Psychology Today
Perfection is overrated; it’s our quirks that truly set us apart. These unique, sometimes odd traits often drive success, creativity, connection, and authenticity. When embraced rather than hidden, quirks become powerful tools, making us memorable, indispensable, and more fully ourselves in a world that rewards originality over imitation.
Forget Perfection—It’s Time to Embrace Your Quirkiness
Authors: Hara Estroff Marano, Peter Bregman
It takes a bit of courage to bring your unique behavioral traits out of hiding and see them not as defects but as distinctions
By Hara Estroff Marano
Quirk. The word itself makes you smile. It’s not just quick and energetic but downright acrobatic, executing a fast mid-air twist before tickling your brain.
Dictionaries defines quirk as “a peculiar behavioral habit,” “a unique, odd, and sometimes charming trait that makes a person stand out from the crowd,” or, as the Oxford folks would have it, “an aspect of somebody’s personality or behaviour that is a little strange.”
But those are just pale abstractions. From air bathing (Benjamin Franklin) to writing while standing (Virginia Woolf); from intermittent napping instead of sleeping (Leonardo da Vinci) to talking out loud to oneself while working or answering questions with an extravagance of information, quirks in all their particularity are beyond cataloguing, a testament to the seemingly infinite variability of human behavior. (Of course, animals also can have quirks. A friend has a dog that attacks the television screen every time a certain U.S. president appears on it.)
Almost everyone has a quirk or two, benign deviations from some hypothetical—or, as many contend, mythical—norm of behavior, too small and encapsulated to create friction or to impede function and often abetting the ability to operate in the world. However minor they are, they tend to be distinguishing features of individuals, signatures with salience, facilitators of connection, pillars of self-awareness, and sources of personal and professional success. Yet psychology has virtually overlooked them and their value, focusing instead on taxonomies of disorder.
For many people, “a quirk is a statement: I am unique, uniquely different,” says New York psychologist Barry Lubetkin. “And nothing pleases people more than to feel special, unique, different.” And here the term quirk delivers another semantic service, transforming what could be seen as a deficit, a pinpoint of pathology, into a source of pride by ushering it well outside clinical confines. “ Quirk is a fun term—it has lightness,” notes Lubetkin. “People don’t want to know about habits they have, but they enjoy the idea of having a particular quirk.”
There’s no denying that there is often a fuzzy boundary around quirks—say, between a quirk and weirdness on one side of the social order and, on the other, between a quirk and psychiatric pathology, especially obsessive-compulsive disorder. But there’s an important difference: In addition to not blunting the ability of people to function, quirks don’t in any way harm or hamper others interacting with their owners, Lubetkin points out. That’s not to say quirks can’t serve some important psychological function. Those who talk out loud to themselves while working may do it to reduce anxiety or to shut off an interior monologue of self-criticism.
There’s an internal differentiator as well—how a person mentally frames their behavioral deviation: Do they see difference as deficit or distinction? Not uncommonly, people view their own behavioral quirks negatively when growing up and learning the intricacies of cultural norms—often brutally enforced by the bullies of middle and high school—only to enjoy them as they grow into adulthood and become fully themselves. Some, however, never overcome the early tyranny of social norms and may go to great lengths to keep their quirks to themselves.
Quirks can be downright endearing. They humanize by particularizing a person, distinguishing them from others, creating a salience on which to hang positive emotions. Then, too, quirky characteristics typically stimulate delight and fascination; they serve as vivid illustrations of human originality.
There’s yet another facet of quirks that makes them agents of endearment. They are innocent, serving no ulterior purpose. “They are not transactional,” says family therapist Susan Birne-Stone. They exist not for the purpose of personal gain, just as pure expressions of personality. “They add to the pleasure of interacting with a person.”
If there is a model for looking at quirks, it is neurodiversity, the concept that all human brains function in somewhat different ways and that, within broad bounds, variations in cognition and behavior are not deficits or disorders but, rather, natural, organic differences. The point is acceptance of individuality: No negative judgment is applied to human variation; the door is open to enjoyment and even positive use of it.
Neurodiversity is most associated with autism; the concept originated in discussions about the condition. As a result, much neurodiversity gets lumped under that umbrella. But neurodiversity actually extends well beyond the autism spectrum, observes New York psychiatrist Grant Brenner. For example, Brenner says, autism doesn’t begin to capture all the variants of sensory processing or nonverbal learning— to say nothing of personality or adaptations to developmental experience and adversity—that create the vast range of quirks flavoring human behavior.
There are dimensions of thinking or feeling or behavior in which everyone is atypical, notes Debra Brause, a Los Angeles psychologist who is a “neuro-affirming parent” to an autistic son and a neurodiversity advocate and educator. “It’s not that they are broken or in need of being fixed. They just have a different operating system.” The problem, she says, is that we’re often raised with the idea that there is one right way of doing things, one right way of being in the world, when in fact we benefit from multiple perspectives and multiple approaches. We then judge others, usually negatively, from the unidimensional standard and pathologize differences.
