Edited by Jen McFarland Flint; Illustrations by Peter Arkle

It was their first day at Harvard and like the rest of his cohort, Edgar Wallner (PMD 22, 1971) will never forget meeting Robert Gaines-Cooper. Frankly, it would have been difficult to miss the Englishman, who had arrived on campus behind the wheel of a Rolls-Royce he’d shipped across the Atlantic for the occasion. Wallner was stunned. “I thought, ‘Why on earth would you bring a bloody motor car here?’ ” In the friendship that followed, Wallner learned that Gaines-Cooper was a self-made man who had built a successful jukebox business back home and was being sent to HBS by his bankers, who believed there was more he could learn about accounting. Gaines-Cooper was an astute financier but had never attended university. The Rolls, he confessed to Wallner, was all part of the plan: Once everyone figured out that Gaines-Cooper had no business being at Harvard and tossed him out, at least he would drive away in style.

That never came to pass. As Dick Egan put it, “All 150 of us in PMD 22 came to understand that Robert was clearly the cleverest and most articulate member of the class.” After his death in 2019, Gaines-Cooper was remembered for his endearing nature, his articulate comments in the classroom, a storied and successful career, and the Rolls. “His impostership was shown to be totally incorrect,” Wallner recalls.

That’s often the case. Psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes introduced the phrase imposter phenomenon in a 1978 scientific journal article, in which they described the specific and unfounded fear of being discovered as a fraud. Their research focused on professional women who were successful by every external standard in their fields but still felt nagging doubts about their achievements. The idea exploded in popular culture; somewhere along the way, it became known as the “imposter syndrome,” which incorrectly suggests it’s a personal pathology. Studies suggest that as many as 70 percent of us might experience this phenomenon, and that it is especially prevalent among high achievers.

That was evident in the flood of responses the Bulletin received when we asked readers to share their stories. From these submissions, it’s also apparent that age, experience, and success are not determining factors, as the phenomenon can occur at the beginning or the end of a career, or at various points of transition along the way. In the stories that follow, alumni share their own reflections on feeling like an imposter, and how they reconcile this inner view with the picture of success that the world reflects back to them.

I was born and raised in Japan, where I was taught to be humble, not to stick out, and never to brag.

While I learned to adapt to a different style in the United States, I never felt comfortable or confident that I was qualified for the next career step or to ask for a promotion or a raise. I still feel like an imposter when serving on boards with CEOs of large, well-known companies around the table. However, I have built confidence that I bring a unique perspective. I try to keep an inventory of all the wins I have, instead of things I missed, skills I lack, or perspectives I do not have. If I make a comment in board discussions that swayed the group, I make a mental note. If somebody invites me to speak at an event because they see me as an expert or a role model, I try to remember the positive feedback that showed I made an impact on somebody else’s outlook.

—Mika Nishimura (MBA 1989)

The late professor Clayton Christensen asked me to be his chief of staff about four years after I received my undergraduate degree. I recognized the opportunity would be life-changing but felt highly inadequate, having spent the majority of my career at that point as a computer engineer. As immediate validation of my inadequacy, in my first week on the job Clayton received a letter from the Nobel Prize Committee asking him to recommend someone for the Nobel Prize in Economics. He handed me the letter, asked me to write a draft, and said, “If you’d like me to buy you a hotel room for a few days so you can focus on this, let me know. It’s important to me that we do a good job.”

I had little experience as a writer, absolutely no understanding of the Nobel Committee, and limited knowledge of the economics landscape with which to provide context for the recommendation. Thankfully with his help, along with that of his former chief of staff, the task was accomplished.

Clay believed (as do I) that most people are more capable than they realize. All it takes is asking someone to do something they don’t think is possible. I’m a big believer in the growth-mindset framework as developed by Carol Dweck. It’s not that I can’t do something; I just can’t do it yet. I teach this to my kids and try to maintain that attitude when placed in professional circumstances where I feel highly out of place. When that doesn’t work, being willing to ask for help is the only antidote I know to overcoming impostor syndrome, which is something I was afraid to do earlier in my career so as to not come across as incompetent. Now, I’m completely comfortable asking the “dumb” questions so that I am fully equipped to operate at the best of my ability.

