Angela Mollard: ‘Quiet quitting’ isn’t inspirational, it’s insidious

‘Quiet quitting’, or putting in minimal effort in the workplace, has become a viral phenomenon— but it could do our health and relationships more harm than good, writes Angela Mollard.

Have you heard of quiet quitting? Don’t worry, you were probably working hard at the coalface when this new concept exploded over the internet this week.

Basically, it’s a new way of “quitting” your job by not actually quitting but putting in minimum effort so work doesn’t take over your life.

It used to be called “slacking” but since social media rather than rigorous research now sets the agenda “quiet quitting” – or “being a lazy bastard” as I prefer to call it – is now a sociological movement.

“You’re not outright quitting your job, but you’re quitting the idea of going above and beyond,” TikTokker @zkchillin explained.

“You’re still performing your duties, but you’re no longer subscribing to the hustle culture mentality that work has to be your life – the reality is, it’s not and your worth as a person is not defined by your labour.”

Quiet quitting is a new phenomenon gaining traction online, writes Angela Mollard.

So far, so fine – no one should prioritise their job over their personal wellbeing and it’s time we dialled back on uncompensated hours to achieve greater work-life balance.

But within minutes QQ went from being a self-empowering catchphrase to the greatest workplace division since Karl Marx documented the conflict between the proletariat and the ruling class.

As one contributor to the discussion said: “Went from putting 110 per cent into everything I did to the absolute bare minimum required to keep me happy and employed.”

Others said they quiet quit after being denied a pay rise while some claimed low effort was a justifiable work ethic since no one went to their deathbed wishing they’d worked harder.

I’m dismayed and have had to examine whether it’s because I’m a striving Gen X who simply envies my younger laid-back colleagues.

But having taken a break from my desk to ponder the issue I’ve concluded that far from being an inspirational lifestyle choice, “quiet quitting” is an insidious practice which has ramifications for our relation­ships and our physical and mental health.

But quiet quitting may have larger ramifications.

Beyond the immediate concern that you could be operated on by a QQ surgeon or your kids could be educated by a QQ teacher, this isn’t just a workplace phenomenon.

It’s an ethos that’s creeping into relationships, laid bare during the pandemic when more time together forced couples to confront their malaise.

I know plenty going through the motions because they’re so stubborn and righteous and so bereft of curiosity for their partner’s feelings or experience after years of unresolved issues. Some will eventually split but their behaviour and attitudes are so entrenched – and we’re talking all genders here – they then take them into the dating arena where their cynicism and mistrust colours the experience for others.

The problem with quiet quitting is that it reveals both a childlike failure to “use your words” to improve a situation and a reluctance to under­stand what others may be feeling. It’s all very well to champion your “lived experience” and “speak your truth” but you evolve when welcoming perspectives other than your own.

What would have happened in Meghan and Harry had stuck it out and ironed out their differences with the royal family? Picture: Ben Stansall

You may, for instance, be overlooked at work because your boss is not mean but merely preoccupied with something else.

Likewise, your partner may be unaffectionate because they’re struggling with changes in their own body that go beyond feeling desirous of you.

Neither of those predicaments are resolved by silently (which inevitably turns into noisily) giving up.

As organisational psychologist Adam Grant pointed out this week, someone declaring “that’s just the way I am” can be a missed opportunity for growth.

“Personality is not your destiny,” he wrote on Instagram. “It’s your tendency. No one is limited to a single way of thinking, feeling or acting.”

My other problem with “quiet quitting” is that it robs you of a sense of competency and satisfaction that comes with maintaining standards of excellence.

Most of us flourish by doing and handling things well whether that’s a work project, a relationship disagreement or a personal pursuit.

Diplomacy, communication and consideration doesn’t just fix problems, it emboldens us mentally and soothes us physically.

Swimming champ Kyle Chalmers could be able to avoid giving in to quiet quitting too. Picture: Shaun Botterill

Yet when we give up or do the bare minimum or retaliate by acting in a passive-aggressive manner we’re not only denying our best to others, we’re compromising ourselves.

I wonder how the Duke and Duchess of Sussex might have fared had they sat down with key members of the royal family and a psychologist or mediator and broached their concerns. Megxit may have been avoided, differing agendas and needs might have been accommodated and the pain and mental fragility which both have revealed may have been prevented.

Likewise, Kyle Chalmers. He threatened to quit swimming after claiming on Instagram the media was painting him as a villain.

But what if he’d taken Ash Barty’s approach, as taught to her by her mindset coach Ben Crowe, and realised it’s our decisions, not the conditions, that determine our mindset, attitude and self-worth.

The last of the human freedoms, wrote Auschwitz survivor Victor Frankl, is to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.

Which is why when a boss or a partner finds themselves dealing with a quiet quitter, they may choose to quietly fire or divorce.