There’s an old joke about the Soviet Union’s approach to industrial planning. It’s been told so often it’s practically folklore, but like all good parables, it endures because it captures something fundamentally true about human behavior under pressure.
In the days of the Soviet Union, Moscow set production quotas, which became the dominant concern of factory managers.
When a commissar told a nail factory’s manager that he would be judged on the number of nails the factory produced, the factory had made lots of little, useless nails.
The commissar, recognizing his mistake, then informed that the factory manager’s performance would be judged on the weight of the nails produced. Consequently, the factory then produced only big nails.
This isn’t just a cautionary tale about bureaucratic absurdities. It’s a lesson in what happens when incentives are designed by people who assume that metrics are neutral, incorruptible things. They’re not. Metrics are like mirrors in a funhouse: they reflect something, but rarely what you intended.
Myles J. Kelleher, in Social Problems in a Free Society: Myths, Absurdities, and Realities (2004,) offers another gem from the Soviet archives:
One Soviet shoe factory manufactured 100,000 pairs of shoes for young boys instead of more useful men’s shoes in a range of sizes because doing so allowed them to make more shoes from the allotted leather and receive a performance bonus.
The logic is impeccable. The outcome is ridiculous. And yet, this isn’t just a Soviet problem. It’s a human one. People respond to the rules of the game. If you reward volume, you’ll get volume—regardless of whether it’s useful, desirable, or even remotely sane.
The significance is blunt: people don’t optimize for purpose; they optimize for score. And if the scoreboard is flawed, so is the game.
Idea for Impact: Don’t Incentivize the Wrong Game
The moment you tie rewards to a number, behavior shifts to serve that number—regardless of whether it reflects anything meaningful. That’s the risk. What gets measured gets done, but it also gets distorted or quietly avoided. The point is to measure what matters, and to understand why it matters.
Start by asking what you’re trying to achieve. If the goal is customer satisfaction, measure the experience, not the volume of calls. If it’s innovation, don’t count patents—look at whether they solve real problems. Activity isn’t the same as effectiveness, and often works against it.
Then look at the resources involved. Efficiency only matters if it supports a valuable outcome. A team chasing empty metrics isn’t efficient—it’s drained. And before introducing any performance measure, ask how it might be exploited. If someone can meet the target while ignoring the purpose, you haven’t built accountability—you’ve created a loophole.
Metrics are instruments. Used well, they clarify. Used poorly, they mislead. Measure carefully.
Reward carelessly, and you’ll get exactly what you asked for—just not what you needed.
We romanticize transformation—new routines, cleaner diets, sharper habits. But in practice, change rarely arrives in cinematic sweeps. It comes in quieter forms: a switch from soda to water, a walk around the block, skipping the evening snack. Small choices. Easily overlooked. In aggregate,
The paths you tread most lightly are often the ones that later shape your life. A single moment of indulgence, a flicker of forgetfulness—each
Commit to doing something unfamiliar
Cutting tennis balls in half might let you store more in a standard 3-ball tube, but the sacrifice is stark.
Are you finding it challenging to take action?
The Stakhanov Movement capitalized on the collective desire for improvement and transformation, leading to increased productivity through better-organized workflows. However, as often happens, when metrics become the sole focus, they overshadow the true purpose of the work. In the Soviet system, the state had to ensure control over production, align workers’ efforts with central economic plans, and maximize output. Quotas played a key role in this strategy, setting mandatory production targets across various industries. Over time, these quotas became the primary measure of success, with workers judged by numbers rather than the quality or long-term impact of their efforts. Those who failed to meet the targets risked being labeled as “wreckers” and accused of sabotaging the system. Stakhanovites were celebrated as heroes, rewarded with media attention, lavish rewards, and even having their names immortalized on factories and streets.
Expectations alone won’t cut it. Without active monitoring, goals quickly go off the rails. In the restaurant business, setting food quality standards without inspection is like leaving the door wide open for trouble. Left to their own devices, staff will
Getting started is often the hardest part of anything truly worth doing.