DOES IT WORK IRL?
How does giving a group of (deeply awkward) office workers the ability to ‘spit’ lead to corporate empowerment? One lyrically challenged WH staffer gives it a go
Can you rap your way to greater self-confidence?
I’m wearing loafers, a cream cashmere roll-neck and gold earrings. Not hoops, you understand, but nautical-inspired knots. I’m telling you this by way of explanation for the stomach-churning fear that the following words induce in me: ‘Rap what you feel.’ The woman egging me on is Lady Lykez – the rap artist-cum-confidence coach leading this empowerment-in-the-workplace workshop. ‘My name is Emily,’ I quip, my voice quivering like it did as a nine-year-old reading out my Keep Britain Tidy poem in assembly. ‘And I feel… uncomfortable.’
It’s this very discomfort that today’s workshop aims to address. Lykez co-founded this programme with award-winning public speaker Janet Tarasofsky, whose company – Speaking Rights – aims to equip employees with the tools they need to have more productive conversations. They started collaborating last year, and now tour the country leading workshops for groups of women. Their USP? Rapping. ‘It’s a natural way to express yourself,’ says Lykez – real name, Malaika Hendrickson. ‘It’s a way of bringing clarity to situations and understanding your emotions.’
Speaking Rights’ ethos is informed by the psychological theory that naming a thought or fear makes it more tangible, and therefore easier to tackle. It’s an idea backed by a cringe-inducing study in the journal Psychological Science, in which arachnophobes were confronted with a tarantula (shudder). Those who named the fear aloud (‘I am effing terrified of that eight-legged abomination’) reported a greater reduction in fear during subsequent encounters with arachnids than those who said something irrelevant to the experience, said nothing at all, or tried to alter their emotions.
That rap might be able to help me out at work is music to these acquiescent ears. I’d take a tarantula any day of the working week over the sound of my own voice saying ‘no’.
I’m a chronic yes-er; an ailment that, left unchecked, leads to a to-do list overflowing with other people’s errands.
Today’s task? Learning to manage my own – and others’ – expectations by declining unnecessary extra duties and pushing back on deadlines that are frankly unrealistic.
The duo break down the creative process into three steps: naming the issue (‘I hate not saying yes’), articulating the emotion that ensues (fear of being disliked), and solving it (expressing myself, Professor Green-style, to a boardroom of similarly awkwardlooking journalists from other magazines). Writing my lyrics is every bit as cathartic as I imagine keeping a diary to be. Having to find the words to articulate why I’m grappling with an issue forces some self-reflection. I unearth gripes I’d buried deeper than the memory of that poetry reading, and the verbal diarrhoea (forgive me) flows.
But the writing is the easy bit; it’s the performance part I’m dreading. Needless to say, the Preen-clad fashion writer to my right is left somewhat aghast at the line:
‘Yo, Susan, ya email interrupted my flow/ you could get ya own printing if I just say no.’ But I’m glowing when Lykez tells me that my delivery was ‘pretty good’. And if I can articulate, nay, rap about my feelings in front of actual humans, then refusing work feels like a comparative breeze.
Do I have an inner Eminem beneath my cream jumper? I suspect not. I won’t be appearing at a rap battle near you any time soon, nor will I be providing the midmeeting entertainment. But using rap as a tool to workshop my feelings lifted my mood, and I’ve got a better strategy for coping with Susan. And her printouts.