The IT community has a healthy skepticism toward HR jargon. It feels like while developers are shipping code and putting out fires, HR folks are inventing new labels to justify their existence. But there are two types of people every team lead has encountered: one writes brilliant code but is impossible to work with, and the other codes at a mediocre level but somehow holds the entire team together.

Together with our Head of HR, we dissected this eternal dilemma without the corporate fluff. Who's more valuable to the business: the "rockstar" who destroys processes, or the "communicator" who isn't exactly reaching for the stars in their code? And why trying to "reform" the genius is almost always a failed sprint.

"Being a true hero is simple. All you need is honesty and compassion" (Michael Scott, The Office)

In poorly written articles, the "glue person" is described as the soul of the company who organizes pizza Fridays. In harsh reality, it looks different. This isn't necessarily the nicest person in the room, like Toby from The Office, whom nobody notices until he's gone.

In our experience, such an employee functions as a living API gateway. They work as a translator from "technical to managerial" or vice versa. Often a senior engineer and a product manager are talking about the same thing but on different frequencies: one about architecture, the other about deadlines. The dialogue happens in parallel planes, data packets get lost. The "glue person" is the layer that sees these losses and restores the connection. They explain to the business why refactoring can't be postponed, and to developers why a feature needs to ship yesterday.

You can't identify such a person through Jira metrics. In theory, to measure their KPI, you'd need lab conditions: two identical teams with identical tasks, where one has the "glue" and the other doesn't. The HR dream of "quantifying everything" crashes against reality here: life doesn't work that way. So their presence is determined by indirect signs: teams with "glue" have fewer escalations to management and lower attrition. Conflicts get resolved internally, never reaching the "I'm quitting" stage.

"People like you are the reason people like me make so much money" (Bertram Gilfoyle, Silicon Valley)

On the opposite pole sits the "toxic genius." Pop culture sold us the idea that high IQ justifies any personality. Dr. House, Sheldon Cooper, or Gilfoyle from Silicon Valley are rude, respect nobody, but by the end of the episode they save the world (or the server room).

In business, this image works until the first serious crisis. This is an employee with outstanding hard skills who simultaneously destroys the team: toxic in code reviews, sabotages "stupid" management decisions, and considers colleagues dead weight.

Managers often fall into a mental trap we can call the eleventh company syndrome. A new manager looks at the genius's resume and thinks: "The previous ten places just didn't know how to cook him properly. We'll give him an ambitious task, and he'll flourish." Spoiler: at the eleventh company, the same thing will happen as at the previous ten.

The problem is that the damage from toxicity — attrition of mid-level engineers, demotivation of juniors, hidden sabotage — always outweighs the benefit of genius code. The bus factor with such a person is always one: if they leave, everything collapses because they never let anyone near their part of the system, considering others unworthy.

What often happens is that after pulling off one, two, or three tasks at a company's start, the genius automatically becomes a group/department/project lead. And starts building a team around themselves—those who can tolerate their "peculiarities." But usually they plateau at leading a small group, and sooner or later more layers of management appear above them, facing massive resistance and internal team sabotage.

Who wins in the long run?

Imagine a battle between two developers. First — Gilfoyle: closes the most complex tickets solo, builds genius architecture, but despises people. Second — a "communicator": writes average code, but mentors juniors, onboards newcomers, and resolves holy wars.

In an ideal "fair world," they'd develop in parallel, earning the same money for different functions. The genius digs deep (R&D, complex algorithms), the communicator spreads wide. After all, the genius is often bored "working with their hands" and polishing the product for release — they need a retinue to write code or solve other tasks.

However, in practice, the "glue person" often turns out more resilient and valuable to the business over the long haul.

Adaptability. The genius is effective only in tasks that interest them. The communicator is effective wherever there are processes and people.
Scalability. The genius doesn't scale. The communicator makes everyone around them more effective.
Plateau stage. During a startup's rapid growth, the genius might carry the project on their shoulders. But when maintenance and steady development begin (where 80% of the market sits), soft skills become more important than the ability to write a clever algorithm overnight.

"Three types of milk" and the harsh reality

Right now, the IT market is undergoing an interesting transformation. For many years (about 13–15), this was a candidate's market where developers dictated terms. This created imbalances that HR specialists see from the inside but are afraid to speak about openly.

Here's a classic example: the kitchen has three types of milk, but a thread appears in the corporate chat with 300 comments about why there isn't a fourth. Is this about comfort, or about people forgetting why they came to work? We're not at a hazardous workplace where milk is issued by regulation.

The market is now running headfirst into a wall of reality. Budgets for perks are shrinking, and candidates are struggling to adjust. In this situation, "glue people" who can explain what's happening to the team not in corporate speak but in human terms become worth their weight in gold. They're the ones who can convey to the team why "there's no fourth type of milk": it's not a tragedy, but an economic necessity.

"It's not rocket science... wait a minute" (Leonard Hofstadter, The Big Bang Theory)

If you're a team lead and one of these characters has appeared in your team, you can't ignore it.

With the "glue person," everything's simple: they need to be legitimized. Don't compete with the informal leader — acknowledge their role. A direct conversation like "Look, the team listens to you, let's discuss how to apply this and make things good for everyone" can turn a hidden leader into an excellent right hand for the team lead.

With the "toxic genius," everything's more complex. The hope that they'll fix themselves is utopian. Adults only change when they want to. Why would Gilfoyle change? He's getting recruited, getting paid, he's in demand. He has no incentive to fix his personality. But now that IT is "not what it used to be," the accumulated experience of "toxic geniuses" might precede them. Most often, it all ends with them leaving, slamming the door, and "for good measure" telling everyone how wrong they all were.

If you still want to try, the only working algorithm here is tough communication "with actual words." The manager must directly identify the problem: "You're a great specialist, but it's impossible to work with you. Let's agree upfront on what we do when you start being toxic."

If that doesn't help, two options remain:

Isolation. Give the genius a separate project (R&D, consulting) where they don't interact with anyone.
Termination. Even if they're "carrying the product". Because the team is more important than one player.

Sounds harsh, but in reality, letting go of a "toxic genius" isn't that simple. Their knowledge and experience can be very attractive. So it's important to monitor the balance and ensure the company doesn't start suffering losses from toxicity. First the hidden ones: one employee left supposedly because they found something better, another told friends in the community about "how it is with us," and they passed it on — and now someone didn't click "Apply" even though they saw an interesting vacancy. Then escalations begin, and two, three, or four managers at different levels spend time healing emotional wounds. Determine how much time you specifically can spend on this, and then make decisions on time.

In the end, when choosing between them, remember: teaching a communicator to write slightly better code is hard but doable. Teaching a "toxic genius" not to be an asshole is a task that even the best psychotherapists can't handle, let alone team leads.

Hard skills aren’t enough: why teams keep the “human glue” and fire the “toxic genius”