Imposter Feeling Has More Than One Face
By Sophie Makonnen
In my last blog, I explored a distinction that comes up often in coaching conversations: the difference between imposter feeling and a genuine lack of confidence. They can look identical from the outside, and even from the inside, but what drives each one is different, and so is what helps. If you missed it, it is worth a read before continuing here.
That blog ended with a brief mention of Dr. Valerie Young and her identification of five distinct patterns in how imposter feelings show up. I left it there intentionally. Imposter feeling is a term that comes up constantly, in articles, in conversations and in coaching sessions. And indeed, many of us have felt it at some point especially in our careers. Precisely because it gets referenced so easily and so often, I think it is worth looking at more closely, because as leaders or emerging leaders, those moments do not necessarily disappear with seniority or experience. Although they may become less frequent with time and experience. Young's framework gives it some real substance. That is what this blog is about.
Where the term comes from
The concept was first introduced in 1978 by psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes, who were studying high-achieving women. What they observed was striking: despite clear evidence of competence, these women could not internalise their success. They attributed their achievements to luck, timing, or the goodwill of others, and lived with a persistent fear of being found out. Clance and Imes called it the "impostor phenomenon."
The word syndrome was never part of their original research. It was not a clinical diagnosis then, and it is not one now. As the concept moved from academic literature into popular conversation, "imposter syndrome" became the shorthand, but the term has always been a loose fit. More recently, researchers and practitioners have moved toward "imposter feeling" or "imposter experience" precisely because those words are more accurate. They describe something that happens, not something you have.
The Takeaway
Dr. Valerie Young’s book, The Secret Thoughts of Successful Women, builds directly on the original research by Clance and Imes and takes it further. Her central argument is that imposter feelings are not random or uniform. They follow patterns, and those patterns are rooted in how a person defines competence.
That is the key insight in her writings. People who experience imposter feelings tend to hold themselves to a standard of competence that is, in practice, impossible to meet. The standard varies from person to person, but the effect is the same: no matter what they achieve, it is never quite enough to feel legitimate. Young identifies five distinct versions of that impossible standard. She calls them the five types. What follows is her framework.
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For the Perfectionist, competence means flawless performance. Anything less than perfect is seen as inadequacy, not a normal part of working at a high level. The standard is not excellence but rather faultlessness. The bar moves as soon as it is approached. This pattern is self-reinforcing because Perfectionists often produce strong work by investing great effort and care. Those results confirm the belief that pressure, overpreparation, and constant self-scrutiny made it possible. Success is credited to the process, not the person. So the cycle continues. A missed detail, a presentation that did not land perfectly, or a piece of work that was good but not exceptional can feel like exposure rather than ordinary variation in any professional's reality.
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For the Natural Genius, competence means ease. If you have to work hard, struggle, ask for help, or try more than once to get it right, that proves you are not truly capable. Genuinely talented people, in this view, understand things quickly and master skills without visible effort. The problem is this standard treats difficulty as evidence of inadequacy rather than a normal part of learning. When something takes time, when feedback is needed, or when a concept does not click immediately, the internal conclusion is not "this is how learning works." It is "someone who really belonged here would have got it faster." This pattern closely connects to what psychologist Carol Dweck calls a fixed mindset, the belief that intelligence and ability are innate rather than developed. What looks effortless from the outside is almost always the product of years of sustained work that is not visible. But for the Natural Genius, that hidden effort in others remains invisible, while their own struggle feels like the most telling fact about them.
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For the Expert, competence means knowing everything. Before speaking up, applying for a role, or putting yourself forward meaningfully, you need complete knowledge, the right credentials, and absolute certainty. There is always one more course to take, one more certification to earn, or one more area to study before feeling qualified. The threshold never arrives because knowledge is endless and someone always knows more. This pattern can be paralyzing for professionals in expertise-driven environments where the depth of knowledge is real and the bar for credibility feels high. The fear is not simply being wrong. It is being exposed as not knowing enough, overstating your qualifications, or taking space that should belong to someone more prepared. Young notes this pattern affects women disproportionately. Research shows women tend to apply for roles only when they meet nearly all requirements, while others move forward with a partial fit. The Expert is not waiting out of laziness or lack of ambition. She waits because she genuinely believes she is not ready yet and may have been waiting for years.
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For the Soloist, competence means doing it alone. Asking for help, seeking guidance, or relying on others to finish work feels like admitting inadequacy. If you were truly capable, you would not need support. This differs from the Perfectionist, who may resist delegating because she does not trust the work will meet her standards. The Soloist resists help because needing it feels like proof she does not belong. Collaboration, mentorship, and shared success can feel less legitimate, as if they dilute what was achieved. In environments with high pressure to prove yourself, this pattern can push people to take on impossible workloads rather than ask for what they need. Competence was never about doing everything alone. It was about knowing what was needed to succeed and having the clarity to ask for it.
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For the Superhuman, competence means excelling in every role simultaneously. It is not enough to perform well professionally. The standard extends across every dimension of life: career, family, relationships, community, health, and whatever else is on the list. Falling short in any one area feels like failure, even when the overall load would be unreasonable for anyone. This pattern is shaped in part by cultural expectations, particularly for women, where the ideal of doing everything and doing it all well has been normalized to the point where it barely gets questioned. The Superhuman does not necessarily set out to prove anything. The pressure often feels less like ambition and more like obligation.
What Valerie Young says shifts
Across all five types, the pattern is the same, even if the shapes are different. The Perfectionist needs flawlessness. The Natural Genius needs effortlessness. The Expert needs complete knowledge. The Soloist needs total self-sufficiency. The Superhuman needs to excel everywhere at once. None of these standards is achievable, not consistently, not sustainably, not by anyone.
Young's argument is not that you need to build more confidence. It is more precise than that. The work begins with examining the standard itself, naming it clearly, and recognising that it was never a fair measure of competence to begin with. That is harder than it sounds, because these standards often feel less like beliefs and more like facts. They have been carried for a long time, reinforced by environments that rewarded overwork, penalised asking for help, or made belonging feel conditional on constant proof.
Recognising which type resonates is not about labelling yourself. It is about understanding what you are actually up against.
For leaders and emerging leaders, this matters beyond the personal. How you define competence for yourself shapes how you show up, what you model for others, and what you inadvertently signal about what is expected.
A leader who cannot ask for help teaches her team that asking for help is a weakness.
A leader who equates competence with flawless execution creates an environment where people are afraid to take risks or admit when something is not working.
A leader who never feels expert enough hesitates to take a position, leaving her team without the clarity and direction they need.
A leader who measures herself by ease and speed may push others to perform effortlessly rather than support them through the real work of learning.
And a leader who is trying to do everything at once models’ overextension as the norm, making it harder for those around her to set limits without feeling they are falling short.
When you are in a leadership position, the standard you hold yourself to does not stay private. It travels.
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