Career Development

In the glossy canon of business magazine profiles and business school leadership panels, few rituals are as misleading as the executive career interview. A high-powered figure is asked for wisdom, and what follows is a polished origin myth framed as mentorship—a display of survivorship bias wrapped in aspirational prose. Biography masquerading as blueprint.

These stories are cinematic by design. They feature eighty-hour workweeks, strategic pivots that precede market booms, and passions that bloom alongside rising profit margins. Delivered with solemn cadence, these narratives are carved into marble slabs by capitalism’s chosen apostles.

Sheryl Sandberg, one of Silicon Valley’s most recognizable voices, has long embodied this genre. Her signature mantras—“Work hard,” “Lean in,” “Follow your passion”—resonate with clarity and conviction. Yet beneath the surface lies a trajectory shaped not solely by diligence but also by timing, institutional support, and access to elite networks.

Her widely cited negotiation for the Facebook COO role is illustrative. Initially prepared to accept Mark Zuckerberg’s offer without discussion, she reconsidered at her husband’s urging and negotiated terms. She identifies this moment as a turning point. What often escapes mention is the broader context: an education at Harvard, experience at McKinsey, and longstanding ties to the upper echelons of tech and government. Most candidates don’t bring such credentials into the room, nor do they have a spouse who is also a seasoned tech executive.

“Follow Me” Is Terrible Career Advice

Sandberg’s work routine, often held up as a model of balance, was supported by resources unavailable to many—nannies, private chefs, and flexible job conditions. The ability to log off at 5:30 to have dinner with her children and return later wasn’t simply a function of personal discipline. It was enabled by structural advantages that insulated her from many of the pressures others face.

Sandberg didn’t “lean in” to adversity in the traditional sense. She navigated a system she was already well-positioned within. Her advice is not without value, but it reflects a path forged through a confluence of opportunity and preparation that many will not share. Countless professionals devote themselves with grit and precision, follow every career mantra, and invest deeply in their growth—yet the path to executive elevation remains elusive.

What’s often presented as universal wisdom is, in many cases, retrospective storytelling. These journeys are curated, not reproducible. The gospel from the corner office may inspire, but it is rarely instructive. Success in these rarefied spaces owes as much to legacy and leverage as it does to effort and aspiration.

Idea for Impact: Personal Playbooks Mislead. This genre isn’t guidance; it’s gospel for the gilded. A bedtime story for the aspirational class, painstakingly reverse-engineered to give the illusion that inherited altitude came from effort. The success it glorifies owes less to grit and more to the gravitational pull of legacy and access.