Niceness is a conditioned, learned behavior that teaches us to smooth things over, to not make waves, and to keep systems running even when we know that something is wrong. In her book, The Price of Nice—Why Comfort Keeps Us Stuck, Amira shares way to build up your nerve, use micro actions to disrupt the status quo, and how to address back room barriers.

Amira Barger’s Bio

Amira Barger is an award-winning executive, author, and thought leader at the intersection of communications, health, and DEI. As Executive Vice President of Communications & DEI Advisory at Edelman and a professor of change management and marketing/communications at Cal State East Bay, she brings more than 20 years of experience shaping organizational strategy and elevating the stories that must be told. Her book, The Price of Nice: Why Comfort Keeps Us Stuck—And 4 Actions for Real Change, challenges workplace culture’s obsession with “niceness” and offers a framework for creating meaningful change.

Transcript

Rachel Mandell (00:00)

Today I am very excited to welcome Amira Barger to our podcast conversation. Amira is an award-winning executive, author, and thought leader at the intersection of communications, health, and DEI. As an executive vice president of communications and DEI advisory at Edelman and a professor of change management and marketing communications at Cal State East Bay, she brings more than 20 years of experience shaping organizational strategy and elevating the stories that must be told. Her book, The Price of Nice: Why Comfort Keeps Us Stuck and Four Actions for Real Change, challenges workplace culture's obsession with niceness and offers a framework for creating meaningful change. Welcome, we're so excited to have you.

Amira Barger (00:42)

Thank you so much for having me. It's a pleasure to be here today. I'm excited for the conversation.

Rachel Mandell (00:47)

Likewise. I have your book right here. I've loved it. I finished it on a plane yesterday. So I feel very fortunate to speak to the author. The title of the book, The Price of Nice, talks about a cost — there's a cost associated with it. And you are really challenging this cultural fixation we have on being nice, pointing out that it conditions us to accept the status quo and limits our room for being brave or audacious or taking risks. Can you talk about the hidden costs of niceness and why it's important to understand the underlying dynamics of this cultural value that sometimes we notice and sometimes we don't?

Amira Barger (01:38)

Yeah, when I talk about nice in the way that I'm positing it in the book, I'm not talking about kindness. And I think that's really important for people to understand upfront. Kindness is still the aim and the goal. I just think the way that we get to it is different than what we've been sold and told for ages.

What I'm talking about in the book is a social code — a conditioning, learned behavior that teaches us to smooth things over, to not make waves, and to keep systems running even when we know that something is so very wrong, even when we've witnessed it right in front of us. I often talk about niceness as this velvet glove over an iron fist. The velvet glove is beautiful, it's pretty and soft and nice. But the iron fist underneath packs a punch and can do very real damage that you may not realize because you can't see it on the surface.

On the surface, nice feels great — soft, polite, civil. But underneath all that softness is real power, control, enforcement, consequences. Niceness doesn't remove harm. It just makes it harder to see and harder to challenge. The hidden cost is that niceness trains us to accept the status quo without interrogating who does it serve. Does it still serve us today — in today's world, today's context, today's workplace, today's communities? Niceness rewards compliance and quietly pushes aside and punishes disruption and those who disrupt and challenge. It teaches us to confuse being liked with being aligned and to confuse politeness with justice.

I really believe, which is why I wrote the book, that when people start to understand that dynamic — once they see the pattern that is niceness — you can't unsee it. And you realize how often nice is used not to protect people, but to protect power.

Rachel Mandell (04:20)

Thank you for pointing this out. It is so pervasive that the way you start the book in asserting that this is actually a virtue we often miss is really helpful because it allows us to step back and understand that this conditioned behavior is actually the function of something much greater. In order to move beyond — eyes are open, we are seeing the implications of niceness — a lot of us feel that urge to push up against the status quo, but then we're pulled back. We're pulled back because asking questions or pointing out a nuance can be really uncomfortable. And we also just want to avoid conflict — conscious or not, we're thinking it's going to be harder if I speak up or harder to challenge the existing order. Can you talk about an example of what nice costs us versus when we actually speak up?

Amira Barger (05:27)

In the book I talk about something we've all probably heard of — it's chapter five, Sacred Cows. Another term you may have heard is Darling Systems. They're sort of the same idea. They are the policies, the people, the ideas that we are taught, whether explicitly or implicitly, you don't touch, you don't challenge, you don't attempt to change. That "we've always done it this way" mentality.

