The air in the room was thick with unspoken directives, a familiar scent I’ve come to associate with Tuesday mornings. It wasn’t the stale coffee, though that was certainly present, nor the faint ozone hum of the projector. No, it was the specific, almost metallic tang of collective deference. Sarah, the founder’s first hire, barely shifted in her ergonomic chair, but everyone felt it. Her gaze, just a fleeting pass across the room during the “non-hierarchical” weekly standup, was the true arbiter. Thirty-three projects hung in the balance, each person offering their input, their ‘equally valued’ thoughts, knowing deep down that their actual next step depended on that silent, almost imperceptible nod from her. It’s like trying to navigate a room in the dark, bumping into furniture you were told wasn’t there, all while pretending you can see perfectly.

We’re told, with bright, enthusiastic slides and even brighter mission statements, that we’ve moved beyond the rigid, soul-crushing pyramid. That we operate in a new era of empowered teams, self-organizing units, and fluid leadership. And for a while, perhaps, the novelty distracts us. We tell ourselves we’re free, that we’re truly collaborating. But then, the whisper network starts. The hushed conversations in the kitchen about who “really” makes the decisions. The subtle shifts in body language when certain people enter a room. The way an idea, brilliant on paper, languishes for 33 days until it’s “blessed” by someone who, on paper, holds no formal authority over it.

I’ve been in these spaces, enthusiastically advocating for them, even. I remember telling a team of 33 developers that they were entirely autonomous, only to find myself later, in a quiet moment, subtly steering their choice of a particular framework because “it just made more sense with where we were going.” A clear contradiction, I know, and one I didn’t announce at the time. I convinced myself I was merely guiding, providing context. But the truth? I was exercising an invisible authority I hadn’t earned through a title, but through access, context, and perhaps a slightly louder voice. The problem isn’t the existence of power; it’s the refusal to acknowledge its shape and form. When we pretend it doesn’t exist, we create something far more insidious: a shadowy court of popular opinion, a monarchy governed not by crowns, but by likes, internal reputations, and who had coffee with the founder on Tuesday.

Anna H., a meme anthropologist I spoke with recently – yes, that’s a real and fascinating field – had a striking observation. She said that cultural phenomena, including organizational structures, become more potent when their underlying mechanics are obscured. Think of an internet meme: its power comes from its rapid, often untraceable spread, its ability to morph and adapt without a single, clear author. If you tried to formalize a meme, put it through 33 layers of approval, it would die. Similarly, when power in an organization is formalised, made explicit, it becomes accountable. You know who to talk to, who to challenge, who to celebrate. But when it’s informal, when it’s wrapped in the guise of ‘flatness,’ it becomes like trying to grab smoke. It shifts, it changes, and it leaves you wondering if you’re even allowed to ask who holds the authority, lest you be seen as “not a team player.” This opacity, ironically, makes the wielders of power less accountable, not more.

The Illusion of Autonomy

The promise of a flat hierarchy is alluring, I admit. Who doesn’t want to escape the bureaucratic red tape? The endless chain of approvals, the quarterly review forms filled with 43 identical, passive-aggressive corporate buzzwords? I certainly did. And I still believe in empowering individuals. But there’s a critical difference between empowerment through clear delegation and empowerment through the illusion of no structure. One gives you a map and a compass; the other throws you into a vast, featureless desert and tells you to find your own way, while subtly dropping breadcrumbs only the ‘favored few’ can see.

It’s like trying to shop for a new smartphone on instalment plan when all the prices are hidden, the payment terms are whispered, and you only find out if you qualify after standing in line for 23 minutes and charming the sales associate. You just want to know what you’re getting, what it costs, and how to get it. That transparency, that clear pathway, is precisely what so many of these ‘flat’ organizations strip away, replacing it with a fog of ambiguity.

My cat, Nimbus, who has a delightful habit of knocking exactly 13 items off my desk every morning, operates on a very clear, if utterly self-serving, hierarchy. He is the benevolent dictator of the household, and his rules, though arbitrary, are explicit: “feed me,” “pet me,” “do not disturb my nap.” There’s no pretense of shared decision-making. I know where I stand. And frankly, sometimes I appreciate that stark honesty. It’s tiring to decode veiled directives, to analyze the precise angle of someone’s head tilt for approval. I’m still feeling a bit off from that sneezing fit yesterday, seven consecutive, bone-rattling sneezes. It left me feeling fuzzy, much like the mental exhaustion that comes from navigating these unspoken rules. It’s a similar kind of low-grade, persistent irritation, isn’t it? The kind that wears you down slowly.

