This Is Going To Hurt: The Weaponization of Empathy in Marketing

There’s a narrative in marketing that goes unchallenged: That if you’re harsh, you can’t be empathetic. That if you’re angry, you’ve lost control. That if you speak plainly about what’s broken—you must be cold.

But the truth is:

Empathy isn’t what softens the blow. It’s what aims it.

Empathy isn’t silence.

It isn’t neutrality.

It isn’t approval disguised as kindness.

Empathy is precision.

It’s the difference between critique and cruelty.

It’s the reason I burn selectively—and unapologetically.

The Weaponization of Empathy

In marketing, “empathy” has been polished down to a buzzword.

It shows up on pitch decks, onboarding docs, and brand guidelines. It’s whispered in all-hands meetings as the reason we “don’t go too hard” in campaign copy. It’s thrown like a wet blanket over critique the moment someone steps out of line with the norm.

And it’s used—often by people in power—not to make room for humanity, but to shut down uncomfortable truths.

That’s what I mean when I say empathy has been weaponized.

It gets used to:

• Silence justified anger
• Dismiss valid critique as “negative”
• Shame people into being more “civil” when they’re trying to hold power accountable
• Protect brand reputation over worker protection
• Confuse discomfort with harm

But here’s the catch: Empathy—true empathy—was never about sparing people from discomfort. It was about understanding why the discomfort exists in the first place.

Weaponized empathy doesn’t ask:

• Who’s suffering in this system?
• Who’s being forced to stay quiet?
• Who’s being blamed for a problem they didn’t create?

Instead, it asks:

• “Can’t you be nicer?”
• “Is this tone really necessary?”
• “Couldn’t this have been said privately?”

And it never asks that when things are fine. It only shows up when someone dares to question the system out loud.

This is the same tactic that shows up in corporate PR, in community backlash suppression, and in boardrooms when a CMO finally calls bullshit and the CEO responds with: “That’s not very constructive.”

The goal of weaponized empathy isn’t to reduce harm. It’s to reduce visibility.

It reframes the conversation so that the emotional response becomes the story—not the harm that caused it.

The Double Standard No One Talks About

The same people who whisper “empathy” in Slack threads and publish soft-focus LinkedIn posts about “kindness in B2B”…

…are often the first to flinch when empathy does what it’s supposed to do:
Expose harm.
Hold power accountable.
Make the comfortable uncomfortable.

They say they want safety.
But what they actually want is insulation.

They say they want constructive dialogue.
But what they really mean is:
“Don’t say anything that might make me feel implicated.”

They praise empathy when it’s quiet, brand-safe, and easy to clap for.
But the moment it has an edge?
The moment it gets specific, public, or principled?

Suddenly they have a tone problem with it.

That’s not empathy.

That’s narcissism dressed up in virtue language.

If your empathy doesn’t extend to the people harmed by the system—If it only activates when your peers are criticized, but not when buyers are misled or workers are exploited—then it’s not empathy at all.

It’s PR.

And nowhere is this clearer than when the people in charge start cloaking reality in a posture of reluctant benevolence—like this recent post from Pavilion’s CEO, Sam Jacobs:

“If the way the world works is deeply upsetting to you. Get in line… If you’re hating on that, talk to your shrink.”

That’s not leadership.
That’s derision with a badge on it.

The people pointing out what’s broken aren’t the threat. They’re the audit.

When someone builds a business on the premise of protection, then turns around and mocks the people who don’t accept systemic dysfunction as destiny—that’s not empathy.

That’s gaslighting.

What That Looks Like in Practice

• A marketer publicly questions unethical data practices.
  • The response? “You’re being inflammatory.”
• A designer calls out a toxic agency model.
  • The pushback? “You should be more supportive of your peers.”
• A former employee documents their experience with systemic bias.
  • The response? “This feels like a personal attack.”
• A founder publicly praises psychological safety.
  • Then privately warns a junior employee not to speak up again.

I’ve seen it.
You probably have too.

That’s not a difference in values.
That’s what cowardice looks like behind a keyboard.

In each case, the tone becomes the scapegoat.

Not the issue.
Not the system.
Not the behavior.

This is how critique gets miscast as cruelty. And it’s how cowardice gets miscast as care.

Empathy becomes a tool for control. Not connection.

And it has one job: to protect the structure from scrutiny by shaming the people who dare to speak.

So let’s say it clearly:

If your version of empathy only activates when someone challenges power—then it isn’t empathy.

It’s fragility, dressed up in virtue.

True empathy sits with discomfort. It doesn’t run from it.

And it doesn’t confuse silence with kindness. It knows the difference between:

• Peace and avoidance
• Critique and cruelty
• Clarity and attack

Empathy isn’t scared of fire.
It just makes sure the fire lands where it should.

The Emotional Cost of Ethical Critique

There’s a reason most people don’t speak up.

Not because they don’t see what’s broken.
Not because they don’t care.

But because they know what it will cost them if they do.

If you’ve ever called out a vendor publicly…
If you’ve ever questioned leadership in a meeting…
If you’ve ever written a teardown of a system that others profit from…

Then you already know:

There’s a weight that comes with it.

Not just the reputational risk.
Not just the backlash.
Not just the DMs.

The emotional weight.

The quiet, internal violence of constantly having to decide:
Is this the hill?
Do I have the energy?
Will anyone even care?

You second-guess.
You edit yourself.
You soften what should be sharp.

Because you’ve been taught that kindness means restraint.
That clarity is arrogance.
That critique must be laced with disclaimers, or it doesn’t count as professional.

But here’s what no one tells you:
Restraint has a body count too.

Not physical, but moral.

Every time you bite your tongue for the sake of politeness, someone else pays for that silence.

