The experiences I'm sharing here are memories I sometimes wish I could erase. But there's no denying that they have shaped me into the person I am today. It's what I'm known for, both the good and the bad.

You may have seen headlines like the following;

Applet Becomes the Youngest Startup to Enter the Unicorn Club in 18 Months!

Or

Pics Becomes a Unicorn After a Rocky Slow Start

Or

UK Startup Becomes Renewal Energy Giant After Closing Funding with Top Tier VCs

When the media describes the success of a startup, they rarely discuss the sacrifice employees had to make to reach the point of victory. Why? Because that's not what sells newspapers. Plus, nobody wants to get into libel suits, especially when the limelight is already on them.

Many people have asked me what it was like working for such an exciting rising startup. Back in the day, I would reply like a broken record, “It is a great company! We're still young, but we're very ambitious, and the most important part, we hire super‐smart people. We've had a lot of fun building this together.”

If you have followed the recent hiring trends sufficiently, you've likely seen journalists discuss the lack of diversity in companies. This absence of diversification is especially evident in tech startups where the industry already suffers from a scarcity of suitable candidates.

A lack of diversity can unintentionally create unsafe and toxic working environments, which subsequently contribute regularly to high turnover. Founders push this disparity further when employees don't feel like they fit in mindfully. And they're unlikely to stay on in these companies.

But this isn't a story about employees not fitting in because they were different and unaccepted. This story is about a startup whose leader did not prioritize its duty to develop a good work culture. Instead, he spent all his time creating a fearful culture plagued by a performance‐obsessed and uncontrollably dysfunctional workforce. His army of managers lacked both self‐awareness and social empathy.

Whenever employees' productivity was affected, the well‐being of the office continued to be disregarded to the point that it became not an option to be different. This startup was successful because the Founder only wanted to play with his kind, the Type A personality.

IT BEGINS

As I walked into what I thought to myself was my dream job, I looked at the 40 of us around the open‐planned office that morning. I walked in and said, “Hi, I'm Sophie, and I'm here to build this rocket ship together with you. I cannot wait!”

I spoke with a trembling voice because this was a first‐time experience for me. I was walking into a job with a startup and surrounded by peers my interviewer described as nothing but Class A people. I wasn't sure I'd properly fit in with my associates.

When you've spent most of your career in the corporate world, you forget that you're an individual with something to offer. You're not just a bum on the seat. Some of you reading this may disagree, or you may have had a more rewarding job. For me, at 27, I wanted this new job to take me out of that dead‐end place I'd been wallowing in and hopefully change my perception forever.

And it did, but we'll get to that later.

When I began with this startup, the higher‐ups repeatedly mentioned that this “will be one of those places that will only hire the best people. We're not in the business to wait for people to grow and develop into better versions of themselves. No. When working here, you should be fully qualified to do the job we hired you to do. So, make sure you do whatever it takes not to let anyone but ‘us’ in and do it fast. Once they're in, keep them.”

I would soon find out that this monolog was not a joke. The interviewer meant “us” literally.

My first and only task was simple. They would measure my success, and when I passed, the rewards would be more than satisfactory. I was going to be responsible for putting in place these “rewards” that would chain our people to their jobs for a long, long time.

Sometimes in your life, you realize it's not worth it anymore. I know it may sound daunting, but when I was so high up in my newly created pleasing world, I was as addicted to this life as I would have been to morphine.

I did not just learn to do this on my own from day one. The Founder CEO would make sure the culture reflects what he believes is right. We, the employees, will faithfully follow, single file, until we morphed into these ambassadors of one of the most toxic workplaces I've ever known.

MONTH 2—THE PRINCIPLES BECAME DEMANDS, A MEASURE OF YOUR PERFORMANCE

I was high on the Kool‐Aid at this point, and we were quickly one of the best startups out there. Candidates were starting to flock to our LinkedIn Inboxes and website. They all wanted in. We had SO many options.

So, what was our first reaction? Tighten our hiring process to look for top‐of‐class A talent.

