A man without weaknesses serves only to make everyone else conscious of his own imperfections.
They say perfection inspires people. But in truth? Perfection can alienate.
There’s something quietly unsettling about a person who appears to have it all together, all the time. The perfect speech, the perfect posture, the perfectly timed responses—never a hair out of place or a doubt in their eyes. And while we might admire them from afar, we rarely feel safe around them. Because somewhere deep down, their flawlessness makes us painfully aware of our own.
This brings to mind Tennyson’s timeless observation: “He is all fault who has no fault at all.” It’s one of those lines you skim past in a book, then find yourself haunted by a week later. Because the truth it carries is not just poetic—it’s piercing.
Let’s be honest. We live in a time where curated perfection is the default. Social media is our highlight reel. Filters blur imperfections, captions are edited for impact, and our stories are stitched to show strength, not struggle. It’s no wonder we end up feeling like everyone else is thriving while we’re quietly falling apart.
But here’s the thing: the most magnetic, respected, and deeply loved people I know are not the ones who seem flawless.
They’re the ones who dare to be human.
I once worked with a team leader who, on paper, was everything a manager should be—sharp, professional, driven. But what set him apart wasn’t how good he was. It was how open he was about what he wasn’t.
In one meeting, he admitted he didn’t know the answer to a problem we were facing. He could’ve faked it. He could’ve danced around it. But instead, he said, “I need your help figuring this out.” That small act of vulnerability didn’t make us lose respect—it earned him tenfold more. Because in that moment, he wasn’t just a boss. He was one of us.
We trusted him—not because he was perfect—but because he was real.
It’s the same reason why we gravitate toward people who laugh at themselves. Who admit they’re still figuring things out. Who cry at movies, mess up during presentations, forget birthdays, and text “sorry, I fell asleep” at 2AM. Their cracks make space for our own. Their openness gives us permission to breathe.
To be human.
And that’s what so many of us crave—not to be impressed by someone, but to feel connected to them.
Maybe the most powerful thing we can do isn’t to showcase our strength, but to reveal the places we’re still growing. Maybe leadership doesn’t require bulletproof confidence, but quiet courage to say, “Me too.”
We don’t need more flawless people. We need more honest ones.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve been trying to hold it all together—know this: Your imperfections are not a liability. They’re your invitation to connect, to relate, to be real.
People might admire your wins, but they’ll remember your honesty.
Flaws are not stains to hide. They’re threads in the fabric of our shared humanity. And in the end, it’s the threadbare places that bring us closest.
Let them show.
~Mac