As the world and its problems grow increasingly complex, it is becoming increasingly clear that divergent thinking is increasingly necessary, contributing original ways of problem-solving. Digital and technical work actually “pull” for the detail orientation that is often an autistic trait.
On a similarly grand scale, quirks give the lie to perfection. They exist as spit-in-the-eye proof that perfection is a fantasy, an illusion, not merely impossible but unnecessary— irrelevant, actually—and its pursuit futile. Quirks embody the Japanese aesthetic and philosophy known as wabi-sabi. As explicated by Leonard Koren in Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers, wabi-sabi is a difficult-to-capture approach to all aspects of life that recognizes the imperfectability and impermanence of things, values the personal and idiosyncratic, respects nature, not least for its irregularity, and accepts its fundamental uncontrollability.
Wabi-sabi is most visibly expressed in the Japanese art of kintsugi, in which imperfections are not merely countenanced but highlighted and allowed to sparkle. Typically, a piece of broken pottery is repaired, the fractured fragments sealed together with a lacquer containing luminous gold or silver powder. Functionally, the vessel is stronger than before, the flaw not hidden but displayed and transformed into an asset.
Back in the human realm, quirks foster love. They connect people and abet intimacy. “To see another’s flaws as endearing enables me to accept my own and not judge you,” says Lubetkin. Adoring the imperfection in another allows people to be vulnerable themselves. “Seeing a quirk wielded positively by one person gives permission to others. Something I love in you helps me accept my own fallibility,” say Lubetkin. As Brenner puts it, “It has a releasing effect on others.”
Viewing quirks as strengths liberates people to use them as instruments, tools for interacting with the world. Arguably no one has capitalized on his quirks as much as Marshall Goldsmith, long ranked the leading executive coach in the world and the man who single-handedly invented the profession. “Anybody I’ve worked with will tell you I’m very confrontational. I give them crap. I make fun of them. In a coach-training program, I am the poster boy of everything not to do.”
No one would ever accuse Goldsmith of being humdrum or boring. But his brace-yourself bluntness is actually perfectly matched to his rarefied clientele—people at the top who have no peers to chat with, who never hear the truth from those around them, and who have little time to waste—and is leavened with abundant irreverence. Too, when he calls someone out on their pretension or hypocrisy ( bullshit is his preferred term) he’s apt to ask, “Are you ready?”—transforming the assessment into virtually a joint venture. “Copying my coaching style would be an unmitigated disaster for almost anybody else,” he acknowledges.
On the other hand, seeing quirks as flaws to be concealed focuses the mind defensively, to avoid exposure; it wastes energy that can be applied to positive pursuits. Accepting one’s quirks—and seamlessly integrating them into one’s personality—allows them to be wielded for good. Brenner sees this as a form of “personality maxing”—being the best version of your personality. “It’s like learning to use the right spice in the right way. It becomes a distinguishing feature.” A signature. A trademark. A vehicle of authenticity.
Making your quirkiness work for you starts with self-awareness, knowing yourself, accepting yourself, choosing to express your quirk—and, as with any feature, knowing when to deploy it. “You need a bit of courage or confidence to display your true quirkiness,” Brenner explains. And it takes some practice. “You can’t be afraid to take risks. You have to be willing to fail. You have to test it, take an improvisational approach, allow yourself to go off-script. You have to have it as a goal to let yourself be your best quirky you.”
Why the Secret to Your Success Lies in Your Quirks If you’re just like everyone else, how indispensable can you be?
By Peter Bregman
I was having lunch with a friend of mine, a man who has been very successful in business. Deeply generous, he gave away the majority of his fortune—hundreds of millions of dollars—to a foundation.
When the waiter came to take our order, this man asked for the Caesar salad with shrimp and then added, “But instead of shrimp, could you put salmon on the salad?”
“That’s no problem, sir. Just so you know, it’ll be an extra dollar.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the man responded, “You know, forget it. I’ll just take the shrimp.”
What do you call that? Cheap? Strange? Dysfunctional? I call it the secret to his success. Not yours, by the way. His.
This man has a fixation on value. He can’t stand the idea of spending a single extra dollar if it doesn’t provide at least two dollars of value. Maybe that’s extreme. But so is a fortune (and foundation) of hundreds of millions of dollars. He’s not successful despite his quirk; he’s successful because of it.
And what’s made him successful is that he’s not embarrassed about it. Or ashamed. He doesn’t hide or repress or deny it.
He uses it.
The most powerful people don’t conquer their quirks—they seamlessly integrate them to make an impact. In any highly competitive field—and these days every field is highly competitive—being different is the only way to win.