The cherry on top of the icing was no longer good enough. Nik made that clear.

Our extended hours became an expectation. We would ask them behavioral questions in the hiring process to ensure that we were only progressing candidates who had shown a pattern or track record of being “okay” working long hours. We used trick questions like “say there's a deadline tomorrow and you're about 30 percent done for your assignment. What would you do and why?”

We weren't looking for answers that told us they would work hard or work smart to complete it. We were specifically looking for people who would say “overnight,” “whatever it takes,” “however tired I would be.” Because we wanted to make sure our potential employees were only high performers with no boundaries.

Today, I say this is wrong because I've been through enough therapy sessions to know. My doctor reminds me that I can have responsible relationships in my life only if I create boundaries myself. We were conscientiously taking that choice away from our employees.

Then, we would only hire these candidates if they fit into our personality mold. Before we had figured out what “type” of people we were and who we wanted, I had carried out a personality mapping of all the employees using the Enneagram method.

The findings were not all that shocking, but if this were not for a professional environment, I would have thought that we had an incredibly complimentary family. Our Leader was a Type 1, and the rest of us were Type 3s, Type 5s, or Type 8s, all of whom are perfectly believable followers of Type 1.

The Enneagram method is a type of personality test that you commonly find for free online. There have been various definitions to the types, but those that would classify as unhealthy Type 1s, happen to be uncompromising and pedantic visionaries. Type 3s have an over‐expressed need for achievement and innate narcissism, Type 5s are intellectually arrogant and selfish, and finally, Type 8s are domineering and aggressive in a threatening world. All but the Type 1s share the same blind spot, vulnerability towards their leaders.

I couldn't tell if it was the culture we had all gotten so accustomed to and that transformed us into these personalities. Or were we innately like these types before we joined this startup? I was too blind to see the truth as I was categorically ecstatic to know I fit right in. I was a Type 8.

Moving forward, we would only hire these same types of candidates. Anyone who fell out of this group would not be chosen as we saw them as weak and too vulnerable to work with us. We took pride in creating an egocentric, narcissistic culture with low empathy but high‐performing individuals.

“Is this right?” I would ask my colleague, Sylvia. “If we don't introduce some different personalities, don't you think we're always going to be a boy's club? I mean, look around us, we are two of three women in a group of 70?”

Sylvia, one of our managers and a close confidante of mine, said, “We are all so similar. That's why it works. It probably will not work anywhere else, but it does here because Nik has only ever allowed these types of characters to come close. Let's not disrupt it by adding a different mix in here. So, what if we're a boy's club? We're the lucky girls.”

“But,” I continued, “the constant need to compete and stab each other in the back, surely that makes you uncomfortable, too?”

“No,” she said. “Not really. It's the same anywhere you go. This is just financial services for you.”

“Do you feel included?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she replied. “Of course. I'm part of almost every conversation because we're the same kind. And honestly, I find it invigorating because it just means people truly care about the work they put out there.”

“I guess… ,” I said, wanting to believe her.

“Maybe you're just not used to being surrounded by super dedicated people. Trust me. This is okay.”

“Alright,” I said. “I guess . . .”

If there was a day, I finally learned the meaning of “drinking the Kool‐Aid,” this conversation with Sylvia had taught it to me.

Shortly after I left the company, Sylvia moved on to something else, and as we reconnected, we also shared our therapy contacts.

MONTHS WENT BY

When we first started, we got the crowd's pick. Then we filtered through them to keep the very best. Now, our tolerance got thinner, and boundaries became non‐existent. We turned arrogant, and we told ourselves it was okay.

Before I saw what was happening, I started firing more people than we were hiring. When I say “I,” it's because the logic is quite simple. You see, it had become so much of a norm that these managers, who were hardly qualified, started growing intolerant towards the staff who were not performing by their standards.

Nik would put so much pressure on these managers to move at lightning speed that they would be the next on the firing line if they failed. No one was safe, but these managers were fully prepared to tackle it by buying time. As they willingly blamed their teams, Nik would be pleased to see that his prized deputies were not wasting time and were swiftly firing people. He called this “efficient leadership at its best.”

