Book review: When language grows larger than reality

Review of Mikkel Toxvig. 2025. Magt og overmod – Om sprogets storhedsvanvid i ledelse og arbejdsliv [Power and Hubris – On the Megalomania of Language in Leadership and Working Life.] Copenhagen: Samfundslitteratur.

The inflation in grocery prices in 2025 has probably caused more than a few of us to place the minced beef back in the freezer section. Perhaps sometimes with the thought lingering in the back of our minds: whether the growing gap between those who have more than enough and those who don’t have much at all might sow the seeds of aggression; whether we are growing too far apart. Inflation – and the consequences of inflation – is also the subject of Mikkel Toxvig’s book Magt og overmod [Power and Hubris]. However, it is not economic inflation, but linguistic inflation that concerns Toxvig. It is, for instance, a car that has been rebranded as “a sustainable mobility solution” (p. 26 of the book), or water marketed as “a portable lifestyle liquid at an affordable price” (ibid.). With an eye for both the comic and the tragic, the book shows how words lose their value because they are used too much, too grandly, and too quickly – and how the consequences of this use affect our shared sense of reality and our trust in one another.

When products in “Løvens hule” [~Dragon’s Den] are marketed as “unique,” even though they are in practice just standard white-label goods from China, the tension between language and reality becomes clear. This example from the opening of Power and Hubris illustrates the book’s core theme: the shift in language from communicating clearly and precisely to primarily selling, persuading, and generating impact. In situations where language once served as a tool for mutual understanding, it is now used to attract attention. Toxvig describes this development as both a linguistic and mental inflation that permeates much of our text culture. It manifests in job applications and job listings, on LinkedIn profiles, in corporate descriptions, advertisements, brand narratives, leadership foundations, values, mission statements, visions, strategies, job titles, and internal policies. Symptoms of this development include the overuse of superlatives, the explosion of job titles containing “lead” and “manager,” and words like “historic” and “epic” being applied to events or products that are neither. Terms such as “narcissist,” “toxic,” “sociopath,” “red flags,” and “love bomber” (p. 9) show how everyday language increasingly borrows from therapy and psychology—used without regard for their clinical origins. Or it may be diagnostic terms like “depressed,” “autistic,” “schizophrenic,” “manic,” and “OCD” (ibid.). Toxvig locates the cause of this development in what he calls a “persuasion economy” (p. 11), where attention has become a central form of currency. Hubris, in his view, is no longer considered a vice but a virtue.

This linguistic development is therefore closely tied to a capitalist logic, in which growth is perceived as a natural law, and local, self-interest-maximizing (p. 12) strategies dominate. Companies are expected to extract resources, outcompete others, and expand continually. This hubristic, maximalist language (ibid.) functions both as a symptom and a driver—but paradoxically also as a barrier, because it prevents timely and critical ideas from gaining traction. Toxvig highlights as the most serious consequence of this inflationary use of language that facts, truth, and a shared reality are undermined, and that our ability to distinguish between them becomes weakened.

The book focuses on leadership and organizations, based on the idea that leaders bear a particular responsibility—and have greater opportunities than many others—to change linguistic practices. However, in a subordinate clause, companies are also compared to people more generally, and despite the author’s explicit framing of the book’s scope and target audience, its message appears relevant to a broader group of readers. The world of education, for example, is not spared either (cf. p. 75). This brings to mind a more than ten-year-old analysis by Togeby (2014), titled “Bullshit in Strategic Plans.”[i]

Following this initial diagnosis, the book is structured into four main chapters, each organized around a mythological figure: Icarus, Sisyphus, Narcissus, and Pygmalion.
The Icarus chapter analyzes the causes behind the hubristic language. Next, the Sisyphus section presents a series of concrete linguistic examples intended to sharpen the reader’s linguistic awareness. In the Narcissus chapter, the consequences of the overuse of this grandiose language are highlighted. Finally, the Pygmalion chapter outlines the book’s proposed solution: an ethically grounded form of communication that seeks to restore the connection between words, actions, and responsibility.

