The Grammar of Power: How Privilege Shapes Professional Communication

When I got my first real job, I used to get so nervous about writing emails to my boss. I would run spellcheck, triple-check the grammar, read over it again and again to make sure my tone sounded professional and mature and not young and stupid. After painstakingly revising the email for 30 minutes, I would send it to my boss, who would respond right away with a message that looked like:

K let circle back nxt week bout it . thnks

Sent from my iPhone

I had another job where my bosses were heavy emoji users. I would send them super professional emails, trying so hard to overcompensate for how young I was, and they would respond back with a single sentence punctuated with multiple cryface emojis (😂). To this day, I think of that emoji as "corporate" since professionals love to use it for whatever reason. I'm used to it now, but a decade ago I thought it was so odd. I thought we were supposed to be professionals? And professionals are supposed to write with good grammar, right?

I've been thinking a lot about this ever since the latest Epstein document dump. People have been uploading screenshots of emails between Epstein and Elon Musk, Bill Gates, and Richard Branson. And besides all the upsetting and salacious details everyone is discussing, the thing that also surprises me is how bad everyone's grammar is. It reminded me so much of emails from bosses in my life: short, blunt (almost rude?), typos galore, weird formatting, bad grammar, "sent from iPhone", etc.

It's almost as if, once you get to a certain level of power, you no longer need to try. Because the only reason people spend time crafting a well-written email is to look powerful, mature, professional. But if you're already a powerful professional, I guess technically you don't need to make an effort. And if there's no other boss above you, you can do whatever you want.

It reminds me of another email leak, the 2014 Sony Pictures hack. While everyone ooed and ahhed over a bunch of executives talking crap about celebrities, the main thing I remember from that whole scandal was how sloppy and unprofessional emails from executives looked like. I remember reading over those emails with almost a sense of jealousy. If I had sent out an email with even a quarter of the typos they had, I probably would've lost my job.

I know words like "privilege" gets thrown around a lot, and I think we all understand monetary privileges and power privileges and race privileges, but grammar privilege? That's certainly a first.

This phenomenon reveals something deeper about workplace dynamics and social hierarchies. When you're starting out, every email is a performance—a way to prove you belong, that you're competent, that you deserve to be there. The pressure to appear professional through perfect grammar and formal tone is immense. But as people climb the ladder, that performance becomes optional. The rules that once constrained them no longer apply.

The double standard is striking. Entry-level employees face scrutiny for every comma splice and typo, while executives can fire off half-formed thoughts with impunity. It's not just about being busy or working from a phone—it's about the freedom that comes with established authority. When your position is secure, you can afford to be casual, even sloppy. The power dynamic is baked into the communication itself.

This grammar privilege extends beyond just typos. It's about tone, about being able to be blunt or even rude without consequences. It's about using emojis or slang in professional contexts when others would be judged for the same behavior. It's about the implicit message that the rules apply differently to different people based on their status.

What's particularly interesting is how this plays out in the tech industry, where many of the most powerful figures are known for their unconventional communication styles. The same people who built their empires on precision and attention to detail in code seem to abandon those standards in their written communication. Perhaps it's a form of signaling—showing that they're too important to bother with the niceties that constrain others.

The irony is that good communication skills are often cited as essential for career advancement. Yet the very people at the top seem to have transcended the need for them. It raises questions about what we're really valuing in professional settings and whose standards we're holding ourselves to.

For those still climbing the ladder, the lesson seems clear: master the rules before you can break them. But it also highlights the arbitrary nature of many professional standards. If the most successful people can communicate however they want, what does that say about the importance we place on "proper" grammar and professional tone?

Maybe the real privilege isn't just being able to write badly—it's knowing that you can, without it affecting how others perceive your competence or authority. It's the freedom to be yourself, unfiltered, because your position protects you from the judgments that others face.

In a world where first impressions and professional polish can make or break careers, this grammar privilege represents yet another invisible advantage that accumulates at the top. It's a reminder that the playing field is rarely level, and that the rules of the game change dramatically depending on where you stand.