Sometimes sacred cows and darling systems can be an entire person. In a former organization of mine, our CEO was in fact a darling system. We'll call him Marty. Marty was someone who was considered a visionary in our community. He was brilliant, charismatic, sort of untouchable in many ways. But for those of us who worked at the organization, especially our executive team, what we saw behind the scenes was very different than what the community saw. He would bristle at critique. He would dismiss anything he didn't like to hear and constantly surround himself with yes people.

We had talked about his bad behavior for many years behind closed doors, but we would never address it directly to his face. It got to the point where we would take meeting notes and scrub them and sanitize them so they didn't sound too critical. That's how fragile his ego was. We had approached our board before, but they didn't do anything either. So we told ourselves — stay in your lane, pick your battles, keep it nice, keep it comfortable. Because we didn't want to deal with the discomfort that comes from challenging a darling system.

So here's how this came into reality. We had a big one-shot meeting coming up. We all get on a plane and fly to Capitol Hill. We are to sit down with our congressperson, Congresswoman Jackie Speier. And Marty finishes our collective pitch and decides to drop his signature catchphrase. He says, "Well, Jackie, I don't know if I'm just sipping my own Kool-Aid."

In that moment, the oxygen left the room. The congresswoman's staff were frozen and I'm pretty sure their jaws were on the floor. And Marty, who has all the self-awareness of a brick, had no idea about the tidal wave of intense discomfort he had just unleashed.

Congresswoman Speier looks at him and says, "You know, you really shouldn't say that to me. And by the way, it was Flavor Aid, not Kool-Aid."

For those who might be unaware, Congresswoman Speier was an aide to her congressperson back in the 1970s. At the time, there was a cult called Jonestown. Congresswoman Speier went to visit to try and help and find out what was going on. That was the day of the Jonestown massacre — a mass killing of 900 people who drank a cyanide-laced beverage. Congresswoman Speier was shot five times that day. She survived, thank goodness, and went on to become a congressperson herself.

That phrase, "sipping the Kool-Aid," has very dark origins. And in that moment, every one of us in the room felt it. And no one said anything except Congresswoman Speier — who practiced what I refer to as the antithesis of nice, which is nerve.

We had tiptoed around our CEO for years because he was powerful. Calling it out would have been uncomfortable — not nice. So the moment passed. And that silence — that's what niceness cost us. It cost us comfort. It cost us reputation. We had gone there to secure nine million in funding for a healthcare program. It cost us accountability in real time. It teaches everyone watching that power can say almost anything and still be protected. It quietly signals whose comfort matters most and whose doesn't matter at all.

Niceness doesn't keep the peace. It preserves hierarchy and the status quo. That is one of the most visceral, audacious moments for how niceness shows up in a very real way. I will never forget that day.

Rachel Mandell (12:31)

That is quite an example. I think what it also illustrates is that it's going to come out eventually. You can scrub the notes, you can do your best to avoid the backlash, but at some point it's going to hurt. That's a great segue into establishing our nerve muscle and building up our capacity to actually interject in a way that is effective. Can you talk to us about some questions or phrases or approaches that you recommend for successfully interrupting a dynamic that is uncomfortable?

Amira Barger (13:02)

So many. I think most progress doesn't start with a perfectly worded statement. For many people practicing nerve versus nice, sometimes the barrier is — what do I say in the moment? How do I get started? I think in many cases, it can start with a well-timed question.

I once sat in a meeting where leadership was congratulating themselves on how inclusive this new initiative was. Slide after slide, nods all around, and something was not sitting right with me. Instead of going all the way to aggressively saying this isn't that great of a program, I said, let me just ask one question. Use inquiry as a strategy. And I asked, "Who did we design this for and who did we assume would adapt?"

The room went quiet. That question didn't accuse anyone. It didn't escalate anything. But it cracked the narrative open. Suddenly people were re-examining assumptions they hadn't realized they were making until someone held up a mirror to them.

Other questions that do that kind of work: "What problem are we actually trying to solve?" "Who benefits from this staying the same?" "What's the impact that we're not naming because it feels uncomfortable?" "What would this look like if inclusion, if equity, if belonging were a requirement instead of a bonus?"

A well-timed question doesn't inflame — it illuminates. You're flipping that light switch on. If nice says, "This is uncomfortable, let's move on," nerve says, "This matters. Let's pause here and unpack this some more." Nice is about preserving access and likeability. Nerve is about preserving integrity and progress. Sometimes progress requires a little bit of discomfort.