Don’t fly higher than your wings can carry you

In the book’s first main chapter, The Hunt for the Unique, Toxvig draws on the myth of Icarus, which he presents as a “master plot” for a wide range of stories and expressions of hubris: “Don’t fly higher than your wings can carry you”; “the higher you fly, the harder you fall”; “pride comes before a fall” (p. 16). Are we, then, back to “Danmarks trøst” [“Denmark’s comfort”] (“To remain on the ground serves us best”, Grundtvig, 1820)? To Pontoppidan’s clumsy eagle (Pontoppidan Ørneflugt, 1899)? To the Law of Jante? The latter is directly referenced by Toxvig himself (p. 42), though he importantly sees the current linguistic development as a reversal of that logic. In today’s persuasion economy, attention has become a scarce resource that can be directly converted into monetary value. Persuasion is no longer a means to an end—but the end goal of communication itself. This shift is explained through society’s transformation from an industrial to a service-based economy, the increasing length of education, and a labour market in which symbolic and communicative value plays an ever-larger role. The result is what Toxvig terms a kind of “ultimate constructivism” (p. 19): reality is constructed individually and subjectively through “an increasingly extraordinary language” (p. 18).

Building on Andreas Reckwitz’s analysis of the society of singularities[ii], Toxvig describes how companies choose to present themselves as unique: They formulate their “unique organizational value proposition” and equip their products with “unique selling points” (p. 19). Cultural value is increasingly linked to singularity—to what is exciting, unusual, and distinctive. Ostensibly, this stands in opposition to mediocrity and conformity, but in reality, companies end up looking remarkably alike in their attempts to appear different. Toxvig illustrates this shared uniqueness and persuasion-based communication through terms such as “social selling,” “employee advocacy,” and “thought leadership” (p. 21)—expressions that, in their non-Danish form, seem doubly wrapped in abstraction. Companies no longer simply offer products, but rather value packages infused with “aesthetic”, “narrative”, “playful”, “creative”, and “ethical” immateriality (pp. 22–23). In this context, abbreviations like DEI, ESG, and CSR (p. 23) also become noteworthy. While the critique of such acronyms as tools that dilute responsibility, encourage compliance, and above all create alienation is not new, earlier analyses have focused on academic or political language[iii]. Toxvig, by contrast, describes a shift from an “economy of scale” to an “economy of speed” (p. 23ff.): a “neocratic” celebration of change, innovation, and iconic momentum (ibid.). Slogans like Salling Group’s “Better Every Day” (p. 24) or Nike’s “Dream Crazy” (p. 25) are given as examples of a language in which movement and ambition have become measures of success in and of themselves.

Working like Sisyphus

In the book’s second main chapter—the example chapter—titled Linguistic Inflation, Toxvig takes his point of departure in the myth of Sisyphus. Once again, a myth of hubris and nemesis. However, the transfer of the myth’s logic to contemporary language development is less direct than in the preceding chapter framed by Icarus. First, the nemesis element is employed: the Sisyphean labour becomes a metaphor for a kind of modern knowledge work in which activity and busyness replace progress and meaning. Toxvig illustrates this with real job advertisements filled with the genre’s clichéd promises of growth, responsibility, and impact—but which in practice often mask repetitive tasks lacking clear purpose. He supplements this with personal experiences from organizational life, describing it as “a quiet exercise in being busy with nothing” (p. 34). Pseudo-work breeds pseudo-language—and perhaps vice versa.

More clearly developed is the chapter’s application of the hubris metaphor, which is communicatively aligned almost 1:1 with “bullshit.” Referring to an essay by Harry G. Frankfurt on bullshit[iv], Toxvig distinguishes between telling the truth, lying, and bullshitting. While lying still relates to truth, bullshit is defined solely by its intended effect. The tension between true and false dissolves, and language becomes a tool for gaining attention, momentum, or sympathy (pp. 38–39). Importantly, Toxvig emphasizes that bullshit is not a binary concept (p. 39), but rather one that demands a graded, context-sensitive understanding. He draws attention to lists of “hate words” from the Danish Association of Lawyers and Economists (Djøf)—terms like ”brændende platform” [burning platform], ”tænke ud af boksen” [think outside the box], ”aligne” [align], ”disrupte” [disrupt], ”vækste” [scale], ”benchmarke” [benchmark], ”committe” [commit], ”italesætte” [verbalize], and ”genbesøge” [revisit] (p. 35)—noting that while these may in some contexts seem “silly and alienating,” in others they may actually appear “clear and comprehensible” (ibid.). But isn’t it necessary to differentiate linguistically here? For instance, between a word like “commit,” which merely dons the cloak of bullshit in place of “forpligte” (“to commit/obligate”), and terms like “italesætte” [verbalize] or “genbesøge” [revisit], which might instead represent a kind of linguistic economy, adding new functionality? (Cp.:“We talk so much about x that a discourse is beginning to form” vs. “We verbalize x”; “We are reviewing x in order to revise it” vs. “We revisit x”)