Thinking about this earlier memory made me squirm with anguish.

Andy sent me a message on Slack at 6:00 a.m. that morning.

“Sophie, we need to fire these two people. They're not performing and have failed their targets.”

“They have been here a month,” I replied. “Are you sure they have FAILED?”

“Yes, they have. They're just not cutting it.”

“What does that exactly mean?” I pushed, wanting to know more.

“They're just too slow for what I need.”

“Okay,” I answered. “Have you communicated any of this to them yet? What is your plan?”

“I'm going to send them a Slack message now that we no longer need them. I expect HR will sort out the paperwork?”

“Are you saying you won't even give them a call at all?” I asked, surprised.

“If there's no good reason, then I won't.”

“Of course,” I said

Then, off I went and did the deed. These calls were brutal.

Anyone that has told a person they have lost their jobs will tell you there is no joy in it. But, informing them on behalf of these managers was one of the worst messages I've ever had to pass on.

I know some of you reading this must be thinking that, of course, it should have been my job to do so. I was the only HR person, after all. But I also now know why you might think this way because you probably believe in the same things Andy did.

Andy is one of our up and rising stars of a manager. He had just graduated from university the previous year and since joining the company, had worked side by side, day and night, with Nik. Calling Andy, a reflection of Nik is an understatement. At this point, he would have already been using the exact words Nik uses, such as “slow,” “not good enough,” “stop wasting my time,” and the famous “what are you doing here still?” Both Andy and Nik regularly directed these comments and questions to staff and colleagues who were then deemed to be “Not A players.”

Before all of this exodus started, Nik once said to me over lunch, “Don't overcomplicate it. We were clear to them from the start. So, if they cannot perform, they must go. Also, per employment law, we don't have to give anyone any reasons to be terminated within the first two years, so just get it done.”

He wasn't right, but he wasn't all wrong either. Sure, there is a loophole here somewhere, but it isn't the same as saying, “We are not a charity to keep them around.” At our startup, these employees weren't viewed as a cost liability. Instead, Nik was adamant that there is simply no seat for people who are not “smart” enough to share this space. How can I be sure? Because employee cost was the least of our issues then.

This other time happened when I was in Poland, visiting the office we had just set up the previous month. So, by calculation, these were employees as fresh as one month old in tenure.

“Sophie, we need to fire the new head of department.”

“Okay,” I said. “What's the reason?”

“She's not fast enough. I think she might be too old for this job.”

“Right,” I replied.

“I suggest we keep the age entry young and fresh so that we don't risk delays.”

“You can't say that,” I warned.

One of the executives stepped in and explained to me, “Well, look, everything is replaceable. This chair I'm sitting on is replaceable, that table over there is replaceable, and you,” and he pointed his coffee cup at me, “are also replaceable. Right?”

Yes, believe it. It happened, and they said that.

When I repeated this logic to my husband, he sternly said to me, “Do you even hear yourself?” I suppose I was still under the influence of the Kool‐Aid.

About five of us reported directly to the founder. What this means is we were working in close proximity with him, and I found myself mimicking his behaviors. Monkey see monkey do, right?

I became an appalling and fearful manager, just like Andy. I would set clear but mostly unattainable success metrics for my team while openly indicating that they would have no jobs to come back to next month if they failed to hit those targets.

Why did I do this? Because I won't have a job to come back to if they fail me. By my logic, we have all failed Nik. This was what it was like every day. My colleagues and I felt like we were never good enough for this place. Even when we did feel good enough, it would only last for a moment because as you complete one task, the next one is just waiting behind.

My team would end up in a revolving door because there was no shame in being a manager who couldn't hold their teams together. By right, these were failures that we simply couldn't retain. Or more so, the toxic culture had chewed and spat them right back out.

They would praise me for being decisive, but my subconscious would be telling me my actions were nothing to be proud of. I learned to feel lost, or more so stuck, in the middle of the two, not knowing which way out was the better one.

