Review season is upon us. The time of year when your manager discovers what you do for a living, writes it down wrong, and gives it a 3.
What is a performance review?
A formal meeting in which twelve months of your one finite life are compressed into a single number, then pressed against a bell curve decided before you were hired, by someone who has since left with a bonus.
Will my review be based on my whole year?
It will be based on the last six weeks and one thing you said in February. Your manager has no idea what you did in May. Neither do you. May is gone. May is never coming back.
Why am I “meeting expectations”?
Because “exceeding expectations” requires budget, and the budget went on the offsite where leadership discussed recognising talent, in a hot tub.
Meeting expectations is a participation medal, without the medal, the participation, or the expectations.
What is a “development area”?
A flaw, reworded by someone who went to a feedback workshop. “Could be more visible” means they forgot you exist. “Could be more strategic” means they can’t explain your job and soon won’t need to. “Could improve communication” means you once disagreed with them, politely, and they’ve been waiting.
What should I write in my self-assessment?
Lies, but modest ones. “Drove.” “Spearheaded.” “Partnered cross-functionally.” Do not write “survived”, even though it’s the only accurate verb, and some years you barely managed that.
Will there be a pay rise?
There will be a “compensation conversation”. Different thing. A compensation conversation is where you learn inflation is your personal journey and the CEO’s is a yacht.
What if I disagree with my rating?
Raise it with your manager. He’ll nod and say “that’s really valuable feedback”. The rating won’t change. You’ll now be rated on how you handled the rating. That rating is a 2.
What happens next?
You set goals for next year. Nobody looks at them again. Not you, not your manager, not the person who replaces you and inherits them, unread, in a folder called “Old”.