In this blog, I confront the urge to soften business language to spare feelings. Instead, I embrace the clarity of hierarchy, likening my company to a Gundam where every role is vital and respected. We don’t hide structure; we clarify it. As the business world evolves, some will chase endless consensus while others build powerful, coordinated machines. I believe only the latter will thrive in the competitive arena ahead.
I recently read a newsletter email that stuck with me. The sender — a smiling young woman, rainbow on her T-shirt, pronouns proudly displayed — was talking about how to discuss agency utilization rates “without your team feeling like a lump of meat.” That was her phrase: “lump of meat.”
The problem, as she saw it, was this: how do you introduce accountability for time, delivery, and capacity — the core commercial mechanics of running a business — without making people feel “dehumanized”? Her solution? Careful language:
- Don’t say “I’ve got you booked Tuesday.” Say “I’ve booked a job with you on Tuesday.”
- Don’t say “underused resource.” Say “we’ve got some capacity.”
- Don’t talk about “utilization rates.” Say “billable hours.”
- Above all, never refer to people as “resources.”
She summed it up like this: “We were careful not to create a ‘big brother’ atmosphere or make anyone feel like a commodity.”
I understand where she’s coming from. This is a leadership worldview that seeks to flatten hierarchies, avoid hard conversations, and ensure everyone feels equal, seen, and validated at all times. It’s soft, warm, and deeply uncomfortable with authority — unless that authority signals it belongs to the right ideological tribe.
But here’s where my mind has been lately: I keep seeing my company — Kaamfu — as a Gundam. Yes, the giant mechanized suit of battle armor.
In my mind, Kaamfu is that Gundam. Each of us inside it, playing our role. The CEO sits at the top — the head — scanning the battlefield, navigating the threats. My top commanders sit just below, at the neck and shoulders, feeding me data, advising, adjusting the angles. The supervisors and midline managers are in the chest, operating the core systems and stabilizers. And then the frontliners — the hands, arms, legs, and feet — executing precise movements, fighting on the ground, carrying out missions that make the whole machine move forward.
This isn’t a metaphor I feel apologetic about. In fact, when I first shared this image with my leadership team, they lit up. They got it. They were proud to be part of the Gundam. They don’t feel like “lumps of meat.” They feel like warriors inside a powerful machine — fighting to build, defend, and win.
Because business is war. We are all fighting for prosperity — against competitors, against inefficiency, against the pull of entropy. We are not playing some infinite game where everyone wins just by feeling special. We are in an arena of limited resources, where skill, discipline, and performance determine who thrives and who falls behind.
What I see in this email — and in the broader movement it reflects — is a kind of anti-authority managerialism: always attempting to soften reality, to reduce the friction of hierarchy, to flatten power structures so no one ever feels small. But the irony is, even this model has its hierarchies — they just wear softer clothes and use different language.
At Kaamfu, we don’t hide the structure. We clarify it. We design it. We honor it. The commander is not better than the technician in the foot — but the roles are different. Each is essential. Each knows where they fit. And when we all move together inside the machine, the Gundam becomes almost unbeatable.
As companies adopt AI, agents, and complex work control systems, this cultural divide will only sharpen. Some will build their Gundams. Others will build ever softer consensus circles, avoiding clear lines of command in the name of emotional safety. Both models will exist. But only one will dominate.
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