GOODBYES

A goodbye is usually used on occasions where you would express good wishes when parting ways. The goodbye in this story is implied by a series of one‐word conversations and a cold, soul‐piercing revelation.

On one fateful day, I braved myself to free my soul from the God‐forsaken toxicity. I know it sounds dramatic, but you have to be there to understand it.

My eyes were weary, not because I was feeling sad about bidding goodbye to the company. I spent the night crying after an all‐night argument with my husband about how this so‐called dedication turned into an obsession for my job. It was affecting my almost non‐existent personal life.

“I think you need to quit…,” Brooke's voice tracked with such sympathy as she watched my anxiety show in mere seconds.

“Yes, me too,” I replied.

For the first time in ten months, I was sure of my decision.

This marked the point where I had already been struggling with sleepless nights due to increased anxiety. My panic would rise whenever my phone rang, and I saw a message from Nik instructing me to do more damage to our workforce.

I had just returned from a recruitment campaign in New York. A last hurrah, so to speak, when I stood there in the room filled with hundreds of potential candidates. We were trying to convince them that working for us was a fantastic opportunity. I put on a straight face and allowed it to escape my mouth.

For three days, I told applicants that their lives would change after working for such an aggressive startup like ours because they would achieve more than they would in other places. Plus, we offered excellent benefits, including free travel, complimentary breakfast, free coffee, state‐of‐the‐art laptops, and dual monitors. Don't forget our great free dinners, at the office, every night for as long as you are employed.

Hook. Bait. Reel.

We were on yet another flight to Berlin, this time for a client meeting, and Brooke looked at my pale face and asked, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, just another message from Nik about something I need to do as soon as we land. And while I'm on leave. It's fine, really… ,” I replied, trying to avoid her gaze.

“No, it is not. You haven't slept in 37 hours, and it's also 6:30 a.m. Whatever it is, it can wait. Today is your legit day off.”

Brooke was firm this time about me taking the day to recover.

Of course, I didn't. We landed an hour and 20 minutes later to drop our bags off at the early check‐in and then went straight to our temporary office. We did stop and got a nice coffee on the way in, so that was as far as I could remember about anything pleasant during that last trip.

As I got back into our London office the following evening, I asked Nik for a “walk.” He looked up at me, nodded, and took his laptop with him while we paced towards the deserted shared kitchen area. We sat down, his eyes back on his computer, waiting for me to speak. I embraced my courage as I let the words escape from my mind. “I'm sorry, but this is it for me. I'm resigning.”

I gave it a few seconds and then gasped with a sense of relief. I was prepared to carry on my speech but was interrupted with a cold. “Okay.”

He slammed his laptop, stood up, and walked away. That was the last time we spoke.

I was left in a state of shock and liberation at the same time. I mindfully patted myself on the shoulder after I had done it. I had given myself a chance to be alive again without carrying the constant grief and guilt of doing the wrong thing by others. I was ready to finish my last pieces of work and call it a day. I started packing up my things and was carefully thinking about which bath bomb I would use tonight. I was also thinking about what I would like to pick up for dinner on the way home.

Peter, another close peer of mine, called as I made my way out of the building.

“Are you sure you don't want to reconsider this?” Peter asked. “You've come this far, and I know it's not easy, well most days were horrible, but we can all help each other get through it.”

You see, the thing is, Peter, or any of my colleagues, couldn't help me even if they tried. Our roles were quite different. They were responsible for the other assets, and I was in charge of people. Our people. The same people to whom I presented fake propositions of great working culture.

The same people who, by direct orders from my manager, I was not allowed to address any mental health issues if brought up. These were the same people who would be left in utter shock when I told them their managers no longer needed them after 14 days because they were either too old or too slow for this. And the very same people who we denied all accounts of responsibility towards because it was, simply, never our fault.

