Am I Worried They Might Not Like Me?
The RV Effect: How Our Pursuit of Likability is Making Us All the Same
Let me tell you about my recent YouTube rabbit hole - RV tours. Hours upon hours of them. From the $50,000 travel trailers to $2,000,000 luxury coaches. And here's what finally hit me: they all look the same. Sure, the materials get fancier, the slide-outs more varied, and the TVs get bigger, but what about the fundamental design and the aesthetic choices? Nearly identical. Blerg.
Why? Because they’re all optimizing for likability. Each manufacturer chasing the safest possible design to offend the fewest potential buyers. It’s like the magnolia paint of home buying: bland, inoffensive, and utterly forgettable.
The realization that they’re all the same, thankfully, pulled me out of this particular rabbit hole. But it didn’t distract me from a larger question: why? This led me to Christopher Lasch and his book The Culture of Narcissism. Written in 1979, Lasch argued that we were becoming a society consumed by image management and the pursuit of approval.
Forty-five years later, we haven’t just embraced this condition; we’ve industrialized it. “Will they like me?” isn’t just a fleeting thought—it’s a constant action.
We’ve built entire systems around professional performance where likability isn’t just preferred—it’s quantified, optimized, and measured. LinkedIn profiles and resumes blur together in a sea of trending keywords: “I’m strategic, creative, collaborative, and great at getting sh*t done.” Virtual backgrounds and filters become armor against judgment. Each “thought leadership” post is another data point in our desperately curated personal brands. Even as I write this, I can’t help but wonder:
"Will they like this?"
This question echoes throughout our professional lives, and I worry that it’s implications have become darker. Consider the rising anxiety around your boss's innocent "1:1" calendar invitation. In our era of continuous reorganizations and waves of layoffs, these simple calendar entries trigger fight-or-flight responses. It's not just about likability anymore. It's about survival in a landscape where power feels increasingly precarious.
“If they don’t like me, will I have a job tomorrow?”
The "feedback is a gift" movement pretends to be about growth, but look closer. Like those identical RVs, it's created a standardized template for professional behavior - one where we're all perpetually adjusting our image through others' eyes, smoothing away any edges that might catch or snag. Why are we surprised when you hear of “Imposter Syndrome” or anxiety in the workplace. If fear of failure is the driving force, we’re optimizing for the same RV everyone else has. Decorated with the odd throw pillow to give it some “personality.” Are you, or people in your organization holding back becuase they’re not sure it’s “right?”
“They don’t like my idea, I must be bad.”
This relentless drive for approval is building a professional culture where being liked has become both currency and cage. Each time we optimize for approval, we surrender another piece of our power. But human magic doesn’t come from being liked. It comes from being unique.
“I’m scared of what the future might bring.”
Fear of the future. Its the fastest path to failure.
So if “liking” is fraught with problems, what should we be asking. Because if someone doesn’t like you, your idea, or the future you imagine then feedback isn’t what you need to worry about, it’s the firm and consistent no.
What if, instead of "Am I worried they might not like me?" we asked, "How can I make it easier for them to invite me?"
The shift is subtle but profound. One question traps us in performance anxiety and people-pleasing. The other opens up possibilities for genuine connection and value creation. An invitation into the future. It reminds us that we have as much power to create the future as the person we’re sharing our idea with. It recognizes that the future is always co-created and that magic happens when someone says, “Ohhh. That’s intriguing.”
No one says “Ohhh. That’s intriguing.” if what you’re offering is the same as everything else.
We see a delightful example in the sea of sameness in the RV world. Have you seen an iconic Airstream? Those distinctive silver bullets that dare to look completely different from every other RV on the road. They don't chase trends or try to please everyone. Their iconic design invites a particular kind of traveler who values distinction over convention. The silent sentence they create in our heads is “This is going to be different. Don’t you want to come in and explore?” Yes, inviting us into a future with them.
In a world optimizing for likes, being truly invitable might be the ultimate act of power. Not because you've made yourself universally likable, but because, like Airstream, you've chosen to be unmistakably yourself.
So the next time that question creeps in - "Am I worried they might not like me?" - stop. Redirect. Ask yourself instead: "How can I show up in a way that makes them want to invite me into the conversation?" You don't need to be as dramatically different as an Airstream is to a standard RV, but you do need to be uniquely, unmistakably you.
After all, no one ever got invited to the future by blending into the past.
I’m a Potentialist. I’m who you call when the future feels messy—when uncertainty or fear of change slows things down. I walk into stuck, create the right nudge, transforming it into unstoppable momentum. Learn how here.