And eventually, you start to forget what your full voice even sounds like.

This is the slow erosion of ethical conviction.

The slow draining of the courage it takes to burn intentionally—instead of performatively or not at all.

And yet…

Those who do it right, who speak clearly—with receipts and context and discipline rarely get rewarded for it.

They get misunderstood. Misquoted. Talked about in Slack threads by the same people who quietly agree but won’t say so publicly.

It’s lonely.
It’s exhausting.
It’s necessary.

Because the truth is:
Empathy is not just emotional intelligence. It’s emotional labor.
It’s the discipline of feeling everything—and still aiming precisely.

And the people who do that work?
They don’t need applause.

They just need not to be confused with the cowards.

Rules of Engagement: The Difference Between Fire and Spectacle

Let’s be honest: We live in a teardown economy.

Critique has become content.
Callouts have become currency.

And dragging someone on LinkedIn has become a growth strategy masquerading as ethics.

But there’s a chasm between burning it down and lighting people up for attention.

The first is a scalpel.

The second is a molotov cocktail lobbed blindly into a crowd.

So if you want to build a reputation as someone who tells the truth ethically—without turning critique into a sport—here are the rules of engagement:

1. Understand Before You Attack
If you haven’t read the full context, traced the links, or looked under the hood, you have no business commenting publicly.

Do not critique what you’ve failed to fully understand.

That’s not thought leadership.
That’s ego dressed as insight.

2. Punch Up, Not Down
If your fire is aimed at interns, junior marketers, or people without power—you’re not critiquing, you’re bullying.

The people building broken systems are not always the ones executing them. Aim accordingly.

3. Ask First—Fire Later
Before you light the match, ask the hard questions. Was this malicious or misinformed? Intentional or inherited?

When in doubt, clarify privately first.
Then if the problem persists, escalate publicly with precision.

4. Attack the System, Not the Person
Tearing down a lie is not the same as tearing down the liar. Critique behaviors. Call out tactics. Expose systems.

But don’t dehumanize the people inside them—especially when they may be trapped, not complicit.

5. Own Your Fire
If you’re going to go public, don’t hide behind vague subtweets or “some people” language. Say what you mean. Stand by your words.

If it’s worth burning, it’s worth putting your name on it.

6. Accept the Consequences
If you burn correctly, you will still lose followers. Still get whispered about. Still have people label you “too intense.”

That’s the price of clarity.

Pay it—and keep walking.

When Discomfort Is the Point (And How to Tell When It’s Working)

Let’s stop pretending that discomfort is a flaw in the process.

Discomfort is the signal.
It’s what tells you the fire landed.
It’s what separates performative feedback from actual impact.

If your message doesn’t shake something loose—then it probably wasn’t aimed high enough.

But here’s where it gets tricky:

In an industry obsessed with “safety,” any discomfort gets framed as harm.
And any attempt to hold systems accountable gets framed as aggression.

So here’s the truth most people won’t say out loud:

If your critique feels good to everyone, it probably didn’t mean anything.

Because when you:

• Expose how a martech vendor manipulates attribution
• Challenge a respected figure’s monetization practices
• Publicly dismantle a broken demand gen model

Someone is going to feel it.

Someone’s going to panic.
Someone’s going to send screenshots to their exec team.
Someone’s going to accuse you of being "mean," "negative," or "toxic."

That doesn’t mean you failed.

That means you found the fracture.

Discomfort—when rooted in truth and delivered with precision—is not a side effect.

It’s the point.

How to Tell When It’s Working

When discomfort lands well, here’s what happens:

• The right people feel called in, not just called out
  • Example 1: The entire Pavilion army thinking I'm picking on Udi without actually looking at the article first.
  • Example 2: Adam Robinson's bootlickers trying to discredit me in my comments with so much as a tenuous grasp on the English language.
• You start to see silence break in places you didn’t expect
  • Example: Posts about my work from people outside marketing are popping up left & right.
• Your inbox fills with “I’ve been thinking this for years” messages
  • Example: I'm not sharing my DM's, but they're there. The Signal Drop will reveal soon enough.
• The people who most benefited from the lie start shifting tone—or disappearing altogether
  • Example 1: Adam Robinson now farms me for engagement (receipts available upon request), ironically something he accused me of doing without realizing what my strategy actually was.
  • Example 2:
  • Example 3: Chris Walker is literally a life coach now.

And maybe most importantly?

You don’t need to scream.
Because the fire speaks for itself.

The goal isn’t to make people comfortable.
The goal is to make them confront the truth.

And if you do it right?

That confrontation echoes far louder than any apology ever could.

Final Transmission

Empathy isn’t what holds you back.

It’s what lets you aim better.
Cut sharper.
Burn cleaner.

It’s not the absence of anger.
It’s the refusal to let anger rot into cruelty.

This piece was never written for the ones hiding behind “civility.”
It wasn’t written for the ones who flinch when power is questioned, who think “tone” is more important than truth.

It was written for the ones who feel it.

The ones who’ve sat in silence while watching incompetence get promoted and bravery get punished.

The ones who’ve watched the word “empathy” get used to defend broken systems instead of the people hurt by them.

The ones who know that being kind and being honest are not mutually exclusive—but that sometimes, being honest is the kindest thing you can do.

So no, this won’t feel good to everyone.

It wasn’t supposed to.

It’s supposed to hurt.

Because the things it exposes were designed to go untouched.To survive off silence. To thrive in the comfort of the status quo.

But we’re not here for comfort anymore.

We are here to see clearly.
To speak precisely.
To burn—with empathy, not in spite of it.

And when they call you harsh for doing that—which is 100% going to happen...

Just grin,
wink at them...

And reload.