Building Trust by Admitting Ignorance

For 25 years as CEO of WD-40 Company, I opened almost every meeting with the same line. "Good day, I'm Garry Ridge. I'm the consciously incompetent, probably wrong, roughly right CEO of WD-40 Company, and I need all the help I can get." People assumed I was being humble for effect. Most never realized it was the most strategic sentence I said all year. That line was not modesty. It was an operating system. When you are a senior leader, information gets filtered before it reaches you. People smile more. They challenge less. Reports get edited. Bad news arrives softer. Sometimes it never arrives at all. Nobody wants to be the person who hands the boss the hard truth. So the truth stops traveling. And you spend quarters making decisions based on a version of the company that does not actually exist. The introduction line was my structural fix. By naming my own incompetence first, in public, I changed the rules of the room. People watching me say "I am probably wrong and I need help" learned that being wrong and asking for help were now permissible behaviors. The signal traveled. The decisions got better because the information got better. Here is a diagnostic question I want you to sit with: Has anyone told you that you were wrong about something important in the last 30 days? If the honest answer is no, your team has not gone quiet on you. You went quiet on them. And now they are just responding to the vocabulary you gave them. The good news is you can start changing it in your next meeting. Try opening with something you do not know instead of something you do. Watch what happens.

In which of these 2 scenarios, will a sales rep sell more blenders? a) She nails the demo, flawlessly blending a smoothie in front of potential customers b) Same exact pitch, but when she pours the smoothie, she spills it all over the table Dr. Richard Wiseman conducted this exact study. More people bought the blender when she made an absolute mess. This phenomenon is called the "other shoe effect." The underlying principle: We instinctively know people aren’t perfect. So when someone appears too polished in high-stakes moments—job interviews, pitches, first dates—part of our brain asks: “What are they hiding? When does the other shoe drop?” The longer someone appears flawless, the more suspicious we get. This creates a dangerous cycle: • You try to appear perfect in the first impression • The other person's brain gets increasingly distracted wondering about your hidden flaws • When your imperfection finally shows (and it will), it hits much harder than if you'd acknowledged it upfront I learned this the hard way. When I first wrote Captivate, I tried to sound like an academic. My editor called it out: “This doesn’t sound like you.” So I rewrote the intro to be me, very me in a vulnerable way: “Hi, I’m Vanessa. I’m a recovering awkward person.” That vulnerability built instant trust. By dropping my shoe early, I built trust immediately and let readers know they were in good company. This is also how I introduce myself in conversations, and I have noticed everyone laughs and relaxes when I say it. There are a couple situations where you can actively use this effect: • Job interviews: After sharing your strengths, say "One area I’m still growing in is public speaking—which is why this role excites me." • Investor pitches: After a strong open, confess: "One challenge we’re still working through is [X], and here’s how we’re tackling it." • Team meetings: Proactively raise project risks, then offer a solution. Don’t let others discover it first. Rules to remember: • Choose authentic vulnerabilities, not fake ones • Drop your shoe AFTER establishing competence, not before • Pair vulnerability with accountability - show how you're addressing it Remember: The goal isn't to appear perfect. It's to appear trustworthy. And trustworthy people acknowledge their imperfections before others have to discover them.

“I don’t know” might be the most understated three words in the workplace. A former boss who was in a chief of staff role to a member of Cabinet once told me the most difficult but important thing he learnt on the job was to admit he didn’t know the answer to his principal’s question but would immediately find out. Pretending he did usually backfires. This happens when you work for a boss massively smarter and with all the out-of-the-box questions. Humility is hard for someone who has thrived on knowing everything. But there comes a point in our career when we reach the limitations of our knowledge despite all the experience and exposure gained. That point is usually the top of the S curve. Reaching this stage usually generates discomfort but offers the chance for learning and explosive growth. Here’s another example of how humility isn’t a bad thing - Jerome Powell, the US Fed Chair, yesterday pretty much admitted he didn’t know how the US economy would pan out. As my colleague Ovais Subhani writes: “The survey of central bank officials that accompanied the March 19 rate decision pointed to the high level of uncertainty around the estimates on growth, inflation and unemployment that underpin their policy settings. Indeed, these levels of uncertainty were the highest in two decades.” His story here: https://lnkd.in/g_6XzqYA By signaling that investors should brace themselves for uncertainty and take appropriate action instead of trying to find comfort in false reassurances , Mr Powell sent a powerful signal. Turns out “I don’t know” may be a difficult but necessary answer to hear. #economy #useconomy #interestrates

