You Can Teach Skills. You Cannot Teach Attitude

The entertainment industry spends a great deal of time talking about skills: what people know, the equipment they can operate, how fast they work, and how much experience they have. Skills matter. They always will. They help people progress, deliver results, and earn recognition.

But skills alone never tell the full story.

Most people are willing to learn if they are genuinely interested. When someone cares about what they are doing, learning tends to follow naturally. They ask questions, they pay attention, they stay engaged. In that sense, interest and attitude are closely linked. Skills are teachable because they are measurable and repeatable. Attitude is different. It shifts with context, pressure, and environment, and it is far harder to define.

When I chose to work in the entertainment industry, it began on stage and gradually moved backstage. That shift revealed something I had not expected: camaraderie, shared pressure, and the quiet satisfaction of building something together. Over the years, I have worked with highly skilled, deeply committed people whose intentions were good, but whose behaviour was not always easy to work alongside. Sometimes that came from passion, sometimes from poor communication, and sometimes simply from different ways of approaching the same problem.

This is where the distinction matters. Skills can be taught, tested, and improved. Attitude is shaped by surroundings and relationships. It is not fixed, but it is less predictable, and over time, it has a greater influence on how teams function.

The problem with judging attitude

One reason attitude is so difficult to talk about is that it is rarely clear-cut.

In this industry, competence matters. Sometimes it matters more than comfort. We work in environments where mistakes can be dangerous, so standards exist for good reasons. Some of the most capable people I have worked with were also the most demanding, not because they were difficult by nature, but because they cared deeply about getting things right.

In those situations, what one person experiences as a “bad attitude” may actually be high standards, a low tolerance for risk, or an urgency shaped by experience. Perfectionism can feel abrasive. Directness can feel uncomfortable. Yet those same traits often keep people safe and ensure work is done properly.

Attitude is difficult to judge because it is interpreted rather than measured. What frustrates one team may reassure another. What feels excessive in one environment may feel essential in another. The challenge is not competence or behaviour in isolation, but how that behaviour is perceived and whether it suits the environment in which it sits.

That is why attitude resists simple labels. It is rarely just “good” or “bad”.

How attitude actually shows up

Once a basic level of skill is assumed, attitude tends to reveal itself in subtler ways.

I have worked with people who were difficult to work alongside, not because they were careless or malicious, but because they cared intensely and struggled to communicate that care constructively.

One example that stands out involved working under very senior management who did not fully understand the role or the industry. Their behaviour was driven largely by fear: fear of being exposed, fear of appearing unprepared to their own superiors. That fear manifested as constant micromanagement. Tasks were delegated and then immediately reclaimed. Emails were assigned but dictated word-for-word. Projects were offered with apparent autonomy, only to be continually interfered with. It was exhausting. Yet the root problem was not hostility. It was insecurity and a lack of trust.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, I have worked with people whose attitude initially unsettled me because they seemed almost too relaxed. Faced with complex structures, heavy loads, and tight schedules, they would say, “It’s fine. Don’t worry.” At first, that calmness felt dismissive. Over time, I realised it came from preparation. The calculations were done. The planning was complete. Their confidence came from competence, not indifference.

Occasionally, everything aligns. You work with someone whose approach mirrors your own. Trust forms quickly. Communication is direct. Pressure rises and falls together. Neither side needs to control or panic because both understand the risks, the work, and the responsibility involved. Those relationships are not about personality; they are about alignment.

These experiences taught me that attitude is often misunderstood. It is shaped by fear, confidence, experience, and context. The same behaviour can feel obstructive, reassuring, or inspiring depending on where it comes from and how it is received.

That is what makes attitude so powerful and so difficult. It is rarely about intent alone. It is about impact, interpretation, and context.

Confidence, ego, and attitude

In this industry, confidence is often mistaken for attitude, and ego is frequently mistaken for confidence.

That confusion usually starts with competence.

Highly skilled people tend to act decisively and speak with assurance. When that confidence is grounded in preparation and awareness, it reassures others, reduces uncertainty, and helps work move forward.

Problems arise when confidence is no longer balanced by awareness.

Ego appears when someone stops listening, adapting, or noticing how their behaviour affects others. It is not always loud or obvious. Sometimes it shows up as dismissing concerns, refusing to slow down, or assuming others will simply keep up.

At that point, attitude becomes the issue, not ability.

Confidence creates space. Ego closes it.

And the difference is not always visible to the person displaying it.

What this means for leaders

Leadership does not begin with a title. It begins the moment your attitude starts influencing the people around you.

Long before someone is called a supervisor, manager, or director, they are already leading in small ways: through how they communicate, how they react under pressure, how they use their knowledge, and how they treat others. In technical environments, leadership often grows out of expertise. When you deeply understand your field, people listen. Influence follows.

As responsibility increases, the impact of attitude increases with it.

At senior levels, leadership becomes less about doing the work and more about shaping the environment. Leaders cannot force people to care or change personalities, but they can create conditions that encourage constructive attitudes: clear expectations, honest communication, appropriate training, and responsibility matched to capability.

Much of this comes down to awareness. Noticing when someone is struggling, not just technically but emotionally. Recognising when tension, silence, or excessive control signals something deeper. Equally important is recognising those signals in yourself. Frustration, impatience, and anger develop over time. Learning to pause and reflect on what caused them, rather than reacting immediately, is part of leadership maturity.

Not every situation can be fixed. Some people are simply unhappy in certain environments. That does not mean they are incompetent or unprofessional. It means the fit is wrong. Good leadership recognises this without blame.

Leadership is cyclical. Environment shapes culture. Culture shapes attitude. Attitude feeds back into the environment. Leaders sit at the centre of that loop, whether they intend to or not.

And sometimes, the most important thing a leader can recognise is when they themselves are part of the problem.

What I am still learning

Writing this has slowed me down. It has made me reflect on situations I usually only process in the moment. It has also reminded me that learning does not stop with experience. If anything, it becomes more necessary.

Thinking carefully about attitude has made me more aware of how quickly I sometimes judge others without understanding the full context. Taking a step back does not excuse poor behaviour, but it often explains it.

None of these ideas is new. Leadership and psychology have explored them for decades. What is often missing is the language to describe what we experience daily under pressure. We live these patterns long before we learn how to name them.

That is why writing matters to me. It is not about presenting answers. It is a way of thinking out loud, testing understanding, and continuing to learn.

After thirty years in this industry, I am still learning how people work, how teams function, and how my own attitude shapes the environment around me. That is not a weakness. It is why I still care.

Perhaps the more useful question is not whether someone has the “right” attitude, but whether we are willing to pause long enough to understand what we are actually seeing.