The emperor’s new merch: why it’s time to get serious about professional psychopaths
From the dustbin blaze that was the Fyre Festival to WeWork's more recent woes, Amy Kean examines how CEOs with potentially psychopathic tendencies impact on their businesses, their staff and, eventually, on all of us.
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I’m not a massive fan of pop psychology diagnoses, but I’m pretty sure I used to work for a psychopath.
My first red flag was when he said, “anyone that disagrees with me will be fired.” That’s punchy, I thought. And illegal. And also worrying, given that ethically and strategically I disagreed with this man 99% per cent of the time.
Those in the vicinity couldn’t help being intoxicated by his ‘genius’. It felt kinda culty. Oh, maybe I spelt that wrong.
My second red flag was finding out he’d asked one of my colleagues to record our leadership meetings, secretly, on an iPhone. My third red flag was his entire vision for the company, which was so hyperbolic and unrealistic I’m not sure anybody really believed it. But, we were paid well. He was a typical tech startup CEO. An expert salesman, gift of the gab, driven by newer, bigger, slicker. Those in the vicinity couldn’t help being intoxicated by his ‘genius’. It felt kinda culty. Oh, maybe I spelt that wrong.
Above: If we ignore the red flags, we may come to regret it.
No one died
Seeing a psychopath in action is like having a front row cinema seat at a thrilling blockbuster, with unexpected twists and turns and unbelievable scenes. Seeing the damage a professional psychopath can do is helpless and traumatic. If you get in the way of a human bulldozer they will flatten you, and everybody else is running so fast the chances of being picked up off the floor are slim.
That’s our benchmark for bad, isn’t it? That no one died!
In my first week alone I saw nervous breakdowns, walkouts, stress-related heart problems and brutal contract terminations. But this CEO was selling a dream and making millions in the process, because everybody loves a dream. That tech startup doesn’t exist anymore, by the way, and a lot of people have been emotionally scarred for life.
The problem with psychopaths is that they don’t suffer emotional knocks like the rest of us. Take Billy McFarland who, after the global humiliation of his fraudulent Fyre Festival, could’ve hidden away and saved face for a bit. Instead, he immediately hopped back onto the horse, selling $100k worth of fake Met Gala tickets to the same database of suckers who’d been burned by Fyre. It’s a capacity for audacity that us boring normals will never be able to comprehend. McFarland’s now in prison.
The problem with psychopaths is that they don’t suffer emotional knocks like the rest of us.
What damage was done by McFarland and business partner Ja Rule’s broken promises to host the best, most luxurious festival ever? Well, in this instance, just a shock to the bank balances of some privileged, mid-level influencers in attendance. No one died. That’s our benchmark for bad, isn’t it? That no one died! (Although, according to revellers, the experience turned into Lord of the Flies very quickly.)
Above: A trailer for the Netflix documentary about the Fyre Festival.
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The cult of 'We'
No one ever died at a WeWork, but the story of the company’s growth is as bizarre and sensational as they come. A new bestseller, The Cult of We: WeWork and the Great Startup Delusion, by Eliot Brown and Maureen Farrell, is a stressful read, detailing the journey taken by Adam Neumann, its 6’7”, tequila-loving co-founder who set his sights on being the next messiah. Seriously. Neumann’s extraordinary sales skills attracted some $46 billion in investment… all for a co-working business that never made a profit. And then he lost it, in one of the most embarrassing falls from grace in modern business.
Neumann’s extraordinary sales skills attracted some $46 billion in investment… all for a co-working business that never made a profit.
It’s an intense 10-year tale of ambition, brainwashing and some of the most extravagant lies you can imagine. WeWork wasn’t a real estate company, Neumann said, it was a tech company (with no tech). WeWork wasn’t just a place where freelancers could work and drink fruity water, it was a collaborative cultural revolution. A physical social network. It was an antidote to the loneliness of modern life. WeWork wasn’t haemorrhaging cash at an outstanding pace (at one point in 2019 losing $219,000 hourly), it was making a profit, he said.
In fact, Neumann is recorded on camera telling entire conference congregations that not only was his business making money, but he was able to “choose” when he made a profit and was “bored” of companies like Uber that still suffered a loss. He said he was going to fix the Indian housing crisis, and bring about peace in the Middle East.
Most worrying of all, amongst the shit tonne of things to be worried about, was their plan to build entire fucking cities.