—Clifford Maxwell (MBA 2021)

I have come to realize that having a sense of optimism, not taking oneself very seriously, and committing to the job are remedies to address this phenomenon. It actually helped me become more circumspect, more of a listener than a talker. I worked toward being more empathetic with my customers and colleagues, to understand their needs and drivers.

In traditional Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi is a worldview centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. The art of kintsugi, in which broken pottery is repaired with gold powder to highlight the imperfections, could be an artistic manifestation of this practice of wabi-sabi. As leaders, we would be well served to accept this in business. If we are authentic, and not too caught up with hiding our imperfections, it can bring a sense of harmony to our organizations and remedy this silent malady of imposter phenomenon.

—Sumit Ganguli (OPM 52, 2018)

In 1981, I was promoted to CIO of a Fortune 500 chemical company, with responsibility for both information systems and the nationwide telecommunications network. My background didn’t include any strength with telecommunications; in fact, I’d never even met a private branch exchange (PBX). I was fine with that because it was something new to learn.

Oops! Twenty-one days in, the headquarters building burned, and the equipment was fried. I was so new that I hadn’t met many of the key supplier staff. I didn’t understand most of the terminology, and I was responsible for deciding how we would restore service to the headquarters as well as all of the corporation’s telecommunications. I felt like an imposter, but I decided that I didn’t need to share that info. I chose to set an aggressive goal for restoration. The fire started on a Saturday and by Monday morning we had restored service for computers and telecommunications nationwide by installing a completely new PBX with new wiring and patch panels. It was a huge shift in my view of how much detailed knowledge I needed in order to take on something new.

A decade later, when we were developing a new telecommunications software solution to compete against AT&T, one of my staff laughingly said we should just “fake it until we make it,” meaning that if we chose to behave as if we could do this unbudgeted and impossible task, we probably could. It turned out to be true once again. We beat AT&T to market by nine months, gaining a significant number of corporate clients.

—Ellie Luce (PMD 30, 1975)

I had been working for Helene Curtis for one year right out of college when they promoted me to the company headquarters in Chicago, to rapidly build up a sales department to compete with a new threat from P&G.

I thought it was crazy that they bet on me to establish this new capability, all based on the assumption I was a computer expert because I had a Mac computer. (Yes, the first 1984 Mac.) The first retail call was in three weeks, which didn’t afford time to panic. Long hours and no days off ultimately resulted in success. It taught me that I may not be the smartest person in the room, but few people could outwork me.

The HBS classroom structure was an ideal demonstration for me that there is often more than one right answer to any problem; prior to HBS, I held back my opinions under the belief I didn’t have the right answer or that my perspective was not informed enough to be valuable. During my career I selected opportunities primarily by looking for people who were smarter than me, motivated, and working on something exciting. I have now been working in science-heavy industries (aerospace and life sciences) for the majority of my career. I am comfortable not being the smartest person and, frankly, I enjoy it.

—Michael Voevodsky (MBA 1992)

I do not remember a time when I did not feel like an imposter on the job, but it was certainly more acute earlier in my career. My first post-collegiate job was as an investment-banking analyst in the late 1980s. My training program was far from home, and I had no reference for what was normal. I was terrified that someone would realize that I was not as smart or as good at crunching numbers as the others in the analyst pool. I was also one of only three females in the group, which made me feel that I was more noticeable. I survived that period by working longer hours than anyone else in the office. Pulling all-nighters and working 160-hour weeks became something for which I was known and applauded. And if mistakes were made, I had the argument that there were not enough hours in the day to do more. I eventually felt as if I excelled at investment banking but only felt “myself” while at work. My personal relationships suffered, and I fell into somewhat of a depressed state.

