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Deconstructing Erika’s Email: What In The Fuckin Heck Did George Mean?

Occasionally I get stuck in a position like my guy George. I’ll have an idea and fire off an email without clearly articulating my intent for that email. It’s a communication issue that plagues us at a national level and disproportionately effects those whom are email users. Shocking, but true.

Let me deconstruct what happened here. George, while a President in his own business, listens to Token CEO AND follows Erika on Instagram. Because of that, Erika begins to shape the leadership mantra that George subscribes to. He begins wearing hoodies with phrases like “It’s Cashmere, Bitch” or “ESPN Lies” while also wearing beanies that say “Fuck You.”

Because brash fashion choices continue to excite his heart, George begins wearing nothing but the Viva Line to board meetings. During hiring phases, interviewees start by explaining where they went to Business school. Excitedly, George yells FUCK YOUR BUSINESS DEGREE and looks for high fives. None come.

Perplexed, and thinking like lots of podcast listeners that they know the hosts on a personal basis, he pulls out his IPhone that is covered in an Unwell Case by Call Her Daddy, he minimizes the Barstool app and pens only, “please advise.”

About what?

Everything. He needs advice on everything and I’m confident that Erika is the one to give that advice whether it be empirically or metaphorically.

To that end, I called Erika and asked her what her advice would be to someone who studied a wide variety of topics in college but ultimately decided on pursuing an MBA and now leads a company but is clearly struggling with moving into a modern workplace environment. Her comments about book smart vis a vis real world experiences were eye-opening. Here’s what she said: 

When it comes to degrees and college-driven academics, in an professional interview setting, if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don't see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right?

wow! Makes you think.