If we had gotten comfortable as an executive team pushing back on Marty, we may have been able to avoid that moment in Congresswoman Speier's office. A well-timed question could have saved the day — "Marty, do you know where that phrase comes from?" or "How did you come to using that phrase?" A well-timed question can save you a world of embarrassment.

Rachel Mandell (17:16)

I think that's such a good suggestion because questions can be short. You don't have to come up with an entire argument. You can simply start the conversation by prodding others to think a little bit differently in a very collegial, collaborative fashion. And tying it back to overall goals — I feel like that is a safe way to open the door when things get off track. Whether that's on a project or about safety or niceness, there's at least some safety in saying, "Well, what did we agree on in the first place? Has that shifted?"

Amira Barger (18:17)

Yeah, and I think it's important for people to hear all of that because when I talk about nice versus nerve, so many people's mind goes all the way over here to turning over all the tables and burning something down. And sometimes that's the kind of nerve we need. But other times the nerve we need is these micro actions — a well-timed question, a pause in the room. Sometimes that is enough to shift the conversation or at least give the person on the receiving end something different to think about.

Don't be scared. It doesn't always mean you have to boil the ocean and change the whole world. Sometimes just change one thing about the way you're moving and behaving and it can help others decide to change one thing too.

Rachel Mandell (19:32)

It's highly strategic. It's an individual operating plan. And as much as the question is such a good inroad, I think it's also a good reminder — tone matters. I had to learn this the hard way over time, but it is so important and actually really useful to tell myself, let's make this come out in a calm fashion where I'm really just interested in what this answer is going to be. Another question I have is about backroom barriers — particularly as women in leadership or as you're moving up the ladder and you start to gain power and opportunity to help others. Can you talk to us about that concept?

Amira Barger (20:32)

Another story here because I wrote a whole chapter about backroom barriers. The most important decisions rarely happen in the room where everyone can see.

Many moons ago, I was working at an organization and two of my junior staff had done the bulk of the work on a major rebrand — the strategy, the research, the late nights, the deep thinking. It was going to be a presentation to our board of directors. And though I was the leader of the department, I said, you've done the majority of the work and you're closest to the information. I want the board to hear from you. This was a rare opportunity. Junior staff didn't really ever get to present to our board. I fought for it with our CEO and the rest of the executive team. I said, we've got to stop with this hierarchy where no one else is allowed to talk to the board. It doesn't need to be the Amira show. I want my team to present. And our CEO agreed.

That morning, one of my peers, another EVP, was milling about the outside of the boardroom. He liked to be the person to greet the board members first. We always had very early meetings because they're all corporate titans. My team was in the boardroom preparing for their presentation. And he made a comment to them. He said, "You're going to have to sit at the back row over there." We had this giant boardroom with a massive oak table that could seat more than 50 people. There were maybe 10 board members and a handful of executive staff. There were enough seats at the table. But he told them, "You're lucky to even be in the room. You should be grateful you get to present because that's never happened before. But you can't sit at the table. You have to sit at those chairs at the back of the room up against the wall."

That threw them. They walked over to my office and said, hey, this just happened. We just wanted to check in. Immediately my eyes went red with rage. I told them, go take a walk around the block. Go downstairs to the coffee shop and get a coffee. I'm going to handle this.

In that moment, I decided to practice nerve. I could have done the nice thing and said I'll address him after the meeting. But I thought, if I let this go, it's going to tell my two junior staff people that that kind of disrespect should be expected and that they should just get over it. I couldn't live with myself if I did that.

So I marched over to his office and pulled him aside. I started with a well-timed question: "What were you thinking and what were you attempting to communicate to them by letting them know they should sit at the back row and just be grateful to be invited into the room?"

He hemmed and hawed. Both of these women happened to be women of color and junior staff. And so I proceeded to paint a picture for him. I said, you have created a physical representation of the kind of experience that far too many women and especially too many women of color have in this world. You literally relegated them to the back row. And that is not okay.

He had a moment of recognition. But I didn't let him off the hook. He did march over and apologize to them. And my team that day did not sit at the back row. They sat at the table fully as full members of the meeting and the conversation.

