela Rayner, history is full of women who carried the scarlet letter of unlikability while moving the world forward. We build statues eventually — mostly when they are dead.

I still can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous sneer Donald Trump gave Hillary Clinton, running against him for president: “such a nasty woman.” It was meant as a slur, but honestly? I’d wear Nasty Woman on a T-shirt quicker than “World’s Best Boss.” The insult landed because it tapped into a cultural reflex: powerful women must be unlikable.

And here’s the kicker: I can turn on the charisma when I need to — but it’s exhausting and performative, like Spanx for your personality. You can’t breathe properly, but damn do you look composed. I’m not a dick either, I really care about people, and frankly I’m funny, clever and kind — that’s what my mum tells me anyway. Which is why it stings when leadership decisions collide with people’s expectations. One minute you’re “warm and approachable,” the next you’re “cold and calculating.” The truth hasn’t changed — only our comfort has.

In truth I’m the boss, and nothing tanks a popularity rating faster than that, especially when bearing bad news. Trust me, no one has ever carried a deficit into a room and left more popular.

I’ve led change, wrestled with boards, and heard the stories spun about me afterwards. My favourite? When I was called Kill Bill. I laughed so hard I cried, imagining myself in a black and yellow catsuit — not quite Uma Thurman. The cartoon now hangs on my office wall — a trophy of sorts, proof that character assassination is often just leadership in disguise. These are the moments you realise: being disliked isn’t always about the work. Sometimes it’s about daring to lead at all.

Leadership is not a popularity contest. At times, it’s a loneliness contest you sometimes win. And yet, it’s in those moments of unlikability — when a woman stops performing for approval — that real change enters the chat.

1. The Likability Tax

Psychologists call it the “double bind”: women leaders must be competent and warm, authoritative and approachable, powerful and pleasing. Step outside the script and suddenly you’re “abrasive,” “shrill,” or “hard work.”

This is what I call the Likability Tax. Women pay it daily, in the currency of self-censorship, diplomatic phrasing, endless smiling and patience. It’s basically HMRC for your soul — no helpline, no instalment plan, no rebate for over-smiling in meetings that should’ve been emails.

And here’s where ambivalent sexism theory sharpens the picture (Glick & Fiske, 1997): women are rewarded for being pleasing (benevolent sexism) and punished when they disrupt (hostile sexism). Either way, you’re paying.

This tax isn’t just about perception. It’s about emotional labour (Hochschild, 1983) — the hidden expectation that women leaders manage not just the work, but everyone’s feelings about the work. Smiling through budgets. Cushioning truths. Smoothing egos. Unpaid, unseen, exhausting.

Michelle Obama put it perfectly: “If you don’t get out there and define yourself, you’ll be quickly and inaccurately defined by others.” That’s exactly what the likability tax demands — that women allow others to script their identity, soften or harden their edges.

It’s not a tax anyone has agreed to pay — it’s extorted. And it keeps women busy managing perception instead of focusing on power, progress, and results. Refusing to pay it doesn’t mean becoming rude or arrogant. It means choosing honesty over smoothing, clarity over charm, leadership over likability — even though you know it will sting.

2. The Unlikability Advantage

Look at those branded “unlikable”: Greta Thunberg (“too angry”), Jacinda Ardern (“too emotional”), Kamala Harris (“too ambitious”), Malala Yousafzai (“too outspoken”). Different temperaments, same accusation. The charge of unlikability isn’t about their personalities — it’s about our discomfort with their power.

The leadership scholar Rosabeth Moss Kanter once said: “Leaders are not loved until they’ve left.” For women, that’s doubly true. The “unlikable” label usually signals that you’ve stopped prioritising comfort and started prioritising change.

And the penalties aren’t evenly shared. Kimberlé Crenshaw’s work on intersectionality reminds us that Black and brown women — and other marginalised women — are labelled “unlikable” fastest and judged harshest. Class bias adds another sting: be too direct, too outspoken, too unwilling to defer, and suddenly you’re “straight talking.” It’s amazing how often that’s code for “not privately educated.”

In my Joan of Arc Effect research, I found resilience comes not from thick skin but from reframing scrutiny as proof of significance.

It still hurts, of course — but hurt and effectiveness can coexist. That’s the paradox: the sting is real, and so is the shift it creates. You don’t get to escape the pain of being disliked, but you also can’t let it hold your leadership to ransom.

3. Authentic, Compassionate, Feminist Leadership

So where does this leave authenticity, compassion, and feminist leadership? Surely those of us who lead with heart don’t want to abandon care, or actively invite dislike?

The answer lies in reconciliation. Authentic leadership means being anchored in your values, not in other people’s approval. Compassionate leadership means making decisions with empathy, even when those decisions are unpopular. Feminist leadership means resisting the bias that says women must be liked to be legitimate.

I don’t set out to be disliked — I’ve just learned not to let the pursuit of likability bias my decision-making. Being a people-pleaser isn’t the same as being people-centred. It’s the difference between bringing biscuits and fixing the bloody agenda.

As bell hooks reminds us: “Honesty and openness is always the foundation of insightful dialogue.”

Leadership grounded in truth is not always comfortable, but it is always necessary.

To me, this is the heart of feminist leadership: we can be compassionate without collapsing into compliance, authentic without pandering, and courageous without being cruel. Compassion isn’t the same as compliance. It’s empathy with a backbone.

And as Gloria Steinem once said: “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.” That’s leadership in a sentence — liberation rarely comes gift-wrapped in likability.

4. The Public Square

And in today’s world, this tension plays out most vividly online. Social media is where the likability tax is demanded in public: be too blunt on LinkedIn, too visible on Instagram, too confident on TikTok, and the penalties arrive instantly, usually via anonymous avatars. As Alice Marwick’s research on social media shows, women in public life are surveilled and policed harder online. The modern public square magnifies what women have always known: likability is a trap, and it comes with trolls.

