Sharing good-quality feedback is one of those never-ending topics that we simply can’t get right, no matter how hard we try. We’d try things, exchange best practices, and… have the same discussion again, 2 years down the line.
I remember rolling my eyes at a trainer two decades back when they tried to teach us the feedback sandwich. In the early 2010s, Nonviolent Communication (NVC) was all over the place. Then there was a range of methods inspired by active listening. Finally, Radical Candor has arrived as a new take. A wave of fresh air was that it didn’t focus so much on the form, but more on what’s behind.
I wish I could refer to a single method, tell you “do this,” and call it a day. In fact, when challenged to share what is a better option, I don’t have a universal answer. Not much, at least, that goes beyond “it depends on the context.”

If there’s something that I found (almost) universally applicable, it is to share any feedback in a just-in-time manner. The shorter the feedback loop, the better.
Yet, of course, there is a caveat to that as well. Both parties need to have mental capabilities to be there. Sometimes, especially when hard things happen, we aren’t in a state when this is true, and we’d better defer a feedback session to a later point.
Also, it doesn’t say a thing about the form.
Radical Candor
Kim Scott’s Radical Candor is continuously one of the most frequent references when we discuss feedback. Its radicalness stems from the fact that it abandons being nice as a desired behavior and advises direct confrontation.

In short, as a person delivering feedback, we want to be in a place where we personally care about the other person and we challenge them directly. No beating around the bush, sweet words, or avoiding hard truths.
Caring personally is the key, as it builds this shared platform where we can exchange even harsh observations and they will be received openly. After all, the other person cares.
The other part—challenging directly—is more straightforward. We want to get the message through, leaving little space for misinterpretation, especially when feedback is critical.
Do We Personally Care?
Out of the two dimensions, the directness of a challenge is the easier one to manage. We can pre-prepare feedback so that it goes straight to where we want it to land. This way, we avoid ruinous empathy territory.
The caring part, though? How do we figure out whether we care enough that our message will be radical candor and not obnoxious aggression? How do we know that we are here and not there?

I’m tempted to say that we should know the answer instantly. After all, it’s our care. Who’s there to understand it better than ourselves? I’m teasing you, though.
Figuring it out in front of the mirror will often be difficult. More so in environments where care is not a critical part of organizational culture, and thus, does not come up easily.
Then, it’s not just about whether we care or not. It’s as much about whether we are able to show it.
A simple advice would be to show as much care as we reasonably can. We bring that dot up as much as we can, and things should be good, right? Oh, if only it were that simple.
Feedback: Radical Candor or Obnoxious Aggression
Some time ago, I was talking to one of our developers, who was complaining about another person. The other person had asked questions/challenging the developer about relatively sensitive matters.
Then, it struck me.
“OK, I remember myself making exactly the same remarks and asking exactly the same questions. Does it mean that I have offended you, too?” I asked, upon realizing that at least in one case, my behavior was a carbon copy of the other person’s.
From the response, I learned that I was OK. The other person was not. Why? “Because you care and [the other person] does not.”
In other words, I was in a safe space of radical candor, and the other person was way down in the obnoxious aggression territory. Except we were precisely in the same spot (same behaviors, same remarks).
The whole situation was all about how the said developer interpreted specific situations and how much goodwill and leeway they gave me and the other person.
Where Are the Lines?
The story clearly shows that we can’t fix the lines in place in the Radical Candor model. It’s not a simple chart with four quadrants, where we necessarily want to aim for the upper right corner.

The borders between the domains in the model will move. They will be blurry at times. And, by no means, will they be straight lines. If we tried to sketch a model for an actual person, it would look way messier.

There will be areas where we’re more open to a direct confrontation, and those that are way more sensitive.
Take me as an example. I tend to consider myself a person who’s open to critique (and I’ve done some radical experiments on myself on that account).
I’m fine if you question my skills, judgment, or the outcomes of my actions. Not that it’s easy, but I’m fine. But question my care? That’s a vulnerable place for me, and you’d better be less direct if that’s what you’re about to do.
To make things worse, the picture will be different depending on who is on the other side. For a person I deeply trust and respect, the green area will dominate the chart. For another, where neither trust nor respect is there, the green space may be just in a tiny upper right corner.
And if that wasn’t enough, it changes over time. We have better days and worse days. We have all other stuff to deal with, stress, personal issues, and all those things conspire to mess with the Radical Candor clean chart even more.
“Fuck off” Coming From a Place of Love
During my first weeks at Lunar Lugic, one of the youngest developers at the company told me, in front of a big group, that “I acted like a dick.” It was his reflex response to something I did, which I can’t even remember now. Nor can he.
The next day, he came to the office with a cardboard box to pack his things, ready to be fired for offending the newly hired CEO. Little did he know that:
- I was grateful for his timely remark
- I appreciated his courage
- I couldn’t care less about the form
Even if none of the common advice would suggest that, for me, it was indeed a quality bit of feedback. And the developer? He stayed with us for more than a decade. And he definitely didn’t need that cardboard box.
His challenge was direct and blunt. Did he care about me personally, though? No. Did it change anything for me? No, not really. For me, the remark has still landed well in the radical candor territory.
As a metaphor, I have some people in my life whom I can tell to fuck off. Or vice versa. And that “fuck off” would come from a place of love. The form, while harsh, is something that bothers neither me nor them. After the shots have been fired, we will laugh and hug.
I bet you have such people in your life, too. Those who have seen the best and the worst of you and decided to stick with you, nevertheless. People you trust and who trust you. You respect them, and they return the favor.
Send the same “fuck off” to a random colleague and you’re neck-deep in obnoxious aggression, no safety guardrails whatsoever. Although, in this case, it should instead be called obnoxious violence. No amount of personal care can fix this.
Radical Candor Is an Unreliable Feedback Frame
As a theoretical model, Radical Candor is neat. I really like a cross-section of personal care and direct challenge as a navigation tool in communication.
However, it creates an illusion of precision while pushing us more toward unfiltered, well, candor. This combination is harmful more frequently than just occasionally.
We can figure out (roughly, at least) where our message is on the diagram. The big problem is that we’re mostly clueless about where the lines are.

In fact, we have good insight into the borders between the domains only after we have established a pretty good relationship. Which is precisely when we need the least awareness about the exact line position.
In a typical case, we’d be shooting in the dark. Even if we understand the form and the content of feedback we share, it may lead us to a very different place than we expect. Many of the reasons why are beyond our sphere of control.
Feedback Instruction Manual
I’d be reluctant to adopt Radical Candor as my go-to feedback frame. However, if someone comes to me and says that’s what they expect, I’m happy to oblige.
That’s a good trick, by the way. As a person who wants to receive more feedback (don’t we all?), tell people how to do it in your case.
For example, I prefer criticism to praise. The latter sure feels good, but it does little in helping me improve. I’d rather feel awful for a while and get better afterwards than the reverse.
I appreciate challenges. Which doesn’t mean that I’m quick to admit I was wrong. I need time to rethink my position. So, if you want such an outcome, give me that time.
And I could go on. But this is my instruction manual. I don’t expect it to work for anyone else automatically.
The same is true when you are on the sharing end. Be explicit about your intentions. I routinely start or finish (or start and finish) giving feedback with the following remark:
The first rule of feedback applies: Do whatever the hell you want with it.
Save for some edge cases, I never have any explicit expectations for a change. When I share, it’s just this—sharing.
Being explicit about your intent will do way more than following any fancy model.
This post has been inspired by the conversation with Lynoure Braakman on Bluesky. Thank you, Lynoure, for the insightful remarks and the inspiration.