"𝗜 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄." How do you feel when you have to say this — especially in a work situation? Why do we revel in having all the answers? We all know we can't possibly have answers to everything. Yet acknowledging that — especially in front of a superior or a subordinate — can often feel like defeat. But when we have the courage to say, "𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸," it can unlock trust, spark problem-solving, and lead to deeper dialogue. Many leaders confuse admitting uncertainty with weakness. There's immense internal pressure to appear knowledgeable and decisive at all times. This pressure creates leaders who: • Bluff through conversations • Make decisions with insufficient information • Avoid difficult questions • Miss learning opportunities    When leaders have the confidence to acknowledge what they don’t know, they create a culture that empowers everyone to bring their best and continue learning. 𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲’𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘀: 🔹 𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗧𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁 People sense insincerity. Admitting your knowledge gaps demonstrates honesty and integrity. 🔹 𝗟𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗖𝘂𝗹𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲𝘀 "I don't know" opens the door to "Let's find out together," turning challenges into opportunities for collective discovery. 🔹 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗜𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 By admitting you don’t have all the answers, you invite diverse perspectives and tap into your team’s expertise. Not having the answer isn’t a weakness — it’s a sign of someone confident enough to learn from others. Try saying: • "𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸." • "𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵?" • "𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘓𝘦𝘵’𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳."    In a complex world, no leader knows everything. The real question is: 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗻? Will you pretend to know — risking bad decisions and eroding trust? Or will you say “𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸” — opening the door to better solutions and a culture of continuous learning? The most effective leaders aren’t afraid to let their vulnerabilities be seen. #Leadership #Startup #Learning

"I don't know" might be the three most powerful words in leadership. Yet they are the hardest for many to say. In a strategy meeting yesterday, I watched reactions when a senior leader said: "I don't know—let's figure it out together." The transformation was immediate: • Defensive posturing dissolved • Real questions replaced rehearsed positions • Shared exploration replaced individual competition This simple phrase shifted the entire energy from tension to collaboration. The pattern appears consistently across organizations: • Junior professionals avoid uncertainty at all costs • Mid-level managers hedge with vague statements • The most respected senior leaders openly acknowledge knowledge gaps The fear follows a predictable timeline: Early career: "If I admit I don't know, they will question my competence." Mid-career: "If I admit I don't know, they will doubt my expertise." Leadership: "If I pretend to know everything, we will miss our best solutions." Particularly in rapidly evolving fields, expertise isn't about having all the answers—it's about asking better questions. The strongest teams I have worked with share this trait: They celebrate "I don't know" as the beginning of discovery, not evidence of limitation. Instead of pretending to have answers, they build the muscle of navigating uncertainty together. When has acknowledging what you don't know led to your team's most innovative solution?

The most powerful phrase in the workplace? “I don’t know.” Not “let’s circle back.” Not “I’ll take this offline.” Not “we’re excited to explore synergies.” Just: I don’t know. It’s honest. And that’s rare. Not because people are liars, but because most of us are scared. We’re scared to look unqualified. Scared to lose trust. Scared we’ll finally get “found out.” Imposter syndrome tells us that admitting what we don’t know is weakness. So we fake it. I used to fake it. Eight years ago, I told my company I knew how to use Python. I didn’t. But I didn’t ask for help either. For three months I pretended. Until I broke a database, looked like an idiot, and realized I’d only hurt myself by pretending. If I had just said “I don’t know,” I would’ve been fine. I would’ve learned. But in my head, the stakes felt higher than that. “They hired me to be an expert.” “If I don’t know everything, I’m weak.” That mindset? It’s poison. And it only caused me stress, anxiety, and shame. The shift didn’t happen overnight. But over time, through experience, maturity, and conversations with people like David Hove who challenged me to grow, I changed. I stopped pretending. I started learning. And everything got easier. People trusted me more. I stopped feeling like a fraud. And the more I said “I don’t know,” the more I actually knew because I finally opened myself up to learning. Now? I say it all the time. I don’t know the newest SEO hack. I don’t know the algorithm’s latest mood swing. I don’t know why people think $3,000 handbags are worth it… although I recently learned they were invented by the guy who made butterscotch to make his wife look rich. (What a move. Total prick.) But you know what I do know? When someone says “I don’t know,” I trust them more. It’s refreshing. It’s real. And when someone pretends to know something I do understand deeply? Yeah, I’ll drill until I find the truth, because that kind of ego blocks progress. We don’t need more polished professionals with perfect answers. We need people willing to be honest. Curious. Human. So if you’re early in your career and scared to admit what you don’t know: say it anyway. If you’re a leader who doesn’t have all the answers: say it anyway. We’re all figuring it out as we go. “I don’t know” isn’t failure. It’s where growth begins. And I respect the hell out of anyone brave enough to say it.

