"Cliques can make or break you in high school.
If you’re in, you’re untouchable.
If you’re out, you’re invisible."
Anonymous
High school cliques. The phrase immediately conjures up images of one’s social status when aged 14-18—something you never forget. It is a feeling similar to discovering you forgot to pay your taxes eight months ago—horrifying. Hollywood specializes in recreating these days for us, making a fortune on exhuming memories we thought were banished to the far fringes of our consciousness.
The Oxford Dictionary defines cliques as “a small group of people, with shared interests or other features in common, who spend time together [to have a sense of belonging, and sometimes to gain social status] and do not readily allow others to join them [unless a person is deemed a good fit].” The latter half of the definition is the bite, regardless of age, and we must be conscious of the cliques we make, even if it’s just the guys in the band vs. the football players.
Image Credit: SOS Safety Magazine
In our 30s and beyond, we don't expect these cliques to raise their Medusa head in the workplace. Indeed, we’re past all that immaturity, correct? Nope. The difference from high school is at this stage of life, we’ve experienced a lot, formed relationships, raised kids, been successful, suffered setbacks, and bounced back. Life humbles you. That’s why I was surprised to hear the following stories of workplace adult cliques and the level of resentment they produce.
My friend worked for a biotech startup in Georgetown, Washington, DC. She loved her work and was grateful to have a bright and hardworking team. One week, her vice president planned a team-building evening out, which included a scavenger hunt, drinks, and dinner at a well-regarded Italian restaurant. Employees from the marketing and sales departments were assembled for the scavenger hunt. The hunt went well, with my friend’s team collaborating with the sales team and winning the hunt. Following the event, everyone was gathered for beers with stories about their team’s hunt. And then came the dinner.
The restaurant was a quaint and storied place on a Georgetown side street. The ten employees assembled, or should I say segregated, not along functional lines, but some unknown criteria that separated the cool kids from the others—the group’s cohesion at the hunt and while beer drinking vanished. An invisible line was drawn along the table, and the now separated groups felt miles apart. My friend commented, “You could just feel the energy shift.” The cool kids ordered a shared dinner option, never asking the rest of the table if they would like to join in. Conversations were separated, and it was painfully clear to the other side that they were unwelcome. Queue your sophomore year of high school, calling to say, “I’m back.”
A former colleague shared a similar story. He worked at a government agency in the Canton neighborhood of Baltimore. He was a new employee, 24, intelligent, friendly, and had recently relocated from the southeast. He thought making friends would be easy, given his department was filled with employees of a similar age. However, one obstacle he did not foresee was that the university he graduated from would impact his ability to assimilate.
Most other employees had attended the University of Maryland, so anyone not part of that alumni group was excluded from the group’s lunches—provincial behavior elevated to an art form. He recalled, “The UoM group would walk right past my cubicle on their way to lunch and ignore me even though we were on the same team. I had to breathe deeply not to let my feelings overtake me.” This situation continued, and my colleague ended up leaving.
The dynamic of personal rejection and deliberate separation is present in the Georgetown and Baltimore narratives—the cruelest tools in the human playbook. This is a stark reminder that we must consider how our actions or inactions impact others. How could these situations have played out differently?
At the Georgetown dinner, it would have taken no effort for the cool kids to extend the shared dinner idea with the entire table, leading to a collective conversation about the food. Sharing a meal is one of the oldest forms of bonding.
With the government agency, the University of Maryland crowd could have stretched their social group by inviting their non-UoM colleagues out with them. Being considerate towards all team members is critical to building camaraderie and trust, and, in this instance, it could have prevented my friend from putting in his notice. It’s easy to get caught up in a clique - even a small one, with any outsider feeling foreign to us. Still, we must leverage our empathy skills and be aware of those around us.
What about those impacted in these scenarios? How could they have acted preemptively? For example, they could have asked, “Are you all ordering the shared dinner? It looks amazing.” This could have opened the door for greater cohesion. The same dynamic applies to the situation at the government agency. For example, my friend could have given the clique the benefit of the doubt; he could have asked if he could join them. Sometimes, a clique’s members know they should invite others but don’t extend an invite for fear of alienating the clique’s members. If someone asks to join a group, most adults would sense that the civil thing to do is to include them.
Most, if not all, of us have been in similar situations. Let’s learn from the collective pain of those experiences, raise our awareness of those around us, and reach out to them with an offer to join.
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