The words hung in the air, thick and sweet like cheap perfume, then sharp, then sweet again. “Your energy is fantastic, truly,” came the voice, a practiced smile affixed. My stomach clenched. I knew what was coming. It always did. “That said, the entire report you poured 44 hours into needs to be completely redone. Every single one of its 14 pages. But honestly, keep up that stellar energy! It’s really appreciated.” The smile remained, unwavering, as if this verbal confection hadn’t just deflated every cell in my body, reducing weeks of effort to a bitter joke. I just nodded, the taste of artificial sugar and industrial-strength cleaner coating my tongue.

This isn’t feedback. This is a betrayal wrapped in flimsy tissue paper, a ritualized dance we all, somehow, consent to. We’ve been taught that this ‘feedback sandwich’-praise, then criticism, then more praise-is the gentle, human way to deliver uncomfortable truths. A way to spare feelings. What a lie that is. It doesn’t spare feelings; it inoculates us against genuine praise and primes us to dread any compliment. Every positive word becomes a precursor, a bell tolling for the bad news to follow. It’s not gentle; it’s an act of emotional cowardice, a manager’s fear of direct confrontation masquerading as thoughtful communication.

I’ve always believed in directness, sometimes to my own detriment. I’ve probably said things that landed too hard, too fast, a blunt instrument when a scalpel was needed. Yet, even with those missteps, I never understood the appeal of intentionally diluting a message. Why mask the truth with niceties that, by their very nature, become insincere? It teaches people to be suspicious. It teaches them that praise isn’t recognition but a softening agent for the blow. And once you start down that road, how do you ever give genuine recognition again without someone bracing themselves for the ‘that said’?

Consider Luna N.S., a refugee resettlement advisor, someone whose daily work is built on delicate trust and crystal-clear communication. She deals with families who have lost everything, whose futures hinge on accurate information and genuine empathy. Imagine Luna having to tell a family that their housing application, their beacon of hope, was rejected. If she were to lead with, “Your resilience is truly incredible, you’ve navigated so much adversity admirably,” only to follow with, “but the critical document needed for approval was missing, so we have to restart, and it might take another 4 months,” and then conclude with, “but truly, your spirit is inspiring!” The family wouldn’t feel inspired. They would feel confused, infantilized, and utterly dismissed. The ‘praise’ would be utterly meaningless, even cruel.

Luna’s work doesn’t afford the luxury of indirectness. The stakes are too high. When a person’s entire life hangs in the balance, when they’re navigating an entirely new system, what they need is clarity, not obfuscation. They need the truth, delivered with compassion, but without the artificial buffer. They need to understand what went wrong, what needs to happen next, and what the realistic timeline is. Anything less is a disservice, a potential barrier to their integration and safety. Her team, too, operates on this principle. You can’t afford misunderstandings when deadlines are tight and processes are complex. If a member of her team missed a crucial step, Luna couldn’t afford to spend 24 minutes massaging the message; she’d need to explain precisely what happened and why it needed immediate correction, always aiming for understanding and future prevention, not avoiding discomfort.

This isn’t to say feedback should be brutal. Empathy is vital. But empathy isn’t about avoiding confrontation; it’s about understanding the other person’s perspective, acknowledging their effort, and then communicating directly and kindly. It’s about respecting them enough to give them the unvarnished truth, trusting them to handle it, and offering support. The feedback sandwich strips away that respect. It implies the recipient is too fragile, too unintelligent to discern genuine praise from strategic flattery.

I’ve been guilty of it myself, which is a hard pill to swallow, given how vehemently I argue against it. There was a time, perhaps 4 years ago, when I was managing a small project. I had to give feedback to a junior team member about their lack of initiative. I knew they were sensitive, and honestly, I dreaded the conversation. So, I defaulted to the sandwich. I started with genuine praise about their enthusiasm, then delivered the core message about needing more proactive input, and finished with more encouragement about their potential. The result? Confusion. They left the meeting looking bewildered. Later, another team member mentioned that the person felt they’d actually received *positive* feedback overall and was surprised when I later followed up expecting changes. My attempt to be gentle had completely backfired, wasting both our time and eroding clarity. It taught me a powerful lesson about the cost of emotional avoidance. That misstep cost us about 4 days of lost productivity because the core message was lost in the fluff.

The real irony is that people are not stupid. They see through the sandwich. They hear the initial praise and immediately tense up, waiting for the “but” or “that said.” They discount the genuine compliments because they know a criticism is being teed up. Then, the concluding praise feels like an afterthought, a quick sweep of the crumbs under the rug. What remains is the lingering taste of the criticism, amplified by the feeling of being manipulated. It’s like being served a delicious appetizer, then a plate of spoiled food, then a tiny, bland dessert. You’ll remember the spoiled food, not the appetizer. Or it’s like a building where the foundation is solid, and the roof is impeccable, but the entire middle structure is collapsing. No one cares about the top and bottom if the core is failing.

This method isn’t just about individual interactions; it permeates organizational culture. When everyone is trained to communicate this way, a climate of indirectness takes hold. People become less likely to speak up directly, to offer genuine praise, or to deliver tough messages with the clarity they deserve. Communication becomes a game of decoding, of reading between the lines, rather than a straightforward exchange of information and intentions. This lack of transparency can hinder innovation, delay problem-solving, and ultimately undermine the very foundation of trust within a team or company. It’s why some organizations struggle with accountability, because direct feedback, stripped of its layers, is a prerequisite for it.

In a world increasingly craving clarity and integrity, you see some brands that genuinely get it, prioritizing integrity over obfuscation, much like choosing a reliable supplier for something as fundamental as shower screens – you want transparency, not hidden flaws. You want to know exactly what you’re getting and that the quality is non-negotiable. The same principle applies to human interactions. We yearn for authenticity, for conversations that don’t make us question the sincerity of every compliment we receive.

What if we chose a different path? What if we decided to deliver feedback with honesty, empathy, and directness? It requires courage. It requires emotional intelligence not to avoid the difficult conversation, but to navigate it with respect. It means starting with the intention to help, to build, to grow, rather than to protect ourselves from discomfort. It means acknowledging the effort before identifying the gap, and then clearly stating the gap, followed by a clear path forward, all in one coherent, respectful message. Not segmented and sugared. It means trusting people to be resilient, to process information, and to engage in a mature dialogue.

Perhaps it’s time to retire the feedback sandwich, not with a polite nod and a fake smile, but with the firm conviction that our colleagues and direct reports deserve better. They deserve our honesty, our clarity, and our trust in their ability to handle the truth. They deserve a culture where praise is truly praise, and critique is truly constructive, both delivered with integrity. Anything else feels like a continued, unspoken agreement to a lie that benefits no one, ultimately leaving everyone with that bitter, artificial taste in their mouths.