The Problem With Being Too Perfect
Why the internet turned on Olympic Champion Eileen Gu
I’ve been watching the reaction to Eileen Gu.
An Olympic medalist. Model. Stanford student. Composed beyond belief.
A journalist asked her whether it felt like “two medals lost.”
It was one of those questions that carries more than it says.
She answered flawlessly. Calm. Controlled. Sharp.
Half the internet praised her.
The other half turned on her.
And I’ve been thinking about why.
Because this isn’t really about her.
It’s about us.
It’s about what happens when someone performs at a level that feels almost untouchable.
When someone looks that composed under pressure, something subtle happens in the room — even if the room is digital.
We don’t relax.
We measure.
High achievers don’t get criticized only for failing.
They get criticized for succeeding without visible strain.
There’s something about visible effort that comforts people. If we see the struggle, we can relate. If we see the crack, we can bond.
But when someone appears airtight, it can create distance.
And distance is uncomfortable.
So we look for a flaw.
We question motives.
We question authenticity.
We question whether it’s “too perfect.”
I know this dynamic well.
For years, I believed that if I could just be exceptional enough — articulate enough, prepared enough, composed enough — I would be safe.
Respected.
Untouchable.
Beyond criticism.
What I didn’t understand then is that perfection does not create safety.
It creates comparison.
And comparison is rarely generous.
Especially in leaders.
Especially in high-performing environments.
I work with people who run companies, divisions, teams. They are brilliant. Capable. Measured. Strategic.
And very often, deeply alone.
Because they have trained themselves to be the most composed person in the room.
They believe that leadership requires it.
But here is what I see over and over again:
Competence earns respect.
Relational energy earns trust.
And trust is what allows people’s nervous systems to soften around you.
If your team feels like they are constantly being evaluated in your presence—even if you never say a critical word—they will stay guarded.
If you never show uncertainty, they will hide theirs.
If you never wobble, they will not risk wobbling either.
And what looks like admiration can quietly turn into distance.
Distance turns into criticism.
Or passive resistance.
Or subtle disconnection.
This doesn’t mean you need to become less excellent.
It doesn’t mean you should perform incompetence to make others comfortable.
It means you allow moments of humanity.
You say, “That was harder than it looked.”
You admit, “I’m still figuring this out.”
You give credit before taking it.
You let people see that you are not only the outcome—you are also the process.
That is what regulates a room.
That is what builds relational energy.
And relational energy is not soft.
It is the difference between a team that complies and a team that commits.
It is the difference between a partner who admires you and a partner who feels close to you.
Watching Eileen Gu, I don’t see arrogance. I see extraordinary composure.
But composure alone does not create connection.
And connection is what most of us actually want—even the high achievers who pretend they don’t.
If you’re still reading, here’s a question for you:
Are you trying to be untouchable?
Or are you willing to be human enough to be trusted?
There is a cost to being flawless.
And most high performers are paying it without even realizing it.
If this stirred something, sit with it.
Where might you be airtight?
And what would it cost you to let a little warmth in?
Love,
Unni