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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.
Do you fantasise about leaving your work problems at the end of the day? No more dwelling over a thoughtless comment from a colleague, returning to emails after dinner, or fretting over a knotty problem while trying to sleep. How about being unencumbered by personal problems between nine and five? No worries about ageing parents, anxious teens, or a grumpy spouse, allowing complete focus on finishing that report or clinching that deal.
In the post-pandemic blur of hybrid working, this seems like a fever dream. It is also the premise of Apple TV+’s dystopian workplace satire Severance. Fictional employees of a mysterious corporation, Lumon, undergo a procedure to split their consciousness into two: the Innie (work self) and the Outie (personal self). The central character, Mark, takes this unusual condition of employment to escape the relentless grief that follows the death of his wife.
Fans and critics have welcomed the show’s return after a three-year hiatus. The FT described it as “superlative”. And with return-to-office mandates stiffening, it has laid bare one of the most pressing dilemmas facing workers and employers: do we embrace the blur of work and life, or push for clearer boundaries between the two?
Some workers crave the latter. Many years ago, I found myself flatlined by misery, a bit like Severance’s Mark, but then I’d sit at the FT’s online newsdesk and think about nothing but rolling news. It sounds a bit sad but it was also a kind of magic.
Others are adept at creating a distinction, like the male escort I once interviewed, whose clients were men but dated women in his private life. He drew parallels with military personnel who would fight in the front lines and return home to cuddle their children. In a previous workplace, one colleague remains memorable for two distinct personalities. At work, he was buttoned up and sensible; outside, garrulous and fun. If you tried to continue conversations from the night before in the office, he would shut down. I soon learned to separate his work persona from his good-time one. People like these, who thrive on setting life apart from employment, make nonsense of the philosophy of bringing your authentic self to work.
The Victorian era normalised work-life separation, points out Sam Waterman, assistant professor of English at Northeastern University. As industrialisation cleaved the workplace from home, a domestic sphere overseen by women became a romanticised space for men to retreat and restore themselves.
This split fuelled the concept of the ideal worker, available full-time, with few distractions, from their 20s until retirement. According to Joan C Williams, former director of the Center for WorkLife Law, this functioned “fairly well through the 1960s, until women began entering the formal workforce in greater numbers”. During the pandemic the illusion of separate spheres dissolved as we saw children on Zoom, and staff found they rather liked putting the washing on between calls.
In truth, individual work-life balance now often boils down to personality type, whether you are a so-called integrator or segmentor. Some people like an office uniform distinct from weekend wear; others opt for smart-casual, suitable for both meetings and Saturday brunch. Possibly this changes throughout a lifetime.
Work-life integration is often touted by work zealots, whose work is not just a salary but also their hobby — and sometimes their entire personality. “I think the whole concept of work-life balance was invented by people who hate the work that they do,” James Watt, co-founder of beermaker BrewDog, recently posted on Instagram. “If you love what you do, you don’t need work-life balance, you need work-life integration.” This from a man whose employees had alleged a toxic workplace, accusing him of a “cult of personality” and pursuing “growth at all costs”. The post was taken down.
Over a decade ago, carmaker VW announced it would shut down emails outside office hours, prompting some to complain about a lack of flexibility. Some people like to pick up their kids from school, then log back on after they are tucked up in bed.
It may be, as Waterman has argued, that Severance, with its impossible separation between home and work, speaks to a yearning for a sharper boundary. That the procedure is sinister, deployed by a mysterious corporation, and prone to glitches, may show it is neither flawless nor desirable.
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