The conventional wisdom is “hire slow, fire fast.”
Most leaders get the first part right—sometimes too right, paralyzed by the fear of a bad hire. But almost everyone fails on the second part. We fire slow. Too slow. And it costs more than we realize.
Let me tell you about the most expensive lesson I learned in leadership.
The Hidden Cost
A few years ago, I had someone on my team who wasn’t performing. Not terribly—just... not well. Missed deadlines. Mediocre work. The kind of underperformance that’s hard to point to because there’s no single fireable offense.
I told myself stories. They’re going through a hard time. They have potential. They’ll turn it around. I gave feedback. I created improvement plans. I moved them to different projects.
Months passed. Nothing changed. And during that time:
• My top performers picked up the slack and grew resentful
• The team’s standard of “acceptable” drifted down
• I spent hours in coaching conversations that went nowhere
• Everyone knew the situation and wondered why leadership tolerated it
• One of my best people left, citing “culture issues” in their exit interview
The cost of a bad hire isn’t just their salary.
It’s the second-order effects: the talent that leaves, the standards that erode, the trust that breaks when your team sees you tolerate mediocrity.
Why We Fire Slow
We want to be fair. We tell ourselves everyone deserves a chance, multiple chances, infinite chances. But fairness to one underperformer often means unfairness to everyone else carrying the weight.
We’re afraid of being wrong. What if they turn it around next month? What if the problem is me? The uncertainty keeps us in holding patterns.
We avoid hard conversations. (This is the same dynamic I wrote about in “The Lie of the Open Door Policy.” Avoidance masquerading as patience.)
We conflate liking someone with needing them. Good people can be wrong for a role. Someone you’d grab a beer with can still be tanking your team’s output.
The Mercy of Clean Cuts
Here’s what I’ve learned: letting someone go can be the kindest thing you do—for them and for you.
That person I kept too long? After I finally let them go, they went to a different company, in a different role, and thrived. The job wasn’t right for them. I knew it. They knew it. But neither of us was brave enough to act on that knowledge.
Keeping someone in a role where they’re failing isn’t kind. It’s avoidance disguised as compassion. Every day they stay is a day they’re not moving toward something that fits them better.
When It’s Time
Ask yourself these questions:
• If this person quit tomorrow, would you be relieved?
• Would you hire them again, knowing what you know now?
• Are you spending more energy managing them than they’re contributing?
• Is your team compensating for their shortfalls?
If you answered yes to more than one, you probably already know what you need to do. The question is whether you’ll do it now or in six months after more damage is done.
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The kindest thing you can do for someone who’s struggling in a role is help them find a role where they won’t struggle. Sometimes that’s in your organization. Sometimes it isn’t. Either way, the delay isn’t helping anyone.