The hum of the fluorescent lights always seemed amplified in these rooms, especially when the marker squeaked against the slick white surface. Chloe, barely six months out of uni, scribbled “Hyper-Personalized Wellness Pathways,” her voice a little too loud, brimming with an uncontainable energy that felt out of place. A dozen eyes, half-lidded, flickered towards her. The silence that followed was heavy, not thoughtful. Then Mark, twenty-four years into the game, cleared his throat. “Interesting, Chloe,” he offered, a smile not quite reaching his eyes. “What if… we just iterated on the ‘Enhanced Lifestyle Portal’ from last year? Maybe a new splash screen, a slightly different font for the tag, ‘Your Journey, Reimagined’?” The marker hovered. Everyone nodded. The energy drained out of the room like air from a punctured tire.

This scene, or some variation of it, plays out daily in countless conference rooms. We gather, we whiteboard, we “ideate.” But what are we really doing? We’re often performing creativity, not practicing it. We convince ourselves that by assembling a group, we’re harnessing collective genius. What we’re often doing instead is constructing a subtle, insidious cage for innovation.

The Myth of Collective Genius

I used to champion these sessions, believing in the undeniable power of collective thought. My office whiteboard was perpetually scribbled with ideation maps, and I prided myself on “facilitating” vibrant discussions. What I missed,