Although the book’s concise format—128 short pages—naturally limits the level of detail, this chapter offers a wealth of illustrative examples. These are organized into six categories, each seen as contributing to the phenomenon of linguistic inflation:

1. “Pompous language” – once again, the inflation of job titles is addressed, such as through abbreviations like C[X]O (p. 41), and the overuse of affective signal adjectives like “wild” (ibid.);
2. Euphemisms – a list ranging from “challenges” (for problems) to “value park” (for landfill site) (pp. 43–44);
3. Hurrah words – terms like “results” and “passion” (p. 46);
4. Clichés, such as “we’re paving the road as we drive on it” (p. 47), which, as Toxvig insightfully notes, in all their “creative stagnation” (p. 48), often serve to shut down conversation. This category also includes sports metaphors, especially those evoking power and victory;
5. Presuppositions – for example: “How do you make it known that you’re proud of your job?”;
6. Buzzwords, including terms like “resilience,” “performance,” “purpose,” “empowerment” (p. 53), and “onboarding” (p. 54).

The strengthening of linguistic awareness—formulated as part of the aim of the second chapter—seems particularly necessary when it comes to the so-called “hurrah words.” In comparison to the pompous, euphemistic, clichéd, presupposition-loaded formulations and trendy buzzwords, the hurrah words often lack the salience or conspicuousness that would prompt language users to stop and take notice. Toxvig explains the disenchantment of words like “responsibility,” “openness,” “respect,” and “quality” in the following way: “But communicating such words tends to isolate them, turning them into banalities that are trumpeted as if they were profound insights.” (p. 46) The idea that words lose their power when used too frequently, too casually, or too routinely—like when “credibility” is printed on a company’s coffee mug—has a long tradition. One can trace it, for instance, to religious prohibitions against speaking the name of the deity, lest it lose its potency. But does it really? Some might argue that we don’t object to this particular kind of bullshittery—namely, the overuse of hurrah words—because someone still trusts that certain words have an inviolable integrity that can withstand any amount of misuse. As long as the words are present, they offer us the opportunity to learn them, to explore their semantics: How much mockery and ridicule can “openness” endure? How resilient is “respect” if we invoke it 24/7? Can “excellence” hold up under pressure? Etc.

Narcissus and Echo

The book’s third main chapter, which deals with the consequences of linguistic inflation, draws on the myth of Narcissus—and also Echo. The two serve as metaphors for, respectively, organizations that, through their self-aggrandizing communication, turn inward and close themselves off, and organizations that, in their insistence on uniqueness, become “echoists,” merely copying each other’s language, structures, and strategies. This mythological framing adds nuance to the book’s central thesis, but it cannot quite dispel the sense of repetition. The chapter’s real contribution lies less in its promised focus on consequences, and more in the additional, well-reasoned explanatory frameworks and the wealth of new examples of inflationary language.

To explain the paradoxical pursuit of uniqueness through imitation, Toxvig draws on neo-institutional theory and the concept of isomorphism. Neo-institutional theory highlights how organizations adapt to their environment not in order to become more efficient, but in order to appear legitimate and trustworthy. As a result, organizations come to resemble one another through isomorphism, which may be coercive (due to external pressures and dependencies), mimetic (through imitation of successful models), or normative (through professional standardization via education and networks). When conflicts arise between goals and means, organizations may adopt a strategy of decoupling (p. 66)—projecting one message externally while behaving differently in practice. Implicit in this is a moral contrast: one version is ethically right, the other ethically questionable.

The examples given of the objectification of employees do not necessarily reflect new forms of communication: “frontline staff,” “FTEs,” “followers,” “subordinates,” “resources,” “workforce,” “cogs,” “tiny pieces in the bigger game” (p. 81). Nevertheless, they serve as important evidence in Toxvig’s argument, bringing to light patterns in organizational language that must be exposed in order to foster increased awareness and meaningful debate.