The Hidden Curriculum of Power

The deepest frustration, I’ve found, isn’t about *having* to ask permission. It’s about *not knowing who to ask*, or worse, *feeling like you shouldn’t have to ask, but ultimately knowing you must.* It’s the hidden curriculum, the unwritten rules that determine who gets access to resources, who gets heard, and whose ideas are actually taken seriously. When you strip away job titles and formal reporting lines, you don’t eliminate power; you simply redistribute it into less visible, more informal channels. You trade the clear authority of a manager for the nebulous, often political, authority of “social capital.”

Imagine a new hire, bright-eyed and eager, ready to contribute. They’ve read the company handbook, which explicitly states “no managers here, only coaches.” They come armed with ideas, ready to “drive impact.” But within 33 days, they learn that certain people simply *have* more influence. That a casual suggestion from someone with high social capital carries more weight than a meticulously researched proposal from someone without it. They discover that “coaches” often provide direction that is indistinguishable from commands, just phrased more gently, like being told to “consider optimizing that code” when what’s really meant is “rewrite that code by Tuesday afternoon.”

I remember a time, about 143 days ago, when I was designing a new onboarding process. My stated goal was to make it entirely self-directed. “Empower new hires from day one!” I proclaimed. Yet, I meticulously crafted a checklist of mandatory 1-on-1s, “optional but highly recommended” meetings, and strategically placed “informal chats” with key influencers. I wanted to believe it was truly flat, truly self-directed. But I was still, in essence, building a guided path, a curated experience, under the guise of autonomy. The truth is, some structure is inevitable, and perhaps even necessary. The lie is in pretending it isn’t there, or that the lack of formal titles magically eradicates influence.

The Danger of Opacity

The danger in this fantasy isn’t just confusion or frustration. It’s that it punishes transparency and rewards opacity. It encourages political maneuvering over merit. It means that the people who are best at understanding and navigating unspoken social cues, rather than those with the best ideas or the most relevant skills, often rise to the top. It creates an environment where failure to “read the room” can be more detrimental than failing to deliver on a project.

We talk about psychological safety, about creating environments where people feel safe to speak up, to challenge, to make mistakes. But how psychologically safe can a space be when the rules of engagement are constantly shifting, unwritten, and enforced by invisible powers? It’s like playing a game of chess where the pieces occasionally change their moves mid-game, and only a select few are privy to the updates. It’s exhausting, disorienting, and ultimately, deeply unfair to many. Especially those who come from different cultural backgrounds, or who simply prefer clarity.

Embracing Transparency

This isn’t about wanting to bring back the cubicle farms and draconian middle managers of the 1990s. Far from it. This is about acknowledging reality. Power exists. Influence exists. Hierarchy, in some form, *will* always exist in any collective human endeavor of more than 23 people. Whether it’s formal or informal, explicit or implicit, it will shape decisions and interactions. The question isn’t how to eliminate it, but how to make it transparent, accountable, and fair. How do we ensure that the person with the best idea, not just the loudest voice or the most “social capital,” is heard?

What if, instead of pretending away power, we embraced it with honesty? What if we explicitly defined who has decision-making authority for what, and how those decisions can be challenged or influenced? What if we valued clarity as much as we value ’empowerment’? A truly empowering organization isn’t one without structure, but one with structures so clear, so understandable, that everyone, from the new intern to the veteran founder, knows exactly where they stand and how to move forward. That’s the real freedom: the freedom from guessing, from politicking, from the suffocating uncertainty of an invisible hand.

The True Path to Potential

So, the next time your company proudly proclaims its flat hierarchy, consider this: have they truly flattened power, or have they merely cast a long, confusing shadow over it, making it harder than ever for anyone, especially the newcomers, to truly find their way and make their mark? Or worse, are they simply creating a playground for those who are already masters of the subtle art of unseen influence, leaving the rest of us perpetually trying to decode the silent signals? What if transparency, not flatness, is the true path to unlocking human potential?

Is your invisible hierarchy really serving anyone but the truly invisible?