“I don't think you get it, Pete,” I replied. “It may not affect most of you, but this place has done its worst to me. I'm in control of creating these rules, guardrails, and processes that will continue to encourage these behaviors because it's my job, my task to complete. I cannot, with good conscience, continue to do this to myself and our employees. I wish I weren't in HR, but sadly, I am.”

A week later, Brooke resigned. Then came Jake the week after. Inconveniently, I had started a trend and the subsequent departure trail.

THE AFTERMATH

The first few months of withdrawal were difficult; I had already moved on and found myself a haven compared to where I was. Yet, the fear of missing out was surreal. I would compare my incredibly supportive colleagues with the previously mendacious cohorts and miss them instead. I would watch the company continue to grow rapidly and feel bad for myself when I realized I was “one of the replaceable furniture.”

But this is what we need to stop doing, especially if we find ourselves in a similar situation. The free dinners were put in place not to reward us for our hard work. They were implemented to entice us to work even harder and forget that we could have a life beyond those walls.

Yes, the shares scheme is a standard protocol to bind you for 12 months before releasing any of those “options.” But you would have to sell your soul in exchange for them. Now, most of our alumni have moved on to better pastures for sure, but it doesn't mean they're not still battling with the trauma inflicted on them from the toxicity. We had an alumni support group believe it or not, and it was the most critical therapy in our lives for a mere moment.

Take Bianca¹ for instance, whom I reconnected with recently on how she reflected our joint past as she caught up on the new chapter of her life.

So, Bianca, you're a life coach now. Our readers want to know, did you learn anything from this experience that you felt has helped your clients so far?

“I believe that everything in life shapes us and people with us for a reason or a season, and I know this from my own startup experience. That was the case. I felt very inspired. Ironically, not at the time whilst at the company to become a life coach. I was mentoring and helping a lot of fellow colleagues there. By default, I didn't know I was actually mentoring and helping them; I just thought I was being mean.

And then I ended up becoming a life coach, and now I specifically help people with their careers and their relationships and to find deeper levels of honesty, so they can actually effectively communicate with one another. And this has helped my clients tenfold because I've been in environments where people don't communicate. And being in environments where people do now, the difference is astounding. Connection, openness, truth, and honesty are one hundred times better…”

Why do you think some entrepreneurs or founders create such a toxic environment?

“My opinion on why some entrepreneurs or founders can create such a toxic environment is because what they're creating is coming from a place of pain. Or a place of ‘I'm going to show you,’ or a place of ego like ‘look at me, I can be successful, I can prove myself, and I can prove something.’

I can't speak for anyone's experience, and I can't say that that is how everyone operates from a startup environment. But the founders and the mental health of the founders and the founders' connection to empathy, compassion, what it means to be human is a major sector, and whether or not employees feel safe.

Whether or not employees feel like they can thrive, whether they can ask questions. And what I noticed is when there is hostility or a lack of care from founders, there's a real lack of communication. A lot of things get lost in translation. And people don't ask for help and support, and I believe what makes us human is being supportive and caring toward one another whilst having a common goal.”

As someone who has experienced this type of toxic work climate, what do you think needs to be different to create an opposite environment?

“I think what needs to be different when it comes to startups is this balance of masculine and feminine energy, and what I've noticed in the startups that I've been in is there's a real sense of urgency to get things done. I believe that, yes, that is valid. At times we do need just to put our heads down.

So, get things done. But a lot of the time, when we're busy getting things done, we oversee the big picture and end up making ten million more mistakes. And from this place, we have to go back and try and rebuild a bridge that we've burned to smithereens. So, I think finding a balance between doing and observing and analyzing in communicating is more feminine energy.

So, I don't think that there needs to be the total opposite. I think there needs to be a balance between doing and being the masculine and feminine. The ‘let's get shit done’ versus ‘Hey, let's just take a moment because we don't have the answers right now, and let's get some more clarity.’

Gavin on the other hand, is another ex‐colleague who had remained a friend. In the winter of 2017, Andy summoned me yet again to give Gavin the bad news just after he had been our Country Manager for Western Europe. To my surprise, he jumped in instantly to give me his insights of the experience.