In a concluding summary, the chapter lists the consequences of inflationary language use: “homogenized companies, damaged credibility, weakened trust, enforced positivity, a disconnect between words and actions, an undermined view of humanity, increased skepticism and cynicism, accusations of bullshit, paralyzed employees, risk of scandal, a language detached from reality, and organizations in danger of hollowing themselves out from within” (p. 84). These are important cautionary notes, yet they risk losing their impact because, without clear attribution or a concrete addressee, they appear generalized and unanchored. Without specific actors or a clearly defined perspective, the consequences become harder to relate to—and an otherwise compelling critique loses some of its edge.

The ideal of Pygmalion

The book’s final chapter aims to tie together the threads of the preceding analyses and look toward possible ways forward. The framing here is the myth of Pygmalion—the sculptor who falls in love with his own creation, which is then brought to life by Aphrodite. The myth serves as a metaphor for how organizations create idealized self-images, and then begin to act as though these images were already real. This is again illustrated with excellent linguistic examples, such as Center of Excellence and Customer Success Department (p. 89). Toxvig also points to the Pygmalion effect in real-life practice—for example in recruitment, where companies seek candidates who confirm their self-image rather than challenge it. Still, it feels somewhat forced that Toxvig tries to fit Pygmalion into the hubris–nemesis framework. The model comes across as asserted rather than argued—both in relation to the Pygmalion myth and to the book’s overall reasoning, where it ends up feeling like an unnecessary repetition. The happy ending of the mythic material could instead have been more clearly reoriented toward the chapter’s title and promise: From Hubris to Ethics—a hopeful and constructive closing note.

As in the previous chapters, chapter 4 also contains valuable insights. Toxvig, for instance, addresses the concept of “generational leadership” (p. 91). While this may be more of a critique of practice than of language per se, his reminder that it is a social construct with little empirical validity—but significant potential to alienate generations from one another—is both relevant and important. The chapter also makes a sympathetic and timely case for a nuanced concept of power—one that is relational and morally binding, rejecting Machiavellian war metaphors and conquest-driven thinking. Furthermore, the critique of the culture of urgency is well placed—not just the striking, resonant phrase itself, but the entire practice it refers to: autocratic leaders, anxious employees, and incentive structures focused unilaterally on goals. At times, the author himself comes close to employing the very kind of language he otherwise critiques. This applies, for example, to formulations like “from zero-sum constructions to positive-sum constructions” (p. 104) and his citation and dissemination of expressions such as “dullopcalypse” (p. 98) and “wind tunnel marketing” (ibid.). Is the rhetorician here seduced by fascinating words himself? Nevertheless, the book’s closing page stands out as a list of clear and memorable linguistic reminders—a kind of mental checklist for our inner noticeboard:

“minimalism over maximalism; quality over quantity; accuracy over speed; precision over fast profits; creativity over boredom; community over self-interest; originality over imitation; shared reality over subjective truth; realism over superficial idealism; integrity over pure persuasion; clarity over clickbait; long-term credibility over short-term impact; decency over attention.” (p. 117)

Conclusion

A well-written and – in the best sense – quick read, this book presents a consistently persuasive argument supported by a rich body of examples. However, it tends to offer a somewhat one-sidedly negative reading of the myths it draws upon. After all, we are fascinated by Icarus not because he falls, but because he dares to reach for the sun. And Sisyphus, too, might evoke not just futility but Finnish “sisu” – perseverance and grit – or even the final line of Camus’s 1942 essay: “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” Perhaps it is an entirely different mythological framework that is needed for the critique developed in Magt og overmod. One might think, for instance, of the myth of Erysichthon, who fells Demeter’s sacred tree and is struck by such an insatiable hunger that he ultimately devours himself.

[i] Ole Togeby (2014): Pragmatisk analyse. I: Helle Petersen (red.): Organisationskommunikation. Samfundslitteratur. 21-47.

[ii] Andreas Reckwitz (2019): Singulariteternes samfund – modernitetens strukturændringer. Copenhagen: Hans Reitzels Forlag.

[iii] E.g. Klemperer, V. (1947). LTI – Notizbuch eines Philologen. Stuttgart: Reclam. + Pörksen, U. (2016). Wissenschaftssprache – Umgangssprache – Politikberatung. In: H. Schnabel (Ed.), Sprache und Politikberatung (pp. 235–250). Berlin: De Gruyter. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110692716-022

[iv] Frankfurt, H. G. (2005). On Bullshit. Princeton University Press.