5. The Celebrity CEO Trap

Leadership has always been public, but in today’s world it’s also performative. CEOs are expected to play celebrity — to be endlessly “on,” endlessly likable, endlessly available. Approval is judged not just by boards or staff, but by donors, policymakers, beneficiaries, and the scrolling public.

It’s brutal arithmetic: in the corporate world, Elon Musk can wipe billions off Tesla’s stock price with a single tweet (Yurieff, 2018). In the charity sector, our “stock price” is measured in donations, influence, and trust. And it can rise or fall not on strategy, but on how “relatable” a CEO looks online or in the press.

Researchers like Zeynep Tufekci (2017) have shown how networked platforms amplify personalities over policies, rewarding visibility and charisma above substance. That pressure is now built into leadership: personality drives outcomes as much as programmes do. The catch is obvious — while leaders are forced to watch their popularity ratings, they risk taking their eyes off what really matters: impact, purpose, and the people they are there to serve.

Personally, I hate the idea of being a celebrity CEO — but it’s almost not a choice anymore. The real test is whether you can endure the spotlight without letting it burn away your integrity.

6. Reclaiming Unlikability

The feminist theorist Sara Ahmed talks about the “feminist killjoy” — the woman blamed for ruining the party simply by pointing out injustice. She’s cast as the problem when all she’s done is name the problem. Likewise, the “unlikable woman” is rarely unlikable at all. She’s just refusing to subsidise a system built on her compliance.

And honestly? I’m the feminist killjoy. I’m known for it. I will call things out, even when it makes the room tense, even when it makes me unpopular. Yes, I’ve ruined a few parties — but if the vibe depends on ignoring injustice, maybe it wasn’t a party. Maybe it was just karaoke with denial on lead vocals.

Reclaiming unlikability doesn’t mean rudeness or ego. We’ve all seen leaders confuse cruelty with candour — that’s not strength, it’s laziness. It takes discipline not to confuse courage with cruelty. Unlikability isn’t a licence to trample; it’s a refusal to perform.

It’s about integrity, not arrogance. Courage, not cruelty. And yes, sadness sometimes too. Because the cost of leadership is often being disliked by the very people you are trying to serve.

A Manifesto for the Unlikable

Strong Ground

1. Do your job properly, always seek to improve the practice of ceoing.

2. Be sure in your decision-making. Doubt corrodes; clarity inspires confidence.

3. Stop paying the likability tax, it clouds your judgement.

4. Have truth-tellers around you. People who will call you out on your fuckery — because we can all stray into dickwad territory. Yes, all of us (especially before coffee).

5. Don’t rise to the whispers. Ignore mistruths, twisted words, manipulation. When they go low, you go high. Sometimes silence speaks louder.

Mind, Body & Soul Anchors

6. Build faith in yourself. Not through being liked, but by knowing you’ve done the best you can.

7. Check yourself, if you’re called “difficult,” ask: difficult for whom, do I need to chill?

8. Remember the lineage. From witches to suffragettes, women have always been punished for unsettling the order.

9. Spend time with those who do like you. You won’t be liked by everyone, so cherish the people who do. They’ll keep you laughing while the haters plot your downfall.

10. Anchor in courage. Leadership isn’t about being liked. It’s about moving the dial. Likability is cheap. Leadership is priceless.

So the next time the dislike creeps in, don’t take it as proof that you’re unworthy. Most of us hate it — it stings, it unsettles, it makes you question yourself. But often, it’s simply the cost of doing the job properly. If you can hold steady in those moments, you’re not failing at leadership. You’re practising it. It isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always popular. But it’s how change happens.

Revolutions aren’t run on likes.

📚 Bookshelf / Research Notes

• Rosabeth Moss Kanter (1977) – Men and Women of the Corporation. On power, leadership, and the penalties women face in organisations.

• Madeline Heilman & Tyler Okimoto (2007) – Women in male-typed jobs judged as less liked and less respected.

• Amy Cuddy, Susan Fiske & Peter Glick (2008/2011) – Warmth–competence model of social perception.

• Peter Glick & Susan Fiske (1997) – Ambivalent Sexism Theory.

• Linda Carli & Alice Eagly (2007) – Through the Labyrinth. On the double bind and shifting standards for women leaders.

• Kimberlé Crenshaw (1989) – Intersectionality: race, class, and gender compounding disadvantage.

• Arlie Hochschild (1983) – The Managed Heart. On emotional labour.

• Deborah L. Rhode (2017) – Women and Leadership. On systemic barriers, likability bias, and cultural expectations.

• Sara Ahmed (2010) – The Promise of Happiness. The “feminist killjoy.”

• Alice Marwick (2013) – Status Update. On online micro-celebrity and surveillance.

• bell hooks (2000) – All About Love. On honesty, openness, and the foundation of dialogue.

• Gloria Steinem (1993) – Revolution from Within. “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.”

• Michelle Obama (2018) – Becoming. “If you don’t get out there and define yourself, you’ll be quickly and inaccurately defined by others.”

• Zeynep Tufekci (2017) – Twitter and Tear Gas. On networked platforms and personality-driven influence.

• Yurieff, K. (2018) – CNN Business. Reporting on Elon Musk’s tweets and Tesla stock volatility.

• My Joan of Arc Effect research (2022) – On resilience in women leaders, reframing scrutiny as proof of significance.

🎶 Playlist Unlikable Women

This one is for the feminist killjoys!

⚡ AI Disclaimer

This blog was written by me, with editorial support from AI. The stories, views, and arguments are my own — the technology helps with structure, flow, and pulling in references. I use AI like I use a good research assistant: to save time, not to think for me.