There was a time when executive presence meant commanding a room. The firm handshake. The polished delivery. The ability to project confidence even when you didn't feel it. And while those things still matter in certain contexts, I've come to believe that the most impactful leaders I've worked with—and the ones I aspire to emulate—operate from an entirely different playbook.
The new language of executive presence isn't about performance. It's about connection. It's about emotional intelligence. And it starts with something deceptively simple: caring enough to understand the people you lead.
The EQ Advantage
Emotional intelligence isn't a soft skill. I need to say that again for the people in the back: emotional intelligence is not a soft skill. It is, in my experience, the single most important capability a leader can develop. More than technical expertise. More than strategic thinking. More than any certification or degree hanging on your wall.
Leaders with high EQ read the room before they speak. They understand that the same message delivered to two different teams may need to be framed two different ways—not because they're being manipulative, but because they respect the fact that people process information differently based on their experiences, their concerns, and where they are in their own journey.
I've watched executives with brilliant strategies fail because they couldn't connect with the people who needed to execute those strategies. And I've watched leaders with good—not great—strategies succeed beyond expectations because their teams believed in them, trusted them, and were willing to run through walls for them. The difference was always EQ.
Understanding What Your People Actually Need
Here's where most leaders get it wrong: they assume they know what their teams need. They project their own motivations, their own career aspirations, their own definitions of success onto the people they lead. And then they're surprised when engagement drops, when turnover spikes, when that star performer quietly puts in their notice.
Understanding your people requires intentional effort. It requires asking questions and—this is the hard part—actually listening to the answers without formulating your response while the other person is still talking. It requires regular one-on-ones that aren't status updates. It requires knowing that your senior engineer is dealing with a sick parent, that your project manager is pursuing a graduate degree at night, that your analyst is struggling with imposter syndrome despite being one of the most talented people on the team.
This isn't about being everyone's therapist. It's about being present enough to understand the full human being who shows up to work every day, not just the role they fill on your org chart. When people feel seen—truly seen—they bring a different level of commitment to their work. That's not theory. That's something I've observed consistently across every team I've had the privilege of leading.
Building a Culture of Shared Ownership
One of the most corrosive dynamics in any organization is the separation between "leadership" and "everyone else." When success belongs to the executives and failure belongs to the team, you've already lost. People aren't stupid. They see through that dynamic immediately, and it breeds exactly the kind of disengagement and cynicism that kills organizations from the inside out.
The best cultures I've been part of—and the ones I work to create—operate on a principle of shared ownership. When we win, we all win. When we fail, we all own it. And I mean that starting with me. If my team misses a target, my first question isn't "what did they do wrong?" It's "what did I miss? What signal did I not see? What support did I not provide?"
Shared ownership also means shared decision-making where appropriate. Not every decision needs to be made by consensus—that's a recipe for paralysis. But the decisions that affect how people work, what they prioritize, and how they're measured should involve the people who will live with those decisions. When people have a voice in shaping their environment, they invest differently in outcomes.
This is especially critical during difficult times. When budgets are cut, when reorganizations happen, when a project fails—those are the moments that define your culture. If people feel like they're passengers in someone else's car, they'll mentally check out. If they feel like co-pilots who were part of the navigation, they'll help you find the way through.
Presence as Consistency
I want to challenge the traditional notion of "executive presence" as something you turn on for big meetings and board presentations. Real presence is about consistency. It's about how you show up on a random Tuesday afternoon, not just when the stakes are high and the spotlight is on.
Do you walk past people in the hallway without acknowledging them? Do you cancel one-on-ones when things get busy? Do you send emails at midnight and then wonder why your team feels like they can never disconnect? These small behaviors communicate more about your leadership than any keynote you'll ever deliver.
The leaders I admire most are remarkably consistent. Their teams always know what they're going to get. Not because these leaders are predictable or boring, but because their values don't shift based on circumstances. They're honest when things are good and honest when things are bad. They give credit publicly and deliver criticism privately. They hold themselves to the same standards they hold their teams to—and their teams see it.
The Vulnerability Question
There's a conversation happening in leadership circles about vulnerability, and I think it's an important one—but it needs nuance. Vulnerability doesn't mean dumping your insecurities on your team. It doesn't mean performing uncertainty for authenticity points.
What it does mean is being honest about what you don't know. It means saying "I got that wrong" when you get something wrong. It means asking for help when you need it, and in doing so, giving your team permission to do the same.
Early in my career, I thought leaders were supposed to have all the answers. I've since learned that the best leaders have the best questions. They create environments where it's safe to say "I don't know" because they model that behavior themselves. And paradoxically, that honesty builds more trust and confidence than any amount of performed certainty ever could.
What This Means in Practice
If you've read this far and you're wondering what this looks like tactically, here's where I'd start:
Invest in relationships before you need them. Don't wait until there's a crisis to start building trust with your team. By then, it's too late. The time to build genuine connections is when things are calm and there's space for real conversation.
Create feedback loops that actually work. Not the annual survey that everyone dreads. I'm talking about regular, informal mechanisms for people to tell you what's working and what isn't. And when they do, respond visibly. Nothing kills feedback faster than the feeling that it goes into a void.
Celebrate the team, not just the outcome. Yes, hitting targets matters. But recognizing the effort, the collaboration, the problem-solving that got you there matters just as much. People need to know that you see the work, not just the result.
Own your failures publicly. When something goes wrong on your watch, stand up and say so. Don't spin it. Don't deflect. Your team is watching, and how you handle failure tells them everything they need to know about whether it's safe to take risks.
Be present. Not performatively present—actually present. Put the phone away in meetings. Listen more than you talk. Remember what people told you last week and follow up. These small acts of attention compound into something powerful over time.
The new language of executive presence isn't really new at all. It's the language of respect, empathy, and shared purpose that great leaders have always spoken. The difference is that in today's environment—where talent has options, where culture is transparent, and where trust is earned daily rather than assumed—it's no longer optional. It's the foundation everything else is built on.