Later in my career, I recognized that I had more to offer than all-nighters. I also chose to work with people who shared my quest for balance. And I learned to tolerate the concept that mistakes are human. I now know that being the best version of my business self includes creativity and people skills. I perform better when I am getting enough sleep and allowing myself to explore and find excitement and mastery outside the workplace.

—Samantha Trotman Burman (MBA 1993)

When the subsidiary north of Toronto was divested, the incumbent HQ invited me to work in Switzerland as a product manager and put me in charge of a cross-functional team in St. Gallen, although I spoke no German. I was practically embarrassed to do my job. Most of the team could speak quite acceptable English, and many could also speak at least some French. I felt totally inadequate.

Learning more High German and demonstrating my technical savvy helped to elevate my confidence. I thought methodically through the concepts, questions, and observations that I wanted to convey, then honed my ability to express myself in clear words, with the help of diagrams. I practiced ensuring that all expectations, deadlines, and data requirements were short, simple, and easy to understand and measure. I experienced a similar challenge later when I assumed the role of CEO of a German startup. I tried to leverage what I brought to the table that was unique, and let the other team members shine in the areas they were most suited, to show positive contributions.

—Francis Nedvidek (TGMP 4, 1999)

I first read about imposter syndrome about 20 years ago and was astonished to see myself so clearly in the description. I have felt this way for most of my career.

It was so validating to understand what it was and what might have caused or contributed to it (such as having a “fixed’ mindset after having been told all my youth that I was “so smart”) and to know that perhaps the voice inside my head was mistaken. Today I am surprised to see how common it seems to be. I have tried to be open about my experiences, and I have been able to connect in meaningful ways with others who feel the same. Sharing it, even in a lighthearted way, helps diffuse it. So does giving myself permission to ask questions so I have the info I need to do a good job.

—Wendy Perben (MBA 2002)

I would not say I have overcome this problem. Our generation of MBAs has had to adapt and reinvent themselves by necessity. This can lead to stretching yourself into areas of work that are not familiar. Some form of imposter syndrome is inevitable.

—Hugh Taylor (MBA 1992)

I began my business career late, after a career as a thoracic and vascular surgeon and chief of surgery, so I was much older than my classmates and completely lacking in the provenance of most. Following business school, I worked as a sell-side analyst in a life science–focused investment bank. As my career evolved to transactional investment banker, then principal investor and founder of a private investment firm in an unusual niche, the imposter phenomenon remained. I felt an omnipresent fear of incompetence, of finally being “discovered” as not really fit for my role. Gradually, it was accompanied by the understanding that I could straddle the worlds of science and finance with a dual expertise that has proven advantageous. It also has allowed me a comfort with the fact that I was creating a career that few had created before me.

—Gregory Brown (MBA 1992)

Among many activities in a diverse and happy life, I am a church organist and composer of more than 900 pieces, many for organ, although I have no college degree in music. About 25 years ago I started playing occasional public recitals. Now, playing for a Sunday-worship service is one thing—I have done it over a thousand times—but playing a public recital is totally different. In the middle of performing a piece, my brain would say, John, what do you think you are doing playing a public organ recital? You don’t have a degree. You don’t have the talent of a concert artist. That’s not even what you want to be. This is totally ridiculous. These are not helpful thoughts to have in the middle of performing a recital.

I decided to reframe what I was doing. I studied for a qualification that is roughly equivalent to a bachelor’s degree. I started playing only my own compositions and thought about it as sharing my creativity with a wider audience. I decided to see how far I could go down this newly emerging venue of my life and set a goal of trying to share my own music in person in all 50 states between my 60th and 70th birthdays: my 50-60-70 project. In my 66th year, I have played in 31 states. It took me 20 years to play my first 30 public recitals and four years to play the next 30. And the smiles on the faces of the audience members when I greet them after playing reassure me that I have no need to worry about imposter syndrome.

—John Dixon (MBA 1982)

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