Software engineers are built differently. The great ones at least. Throughout my career, I've had the pleasure and privilege of working with—or under—a handful of them. They're the ones who taught me what books couldn't. The ones who proved that breaking the rules is sometimes the only rule. The ones who somehow balanced a healthy dose of scepticism with an undeniably open mind.
As I reminisce about the great ones that helped shape the engineer I've become, an uncomfortable question keeps nagging me. What happens when the mighty fall? I was there and I remember the announcements, the celebrations, and the aftermath. Here's the tale of outstanding engineers that succumbed to the lure of management.
A demotion in disguise?
The software engineering industry – and the corporate world at large – want you to believe they are meritocracies. Engineers are encouraged to hone their technical skills. We're told to choose a stack, a letter-shaped expertise and a 10-based output multiplier. In return, good performance (and savvy politics) often lead to promotions that bring higher income, a shiny new title and a load of responsibilities. Associate Junior Engineer, Engineer 2.5.0-beta, IC-ex-machina... the naming schemes get creative, and engineers happily sign up for the game. It's all smooth sailing until the dangling of the manager promotion flips the script.
The title is certainly attractive, especially when sold as the natural progression. "It's the only cure for your career plateau." Suddenly, all the years spent laying the bricks of engineering excellence fall by the wayside. Gone are architecture diagrams, proofs of concept and obscure JavaScript quirks. And in come spreadsheets, pre-alignments, alignment meetings, post-alignments, alignment follow-ups and follow-up alignments.
Careers don't have to be ladders in the first place (especially if you're afraid of heights).
The temptation is easy to understand. Who wouldn't want a promotion? It's only human to desire more and think big. But how do you survive when the career high sends you into the stratosphere, without the proper suit and helmet? How do you cope when you land on an alien planet where you don't speak the language?
Will you manage to manage?
You'd be forgiven for assuming I'm looking down at managers. Let me assure you—and them—that it isn't the case. I have nothing but respect and admiration for those who choose that path, especially those aware of the challenges lying ahead and equipped to tackle them—or willing to learn. Even when they fail, watching them struggle garners nothing but empathy (and a little unspoken I-told-you-so moment, if I'm being honest).
Managing human beings must be one of the most demanding jobs out there. Despite their complexities, computers, compilers and databases don't complain. They crash, time out or stop responding and generally recover after a reboot, a patch or a debugging session. Humans, on the other hand, disengage, burn out or slack off, and no reset button or IT-approved tool can come to the rescue.
Juggling between compassion and decisiveness, flexibility and rules, is a gift that very few possess. And it turns out most of those are not among the great engineers. The set of skills a manager employs are a far cry from what the industry moulds engineers to become, or what they're best equipped to tackle.
You'd also be forgiven for assuming I'm making the case that engineers are inherently ill-suited to management. And you'd be wrong yet again. There's no denying that our culture portrays us as nerdy caricatures wanting nothing more than to stare at gigantic monitors all day long. But great engineering has never been just about technical prowess. Navigating office dynamics, communicating effectively are hallmarks of great engineers. Knowing one's way around people is as valuable as knowing one's way around a codebase. Building consensus is as important as building great software. But none of that automatically makes you a good manager.
In my experience, the best managers operate somewhere at the intersection of both worlds and make it seem effortless to jump between the two as needed.
Don't take my word for it. Just ask Peter!
Peter saw it coming. Well, Laurence J. Peter did. In 1969, together with Raymond Hull, he put a name to what many had already been witnessing. In fewer than 200 pages, The Peter Principle walks us through a series of workplace vignettes and observations that have, perhaps unsurprisingly, withstood the test of time.
The book's thesis goes well beyond what I'm covering in this post, but the most relevant point is the following:
People get promoted based on their performance in their current position, even when these skills are non-transferable to the new position.
The authors provide plenty of examples where employees performing exceptionally well faltered after their next promotion. This is what the book refers to as reaching one's incompetence level. In a hierarchy, a person would keep getting promoted until they hit that ceiling, after which further promotion becomes exceedingly difficult without necessarily resulting in them getting fired.
Look at the hierarchies you've been part of: your organisation, political party or sport club. You'll undoubtedly identify those who have reached their incompetence level. They'd most likely be floating around, being given outlandish titles and a bogus set of responsibilities. VP of consolidated integrations, or Chief integrator of consolidations are usually among the first telling signs.
And on occasions, that person can be your manager or their manager's manager.
And if you're sufficiently self-aware, it might be you.
Buy one problem, get one for free
It didn't happen overnight, but they eventually withered. The lively discussions died out. The engineering challenges dried up. Their vocabulary shifted to a new set of three-letter acronyms and rehearsed axioms. The sparkle in their eyes faded. The transformation was complete.
Slowly but surely, plans derailed. The once exceptional contributors were no longer in the driver's seat. The autonomy they once flaunted gave way to additional layers of control and rigidity. The promise of power stripped their freedom away.
When outstanding engineers turn into mediocre managers, everyone pays the price. The team loses a technical powerhouse who drove things forwards. And now its members have to contend with a leader only by name. Mediocrity breeds and magnifies dysfunction. Conflicts go unresolved. Feedback goes unanswered. Frustration grows. Morale dips.
And then comes the part nobody tells you about. One day, the engineer who was once one of "us" quietly becomes one of "them". And once you're part of that club, there's no finding your way back.
Or is there?
With your tail between your legs
Remaining an individual contributor is (falsely) considered a failure. Going back to that role after a promotion gone off the rails is (falsely) considered career suicide. When the management soul reaper comes knocking, you accept its invitation, only to realise you're not built for it, what do you do? Do you power through and learn on the job? Do you fake it till you somehow make it? Or do you bite the bullet and admit defeat?
Perhaps the best promotion is the one you turn down, or walk away from. Careers don't have to be ladders in the first place (especially if you're afraid of heights).
Mediocrity breeds and magnifies dysfunction. Conflicts go unresolved. Feedback goes unanswered. Frustration grows. Morale dips.
Carve your own role. Find your place under the sun. The options are as limitless as there are ways to centre a div in CSS. Don't let the fear of standing still take you on the wrong journey. A fulfilling engineering position is much more rewarding than an oversized manager title that never truly fits.
If you managed to get this far
An engineer becoming a manager is not a promotion but a lateral career shift. Treat it as such, and the picture becomes clearer. If you have what it takes to be a manager, then by all means go for it. If you're not quite there yet but are willing to invest the time to learn, give it a shot too.
In all other cases, spare yourself and the rest the unnecessary pain and chaos.
The Senior Engineer to Engineering Manager pipeline needs an urgent cleanup. Grab a brush. There's work to do.