Yet, even though we all know that, most of us spend a tremendous amount of effort trying not to be different. We model ourselves and our businesses after other successful people and businesses, spending money and energy discovering and replicating best practices, looking for that one recipe for success.
Here’s the thing: If you look like other people, all you’ve done is increase your pool of competition.
I was talking to a famous guy I know—someone whose name you would instantly recognize—when he started name-dropping. Hold on, I thought, I name-drop you. You don’t have to name-drop to me. I’m already impressed.
Why was my famous friend name-dropping? Because after everything he’s achieved, he’s still insecure. Which is, at least in part, why he’s achieved so much. He never would have worked so hard, spent so much time and effort on his projects, and continued to apply himself after he had “made it” if he weren’t insecure. His dysfunction has turned out to be tremendously functional.
If you are a human being, you already have traits that make you quirky. Weird. Maybe those traits have been labeled “weaknesses.” I don’t know what they are, but you do. And, if you’re like most people, you may have tried to fix them. Eradicate them. Tuck them away so that they don’t embarrass you.
That would be a terrible mistake.
Those quirks? They are the gifts that make you different. Exceptional.
“The most interesting novels,” Newsweek editor Malcolm Jones wrote in a book review, “are the ones where the flaws and virtues can’t be pulled apart.”
That’s even truer for people. The most interesting, powerful people don’t conquer their dysfunctions, quirks, and potentially embarrassing insecurities. They seamlessly integrate them to make an impact in the world.
A doctor and the dean of a school of public health was the driving force behind health reforms that saved the lives of millions of people in the developing world. Literally millions. Certainly, he achieved this with great strengths. He was deeply connected with his values. He worked tirelessly and with single-minded focus. He cared deeply about others, friends and strangers alike, and did whatever he could to help them.
But he had a quirk. He lived and worked in the hyper-intellectual world of academia, where nuance is valued far above simplicity. Success as an academic traditionally lies in one’s ability to see and expound on the grey.
But he never saw the grey. He saw the world in black and white, right and wrong. This simplistic view of the world is something that people in academia try to hide or overcome all the time. But he never hid his simplicity. He embraced it. of a debate and arrived at the simplicity of righteous action.
That kind of exceptionality is too rare. Traditional management systems encourage mediocrity in everything and excellence in nothing. Performance review systems set an ideal picture of how everyone should act (standards, competencies), then assess how closely people match that ideal, nudging them to improve weaknesses so they “meet or exceed expectations” in every area.
But wait, shouldn’t an organization be a platform for unique talent? Unique talent makes you indispensable. And that’s the goal, right?
Well, eradicating your quirks has the opposite effect. It makes you dispensable. If you’re just like everyone else, then how critical to the business can you be? How critical to the world?
Your sweet spot—where you are remarkable—is at the intersection of your strengths, weaknesses, differences, and passions. Yet surprisingly, most of us shy away from our sweet spots. Accenting our strengths feels too arrogant, exposing our weaknesses feels too vulnerable, standing out from the crowd feels too precarious, and focusing on our passions too indulgent.
But what if your quirks are not appreciated by the people around you? What if they want you to change, to fit in, to be more like everyone else? What if the feedback you get tells you to be less, you know, yourself. Be more like that person over there who seems really successful.
In my first job, I was told that I talked too much. I was too friendly with clients. I should keep my distance. Be more efficient. I tried for a while, even succeeded a little. But I didn’t like it. And I didn’t like myself when I was acting that way. Also, I wasn’t particularly great at it.
So I left that company—and even the industry—and I became a consultant. On my first day in my new company, I was thrown into a client meeting where I sat quietly hoping not to disrupt the conversation or say the wrong thing.
Then the lead consultant leaned over to me and whispered, “Say something. Anything. The client needs to hear you, know you’re here, feel your value.”
I smiled. This was my kind of place.
And if your quirks aren’t appreciated by the people around you? Don’t change yourself, change your environment. Change your context.
What’s your kind of place? Where are you appreciated, quirks and all? You can’t be in your sweet spot while you hide parts of yourself.
A friend of mine who is an out-standing investor, spends all his time obsessively looking at, thinking about, and reading financial statements of companies in which he is considering investing. He lives and breathes them. I once invited him to spend the weekend skiing. Instead of skis, he brought a stack of annual reports that stood three feet high. That’s just weird. But his obsession has made him a top stock picker.
The wealthy, generous man who gave away his fortune but wouldn’t spend an extra dollar on the salmon? If he were a salesman trying to woo a client while refusing to spend an extra dollar on his client’s meal, he would fail. But that’s not a him problem, it’s a context problem. As a real estate investor buying undervalued properties, quirky cheapness made him one of the most successful, and happiest, people I know.
You’ll never be as good a version of someone else as you are of yourself. Don’t try.
Don’t fall for it. Your quirks are most likely the secret to your power.
Credits: TCA, LLC.