Executives are rarely known for their self-irony. Many suspect it of weakening their toughness – or it is simply unknown to them as a way of behaving. Yet self-irony is the stealth master of leadership.

Stealth, because what passes for self-irony at the top is usually the smart-ass at work: cracking jokes, acting loose, committing to nothing. Self-irony lives elsewhere in executives – where their trickster lives. There, they can look at themselves with a smile, with the weight of “I know where my limit is, and I take it with elegance”.

What attracts Dada to self-irony? It works through a double movement of the mind: you take yourself seriously enough to risk something – and at the same time not so seriously that you can’t bear seeing yourself from the outside.

Self-irony connects you with:

Relief. The moment you name your own weakness before it catches up with you often brings an audible exhale – the strain of having something to hide drops away.

Tenderness towards yourself. Unlike self-criticism, self-irony carries a warm undertone. You look at your own quirk almost fondly, the way you smile at a clumsy dog.

Sovereignty / quiet pride. A low hum of “nothing can shake me” – the certainty that you don’t take yourself so seriously that a laugh at your own weakness could break anything.

Melancholy, sometimes. Under self-irony there is often a faint note of wistfulness – you laugh at something that truly troubles you. The irony is the wrapping, not the denial of the pain.

Belonging. Exposing yourself, even in play, invites others to come nearer. A sense of belonging arises, almost complicity – “I’m showing you a soft spot because I trust you”.

Defiance, sometimes. Self-irony can also be a small act of revolt against your own fallibility – a “yes, and? so what” towards the very thing that could wound you.

In short: self-irony is the point where your self-perception is sharp enough to see your own comedy – and stable enough to show it without breaking.