“As you've worked in different startups since, why do you think founders who have huge influences on how their employees work affect the culture so much?” I started off.

“I think it's so important. I mean, if the founder didn't affect the culture so much, it wouldn't have been so difficult to work in. But then, I also feel that the managers I had were such a shadow of the founder. Because it was a boy's club, right? So, if they want to be spotted for promotions, they need to do what the founder says. I think it's very obvious why Andy was enjoying it more than anyone else. Since then, I have realized that good companies have good founders. You can tell from a mile away…” As he let out a loud sigh finishing this sentence but clarified that he does indeed feel grateful to have been able to draw from these experiences now.

Some of them kept their trauma in silence and pushed it far into the back of their amygdala. You still see the evidence from the look on their faces. They cringe a little before they smile back at your question while they remember how it was.

The company has since gone on to be known for the best and the worst of its kind in the last four years as it stayed true to its first principle, “hire only the best people.” Because of this, they were seen to suffer from diversity and inclusion. The boys' club remained thick and strong with bro‐codes and macho nicknames for those still making “cutthroat” decisions.

The business also went through long months of the media dragging it through the mud with a bad employer reputation. There were multiple abusive and toxic culture allegations floating around. While the satire went out into the public arena, the company continued to power through it with ignorance. That was until their people got tired of talking about its shenanigans.

After all, our communications director used to say, “Any publicity is good publicity.” So, there you go.

Fifteen people out of the 40 that started this journey with me that fateful year have all since resigned or left for some more unfortunate end. A long overdue catch‐up earlier this year revealed that none of them would return even if life compelled them.

Their first question was, “Is he still there?” When they learned the answer was “yes,” they answered with a “no.”

I guess this just isn't the kind of company that has boomerang employees for obvious reasons. Would you return to a company with this type of environment?

And when the mass exodus started sometime in the Autumn of 2018, my inbox was filled with requests from journalists to speak out.

As I declined their requests politely, the journalist from Wired reminded me, “It's essential to me that the people that were there at the time feel vindicated by this. The hope is that it helps change the company and stops this kind of thing from happening elsewhere.”

My contract didn't have a gag order, but I did not think my point of view was worth mentioning. Because there were already so many people affected by what we had created in the early days, they were impacted by the behaviors we encouraged as leaders when we could have prevented it.

I was overwhelmed with guilt. I was part of the rip‐off, and I certainly was not proud or eager to let the world know.

Over the years, I would carry this badge of honor and proclaim, “It was an okay experience. It wasn't perfect, but no company is. I guess there is no difference from that place to any other fast‐emerging startup suffering from growing pains.”

PRESENT

So, you must be thinking, why tell my story now?

Because nobody deserves this and I hope you can learn from my mistakes one way or another.

Half a decade later, people still ask for my personal opinion and apply for a job there. They come to me when they're unsure if the whole toxic culture was real or just media hype.

My answer is blunt, “There are enough articles out there to help you make your decision, no?”

Just last week, another HR consultant was on a consulting call with a FinTech we were both going to pitch to and the first thing she said was, “We have both built and scaled startups. But we would never do what Revolut has done to its culture. So, rest assured we know what we're doing.”

The client followed up with a vast and obvious sense of relief. Wherever I go now, I'm either proud of what I survived or mortified to be recognized for “that HR lady in that toxic place.”

Learning from a founder like Nik isn't considered a consolation. In any case, this was most definitely a jackpot to me. I had my first big break in startups, swimming upstream, learning what red flags to look out for and how some personalities are too naïve to change. For some people, the narcissist in them lives on.

I became more alert when looking for new roles or met other startup founders trying to avoid similar characteristics. Luckily, as I swam past this sea of distress and regret, I also began to recognize the privilege when meeting founders who want to treat their people well. They do so without being asked or told.

I'm glad this experience hasn't stopped me from believing there is good in some employers. I just wasn't lucky enough the first time around, and I hope this never happens to you.