2 days ago
The Kiss Cam Moment And Our Rush To Moral Superiority
FOXBOROUGH, MA - JULY 30: Coldplay frontman Chris Martin performs at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, ... More Mass., July 30, 2016. The band stopped in Boston as part of their international "A Head Full of Dreams" tour. (Photo by Timothy Tai for The Boston Globe via Getty Images)
If you were judged solely by your worst moment, how would you fare?
Like millions around the world, I watched the now-viral "kiss cam" incident that captured Andy Byron, CEO of Astronomer, embracing someone who was clearly not his wife at a Coldplay concert.
The backlash was immediate and merciless.
The shame was public and punishing.
The judgment, swift and hours, the digital dogpile was mounting along with speculation swirled about his marriage, his leadership, and his character. The court of public opinion had rendered its verdict: guilty as charged, sentenced to eternal public shame.
Admittedly, my initial reaction was to laugh, then to cast judgment, and then to marvel at the stupidity of a clearly intelligent corporate leader ever thinking such blatantly morally wrong behavior would not catch up with him. Yet as I watched the feeding frenzy unfold, I couldn't help but wonder:
What if this moment reveals something deeper than two people's poor judgment? What does our collective response say about us?
There's no question that trust was betrayed and integrity was compromised. The consequences—for his marriage, his family, his company, and his own sense of self—will be profound. Public figures, especially leaders, are rightly held to higher standards. When you occupy positions of influence and responsibility, your actions carry weight far beyond your personal sphere.
But the speed and apparent glee with which the internet cast its collective stone should give us pause. Because while most of us will never be publicly exposed in such a dramatic fashion, we've all had moments we wouldn't want replayed on the world stage.
Words spoken in anger that we immediately regretted. Corners cut when no one was watching. Promises broken quietly. Trust betrayed in small but meaningful ways. Moments of weakness when our ego overrode our values. Instances of unkindness we'd rather forget.
This isn't about excusing infidelity or minimizing its devastating impact on families and relationships. Rather, it's about resisting our human tendency to rush toward moral superiority when someone else is caught in their fallibility.
The Pharisee in all of us wants to condemn the sinner in others. It feels good to point fingers at someone else's moral failure because it temporarily elevates our own sense of righteousness. Social media amplifies this instinct, creating digital mobs that descend with righteous fury on anyone who stumbles publicly.
Shame declares: "He is bad." Humility acknowledges: 'I, too, have fallen short and still have work to do on myself.'
As leaders, we face a choice in moments like these. We can join the chorus of condemnation, positioning ourselves as morally superior. Or we can use these moments as mirrors, examining our own integrity gaps with honest self-reflection.
The most effective leaders I've worked with share a common trait: they're ruthlessly honest about their own shortcomings. They understand that leadership isn't about perfection—it's about authenticity, accountability, and the courage to keep growing even when (especially when) it's uncomfortable.
How many of us have made decisions that compromised our values when we thought no one was watching? How many times have we rationalized small betrayals or convinced ourselves that "just this once" wouldn't matter? The only difference between us and someone caught on camera might be the size of the stage and the number of witnesses.
So yes, make your judgment if you must. Public figures should be held accountable for their actions, especially when those actions violate the trust placed in them. But don't miss the deeper invitation this viral moment offers: to conduct an audit on any infractions of your own integrity, including examining the part of you that needs to judge others and to honestly assess where you too might be falling short of the values you claim to live by.
We don't become better leaders or better humans by standing in judgment of others' failures. We become better by standing in the humble truth of our own fallibility. By owning our mistakes, acknowledging our blind spots, and committing anew to bridge the gap between the values we espouse and the actions we actually the CEO at the center of this storm, the path forward is clear but steep. Genuine accountability requires more than damage control or public relations spin. It demands honest self-examination, authentic apology to those harmed, and the hard work of rebuilding trust through consistent action over time.
But for the rest of us watching from the sidelines, the invitation is equally profound: to lead ourselves with the character and moral courage we want to see more of in others.
Integrity is the only path upon which we can never get lost. It's not about perfection—it's about alignment between our values and our actions, even when (especially when) no one is watching.
In a world quick to shame and slow to forgive, perhaps the most radical leadership act is to model a different way: one that acknowledges our shared humanity, holds space for growth and redemption, and focuses more energy on our own character development than on judging others' character deficits.
The kiss cam captured a moment of moral lapse and lousy judgment. But our response to it reveals something far more telling about who we are—and who we're choosing to become.
What moment of your own would you least want to see go viral? And what does your answer reveal about the distance between who you pretend to be and who you actually are?
Perhaps the most uncomfortable truth is this: we shame others not despite our own failings, but because of them. The fiercer our judgment, the deeper our fear of being exposed. The louder our condemnation, the more desperately we need to believe we're far better. But are we really? In a world where everyone has a camera on hand, we're all just one viral clip of a bad moment away from being the person everyone else gets to judge.
The question isn't whether you'll sometimes fall short of showing up with integrity. The question is whether you'll have the courage to face your failures with the same mercy you hope others might show you—if your worst moment ever goes Warrell is a leadership expert, keynote speaker and bestselling author of "The Courage Gap". More at
