I announced a new beginning on LinkedIn yesterday and then got to thinking I should do a follow up to explain the name of this endeavor – Velvet Cubicle.
It sounds soft, doesn’t it? Luxurious. Maybe a little sensual. Like something you’d sink into willingly.
Which is exactly the point.
Because if we’re being honest (and we need to be), the relationship most of us have with work looks an awful lot like a certain… let’s call it a particular lifestyle choice. One that involves velvet restraints, consensual participation, and a surprising amount of people who claim they’re not into it while secretly checking their email at 11 p.m.
Work is the socially acceptable kink we all pretend isn’t happening.
The Velvety Seduction
Think about it. The velvet part? That’s the smiling recruiter at the University Job Fair and the company career site with its stock photos of diverse people laughing while eating salads. It’s the “culture deck” that promises unlimited PTO (that you’ll feel too guilty to take), virtual Happy Hours (that everyone loathes), the annual company picnic (spare us all), and a “family atmosphere” (translation: we’ll demand family-level loyalty while paying you like a distant cousin). It’s plush, inviting and designed to make you want to step inside.
And we do. Willingly. Eagerly, even. We sign the offer letter, accept the handcuffs – I mean, the benefits package – and settle into our assigned station with something between hope and resignation.
“This time will be different,” we tell ourselves. “This company gets it. They see me.”
Hint: They will not, in fact, see you.
The Cubicle: Your Beautifully Appointed Cage
Here’s where the metaphor gets uncomfortably apt.
The cubicle – whether it’s a workstation behind a counter in a hotel or retail store, an actual cubicle in a 30-story office building, a virtual arrangement (WFH!), or some dystopian hybrid – becomes your assigned space. Your spot. And like any good restraint system, it’s designed to keep you in place while maintaining the illusion of freedom.
“You can decorate it however you want!” (Within reason. Nothing controversial. Keep it professional.)
“You can personalize your workspace!” (Just don’t get too comfortable. We’re all hot-desking next quarter.)
“You have autonomy!” (As long as your autonomy aligns perfectly with what we already decided you’d do and strictly between the hours of 8 AM and 5 PM with precisely 60 minutes for lunch beginning at Noon)
You’re pinned there – tethered by direct deposit, health insurance, and that nagging voice that whispers “but what about your 401(k)?” every time you fantasize about walking out mid-Zoom.
And the longer you stay, the more the sensory deprivation sets in.
Blindfolded in Broad Daylight
The blindfold is the most insidious part. Because in work’s version of consensual restriction, we don’t even realize we’re wearing it.
We stop seeing the absurdities:
- The meeting that could’ve been an email… that becomes a recurring meeting… that spawned three sub-committees.
- The “culture initiative” that’s just HR scrambling to fix what the CEO broke.
- The performance review process that rewards visibility over value and politics over performance.
- The way we’ve normalized exhaustion as evidence of dedication.
Over time, the blindfold becomes comfortable. Expected. We stop questioning why we can’t see clearly – because everyone else seems to be operating just fine in the dark.
“Is this… normal?” we wonder occasionally, squinting at the gap between what the company says it values and what gets rewarded.
And then we schedule another one-on-one and hope someone else is asking the same questions.
The Safe Word We Never Use
Now most of us do have a safe word at work. It’s called “I quit.”
But we rarely use it. Not because the conditions at work are great (or even tolerable), but because we either can’t due to economic reality or, when the market is good, because we’ve convinced ourselves that:
- It’s the same everywhere (it’s not)
- We should be grateful to have a job (gratitude and boundaries can coexist)
- It’ll get better after this project / quarter / reorganization
- We can’t afford to leave (but can we afford to stay?)
So we stay pinned to our workstations, velvet-lined and vaguely uncomfortable, wondering why work feels both seductive and suffocating at the same time.
Thus … Velvet Cubicle
I named this practice/business/project Velvet Cubicle because we need a space to name what’s happening. To laugh at it, question it, and to stop pretending that where many of us toil is anything other than a very very very expensive cage.
This isn’t about hating work – not at all! I’ve spent 30+ years in HR, and I genuinely believe work can be meaningful, human, and even (gasp) enjoyable. But that also requires us to see clearly, to remove the blindfold, and to recognize when the velvet has become a restraint rather than a comfort.
So this is where we’ll make sense of the art, angst, and absurdity of modern work. Where we’ll explore how to lead, connect, and survive the daily contradictions of organizational life.
It’s work… but with better lighting, more truth, and the occasional acknowledgment that maybe this whole setup is just a little kinky. And who knows? Maybe by naming it, questioning it, and laughing at it together, we can start designing workplaces that don’t require a safe word.
It’s going to be weird, wonderful, and occasionally uncomfortable. Just like work!
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