People lapped it up. His (embarrassingly un-diverse) WeWorkforce wanted to change the world. It was an addictive narrative, say former employees. WeWork’s members sought out the company’s shiny merch, like mugs saying DO WHAT YOU LOVE. On stage, at events, Neumann himself would wear t-shirts emblazoned with MADE BY WE. They created accommodation with WeLive. Schools, with WeGrow. But (according to the book) perhaps most worrying of all, amongst the shit tonne of things to be worried about, was their plan to build entire fucking cities. Not just a festival on an island, a city. Imagine that: a utopian space, powered by collaboration, filled with hopeful citizens decked out in professional WeWork merch.
Above: WeWork co-founder Adam Neumann and the recently released book about the company.
On an entirely unrelated note, it’s been 42 years since the Jonestown massacre. The radical vision sold by charismatic Reverend Jim Jones ended in 900 deaths via cyanide-laced drinks (the 'drinking the Kool-Aid' reference that has been popularised and lightened beyond belief, considering its dark origins). Jonestown was a dense jungle transformed into an inhabitable space for Jones’ cult members who were sold a dream of equality and integration. Jones saw himself as the antidote to many leaders at that time, and the tragedy is a lesson in the very worst a cult can achieve.
Jones saw himself as the antidote to many leaders at that time, and the tragedy is a lesson in the very worst a cult can achieve.
But what was remarkable about the massacre’s victims is how they’re often described by historians not as fanatics, but as regular people. People who needed a dream and a new way of life sold to them. Jeff Guinn, author of The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple, said of the cult members: “No one listening [to Jones' sermons], even those who were the most devoted to him, could take it all in. But at some point each follower heard something that reaffirmed his or her personal reason for belonging to Peoples Temple, and for believing in Jim Jones."
As Jonestown historian Fielding McGehee observes; "What you thought Jim said depended on who you were.” Few of us are immune from the dream. Or confirmation bias. The problem isn’t just the men, it’s the ones willing to believe them.
Above: Jim Jones, the founder of Peoples Temple, which ended in 1978 with the Jonestown massacre and the death of over 900 people.
Dream or nightmare?
Is innovation the new religion? Perhaps. It’s certainly compelling enough, and offers promises of utopia, new lives, untold wealth and status. NFT sellers certainly appear to have the same manic energy as TV evangelists. Everybody wants to be sold a dream. We live on a planet that’s on fire, with drastic financial inequality, an increasingly shallow existence and depression numbers rising across most of the world. Is it any wonder that a wannabe messiah with cheap office space bamboozled not only some of the world’s richest people but its workers, too?
Is writing about a death cult in an article about startups extreme? Yes. But so is the owner of a book shop flying to the fucking moon.
Is writing about a death cult in an article about startups extreme? Yes. But so is the owner of a book shop flying to the fucking moon. Nothing makes sense anymore when Musk and Bezos and Branson are busy waving their dicks in space. Nothing. Where do we go from here?
I’ve worked with hundreds of startup founders. Some are great at their jobs and want to solve a problem. Some have big egos, but are harmless. Some are just rubbish, but funded by wealthy parents and contacts. Others - a small percentage - are restless psychopaths whose only way of working is to lie their way to investment; to bewitch users, and fuel their messiah complex. To be told they’re changing the world. You can see it in their eyes, their body language, their tone. For the sake of other people, shouldn’t we be checking which is which?
Above: Jon Ronson's popular 2011 book, The Psychopath Test.
An over-referenced stat is that between 4% and 12% of the world’s CEOs are psychopaths. This was entertaining when Jon Ronson’s The Psychopath Test was released; when psychos were ‘only’ running banks and pharmaceutical companies. But when they can fly to the moon and build their own cities?
We’ve entered an era of real life cartoon villains, peacocking their way to world domination, and who knows where they’ll end up next.
No one's died, yet. But we’ve entered an era of real life cartoon villains, peacocking their way to world domination, and who knows where they’ll end up next. Paradigm-shiftingly ambitious CEOs should be required, by law, to take a psychopath test. If they’re able to function in society we shouldn’t fire them, or lock them up. I obviously have zero power to enforce this, but the more we know, the more we can learn to deal with them, adapt to their demands and even understand their visions.
Psychopaths can be good! Ish. According to Kevin Dutton, author of The Wisdom of Psychopaths, a lot of successful brain surgeons have been known to display tendencies of psychopathy. Psychopaths may take effective risks that others simply would not consider. But in a more self-aware world, people's safety should be paramount.
Paradigm-shiftingly ambitious CEOs should be required, by law, to take a psychopath test.
Because if we remain ignorant to the increased tendency these men have to take over the world, and if we don’t take steps to protect the lives of regular citizens, then all of a sudden we might find ourselves sitting in the debris of faulty rockets, burned merch and broken cities, surrounded by the red flags we forgot to count.
