A Love Letter to Zuma
A ramble on Succession, comfort spaces, corporate PTSD, and the reason I haven't left L.A., yet.
Watching Kendall’s ego ‘charge up’ over the last two episodes has created a surge of corporate PTSD I didn’t know I had stored in my body. His blind confidence can be part of his charm, but only when balanced by the gloom spirals and disassociation that remind us he’s flawed. Now, by adding enthusiasm to the mix, he’s become every eager (see: terrible) former male colleague of mine who’s sucked the air out of meetings, took ownership of ideas not their own, roadblocked concepts and timelines, and contributed nothing in collaborative sessions, instead choosing to ‘poke holes’ as if our collective work is being created for him.
His Waystar Investor Day self was the most I’ve ever cringed for him. The high he rides, his delivery, his directing of production and creative people more talented than himself, his making of horrible last minute decisions just because he can. His CEO costume and custom jacket. Alllllllll of it.
The performance of a presentation is exhausting. The nerves are exhausting. The adrenaline (and its high) is exhausting. However, the end of the presentation is just the beginning.