And as she tells me, her strategies are not just a profit-chasing endeavour. “I believe that it is the answer to alienation from labour.” Yup. That work-based ennui that most of us feel from time to time could well be a thing of the past if we all adopted a radically candid mentality. “With fundamental human decency, with good relationships, we can make the working environment somewhere that we all want to be,” she says.

Radically awkward

I’m not so sure. As my attempt with the editors exemplifies, I just don’t have the gall to nit-pick with those in charge. “The single most important thing you can do is solicit feedback. Whenever you’ve finished a meeting, give the other person an opportunity to tell you how you could have improved,” says Scott. After a conversation about the best way to cut down a tricky paragraph with production editor Gareth, I dip my toe in by soliciting his assessment.

“How could I have been more useful to you?” I venture. He pauses. I persist, “Anything I could have done better? To be more... helpful?”

He turns back to his emails before muttering, “You’re being weird and I don’t know what you want from me.” I’m tempted to congratulate him on this inadvertent radical candour, but I continue: “I can see you’re feeling uncomfortable, but if there’s anything I could improve on...” My palms have begun to sweat. I’m also feeling incredibly awkward. “Alex, you were fine,” he says, “I don’t like this.” I roll my chair away.

The book says that praise or criticism should take place in an informal setting, while walking between meetings, or casually passing by someone’s desk. That way, they’re likely to be more receptive than if you officially sat them down. I wonder whether this is where I went wrong, and consider following Gareth as he goes to make a tea, but think better of it.

Throughout the day, my success is limited. I’m shooed away from a colleague’s desk after offering an impromptu bit of praise (“Your briefs are always really well written and precise,” I offer. “It is my job,” she deadpans.) Another colleague asks for an update on a piece, at which point I get an opening to offer my first critique. “The way you asked just then was a bit brusque,” I say. My face is hot and I can barely look in his direction. “Well get your work in on time then,” he shoots back.

Radical candour presupposes – and encourages – a certain level of intimacy between teammates. It’s a noble enough endeavour; Scott intends us all to build the kind of robust, caring relationships that mean giving critical or positive feedback isn’t such a huge deal.

Whether the best use of these relationships is in being constantly candid, I’m not so sure. At the close of my radically candid day I realise I’ve had more uncomfortable conversations in eight hours than in my entire three years at Stylist. On paper, it makes sense but as Steph points out, even though she works in an office that encourages candour, she keeps plenty to herself. “In practice, sometimes it’s just not worth putting someone in a bad mood.”

“God, you really are a f*cking idiot Mary”: Should you put ‘radical candour’ to the test at work?