For too many people, that kind of behavior is normal. It's procedural. It's nice. But I think more of us need to say no — they're sitting at the table, they did the work. Don't let the room go quiet and don't let people stay comfortable. I chose nerve that day because I didn't want those two staff members to walk away thinking that this is expected, rewarded, or okay behavior. Because it's not.

Rachel Mandell (27:54)

What a fantastic story. Thank you for sharing it. It really makes me think about the importance of nerve as you go up the ladder. The more responsibility you have, the more important it becomes. Your impact and your example of what a leader is — that's setting a new standard and it is going to impact many more people when you are in charge and fighting for your team. I hope every woman hears this and is inspired, and when their eyes turn red or they feel that gut feeling, they take a deep breath, formulate their question, and work up the nerve to actually address it in real time.

One more question in terms of current events. Nerve can apply to getting work done, but we're not just creatures of work. We have things going on in the world that affect how we show up in the office. There's certainly more of them as of late — a lot of uncertainty, and a lot of different groups, particularly marginalized groups, are feeling the brunt of changes recently. I loved how you started the book talking about the inspiration through these social and cultural events that kickstarted you into thinking about niceness and the impact. Can you talk about what got you on the niceness train and allowed you to break it down for all of us?

Amira Barger (30:12)

So many things. People often ask me why I wrote this book and why now. For me, this book is really an unpacking and an unlearning of the last 40-plus years of my life. I think it's not only something that women understand, but women understand it especially in the U.S. in a very distinct way. We're socialized to sit pretty, smile, and play nice.

I had this idea first 13 years ago when my daughter was born. It was this shift — all of the things and lessons that I had been taught and handed, I was no longer sure if they were things I believed because I actually did, versus things I believed and participated in and perpetuated because they were handed to me. Now I'm responsible for this little human. And there were far too many things that I would say no, I don't want to give this to her.

And in 2022, then-Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson, now Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, was the first Black woman nominated to the Supreme Court. It was momentous and history-making. My husband and I wanted Audrey to see history unfold. The Senate Judiciary Committee hearings were live-streamed, and we watched them on YouTube each evening with Audrey.

On one of the hearing days, she tugged at me and said, "Why is he interrupting her and why isn't anyone doing anything about it?" It was Senator Ted Cruz. Even her little nine-year-old self knew something was wrong — "That's not how we talk to people and that's not how we treat people." And then she followed up and said, "Can I say a word that I'm not supposed to?" We said, okay sure. And she said, "Well, isn't he kind of being a jerk?"

It was so hard to see because this momentous, history-making moment — we wanted this to be a beautiful experience for my young Black daughter to see someone that looks like her have this moment and have opportunity. But she also saw senators like Cory Booker step up and say directly to Justice Jackson, "I see what's happening here. This is not okay."

I wrote about that moment because it was so visceral. And CBS heard about it and said, hey, mom and daughter, we want to talk to you. We get on and we're interviewing with Andria Borba. She looks at Audrey and asks, "When you saw all the senators questioning Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson in the way that they did, how did that make you feel?" And little Audrey, all of nine years old, looked at that reporter dead in the face and said, "Ted Cruz is a bastard."

We started cackling, dying with laughter. And it was in that moment that I thought — I've done it. I have raised a nine-year-old little girl who knows not to shrink, not to sit pretty, not to smile, and not to play nice. Which means this little girl will grow into a woman who does not sit pretty, does not smile, does not play nice, and does not shrink.

I wanted that for so many more of us and for so many other people's daughters and sons — whoever else is told to shrink and play nice. I wanted to give them some of the tools that I had used for myself and my own unlearning. I wrote this book essentially to answer some of the questions that my then-nine-year-old had that I thought could be of use to other people.

Rachel Mandell (36:44)

I have two daughters and I will certainly be sharing the book and the lessons with them as well. I love the Audrey story. It means so much to mothers and parents — we get nervous about them even witnessing injustice or unfairness. But your book and your examples show their resilience and provide the tools to get through it and make them feel less alone. Thank you again for joining us. I really love this conversation. I love the book. Can you let our listeners know where they can find you?

Amira Barger (37:30)

Yes. Thank you for having me. People can find me at AmiraBarger.com. I try to keep it really simple on all the socials. I am very active on LinkedIn, Blue Sky, Instagram, and TikTok, and I am @AmiraBarger on all of those channels. Find me there and I look forward to hearing thoughts from your listeners on how the book has impacted them as well.

Rachel Mandell (37:59)

Thank you so much.