True leadership is often mistaken for the possession of every answer. There is a persistent myth that to lead is to be invincible, a figure of absolute certainty who never wavers. However, for a high-performing team, this facade of perfection is not a source of inspiration; it is a barrier to genuine trust. I don't know. Sounds hard to say? I say it everyday. When a leader pretends to have a solution for every complex problem, they inadvertently stifle the collective intelligence of their organization. It creates a culture where others feel they must also hide their uncertainties, leading to a workplace built on performance rather than problem-solving. This lack of transparency eventually breeds a quiet skepticism that erodes the foundation of the team. The most effective leaders understand that admitting "I don't know" is not a sign of weakness, but a strategic move of strength. By following that admission with "What do you think?", they immediately shift the dynamic from a hierarchy of ego to a culture of contribution. This simple question validates the expertise of their staff and signals that the mission is more important than the leader's image. Vulnerability acts as a powerful catalyst for psychological safety. When a leader is honest about the limits of their own knowledge, it grants the rest of the team permission to be honest about theirs. This openness is what allows for the rapid identification of risks and the birth of truly innovative ideas. Trust is not built through a display of power; it is earned through a display of humanity. Leaders who insist on being the smartest person in every room will eventually find themselves in a very small room. Real authority comes from the courage to be seen as human. If you cannot admit when you are uncertain, you cannot expect your people to be certain about your leadership.

One of the most common masks leaders put on is that of certainty. An executive I worked with told me after a very honest session, “Sometimes I feel like I’m making it up as I go. But I can’t let others see that. They need me to be certain.” His intentions were noble but he was falling into an all-too-common leadership trap. The mask of certainty creates distance, despite the CEO believing his conviction was creating safety and steadiness. Why? Because when the leader inevitably falters (as all will occasionally, in an uncertain world) the team senses the doubt anyway. It’s just that they can’t talk about it in the face of such overconfidence. And then trust erodes in the silence. Here’s what builds trust instead: courageous honesty. Imagine two versions of the same leader speaking at an all-hands meeting: Version A (the mask): “We’re confident in the plan. Nothing is wrong and everything is on track. You need to trust the process.” Version B (the truth): “Here’s what we know: demand is up. Here’s what we don’t know: how supply chain constraints will hit us in Q4. Here’s where we’re heading anyway: we’ll prioritize customer retention while we adapt.” Which version would you trust more? Certainty is overrated. It sounds nice but is vulnerable to “I told you so’s” when things go wrong. Leaders can still be decisive when needed, without the hubris of thinking they know everything. Courage is underrated. Those who inspire hope with facts, but are honest about limitations can gain more trust and followership, even when things don’t go to plan.

Early in my career, I sat in meetings where everyone seemed to know what they were talking about. I’d nod along, take notes, and occasionally throw in a buzzword just to sound informed. It felt safe… until it wasn’t. Because pretending to know is a short-term strategy that creates long-term risk. Psychologists call this impostor coping: when we overcompensate for insecurity by faking certainty. It works… right up until the moment someone asks a question you can’t answer. Then, credibility vanishes. In leadership and entrepreneurship, this costs more than pride — it costs trust. One wrong assumption can ripple through an entire strategy, wasting months or millions. Research backs this up. Studies in the Journal of Applied Psychology found that leaders who admitted what they didn’t know were rated as more competent and trustworthy than those who bluffed their way through. https://lnkd.in/eKQxpy3j In complex systems, intellectual humility isn’t weakness… It’s a superpower. So what’s the smarter play? Admit what you don’t know fast, ask better questions, build environments where uncertainty is safe… Because real expertise isn’t about having all the answers, it’s about knowing how to find them. I’ve learned that credibility grows when confidence meets curiosity. Not when confidence replaces it. What about you? Have you ever caught yourself pretending to know more than you did? How did it play out?

Last week, my Gen Z staff texted me at 10:47pm. "I need to talk to you about something." My heart sank. In my experience, late-night conversations that start like this end with resignations. "I've been here 1 year," he said. "And I've noticed something about you." Here it comes, I thought. The criticism. The resignation. The— "You're the only boss I've had who admits when you're wrong." Wait, what? He continued: "Remember when you insisted on that new intake system? It failed spectacularly. But instead of blaming us, you called a meeting and said 'I messed up. Let's fix this together.'" That conversation changed how I think about leadership. Here's what I've learned running a 7-figure law firm with 15+ team members: → Vulnerability creates loyalty → Admitting mistakes builds trust → "I don't know" is a complete sentence → Your team already knows you're not perfect The old Jimmy would've pretended to have all the answers. Failed the bar 3 times? Hide it. B- grades? Never mention them. Spending $five figures/month on ads that aren't working? Keep quiet. But here's the thing: My team doesn't follow me because I'm perfect. They follow me because I'm real. Last month, I made a $20K mistake. Old me would've buried it. Instead, I called an all-hands meeting: "I screwed up. Here's what happened. Here's what we're doing to fix it. Here's how we'll prevent it next time." You know what happened? Three attorneys shared their own recent mistakes. We created a new review system together. Team morale went UP, not down. The most dangerous leaders are the ones who can't say these five words: "I don't know. Help me." Your team isn't looking for perfection. They're looking for humanity. P.S. That Gen Z staff who texted me late at night? He asked for more responsibility, not to quit. He's now our intake manager. P.P.S. To every leader pretending to have it all figured out: Your team knows. They're just waiting for you to admit it.