“Why do you want to be a people manager?”

Simple question. I botched it spectacularly.

The Interview That Humbled Me

Picture this: 2014, Amazon, a conference room that smelled like stale coffee and broken dreams. My director—let’s call him Dave—leaned back in his chair and asked the question every aspiring manager gets.

I was ready. Three years as a software engineer. I’d mentored juniors. I’d led projects. I had this.

“Because I want to help people,” I said, probably with way too much enthusiasm.

Dave’s expression didn’t change. But I knew. That slight pause, the way he shifted forward—I’d just eliminated myself from contention.

I didn’t get the job.

The Lesson That Changed Everything

Two years later, I finally made SDM. Different team, different director, but same nagging question: what did I miss?

Enter my mentor—a grizzled veteran who’d seen more management failures than anyone should. Over coffee one Tuesday, he dropped this bomb:

“Being an SDM is like running a talent factory. People come in, improve, and then leave.”

That hit different.

He wasn’t talking about helping people feel good. He wasn’t talking about being nice or supportive or any of the fluffy stuff I’d spouted in that interview.

He was talking about something much harder: aligning people’s careers with company goals while growing them into something bigger than they were.

The Two-Speed Manager

Andy Grove nailed this in High Output Management. Every good manager operates in two modes: auditing and mentoring.

Audit all the time? You’re a slave driver.

Mentor all the time? You’re ineffective.

The magic happens in the tension between the two.

But here’s what Grove doesn’t tell you: most people who want to be managers are running from something.

The Empire Builders and the Escapists

I’ve seen two types of people chase management roles, and both get it wrong.

The Empire Builder: “If I have more people, I’m more important.” These folks collect headcount like Pokemon cards. More reports = more influence = more success, right?

Wrong.

Here’s the dirty truth about empire building: it’s selfish masquerading as ambition. You’re not growing the team because the company needs it. You’re growing it because your ego needs it.

I’ve watched managers pitch for headcount they don’t need, building redundant teams that duplicate work happening two floors down. Why? Because in their twisted logic, managing 20 people makes them twice as important as managing 10.

But here’s what they don’t tell you at manager training: Every unnecessary hire is a betrayal. You’re betraying the company that’s paying for bodies it doesn’t need. You’re betraying the engineers who could be learning more on a team that actually needs them. And you’re betraying yourself by measuring your worth in org chart boxes instead of actual impact.

The best managers I know? They’ve recommended their star performers for roles on other teams. They’ve argued against headcount when the work didn’t justify it. They’ve kept their teams lean and their impact huge.

The Escapist: “I’m tired of coding. Management means I never have to touch code again.” They see management as an exit ramp from technical work.

Also wrong.

These are the managers who schedule meetings about meetings, who speak in buzzwords because they’ve lost touch with the actual work. They wanted to escape the technical grind and ended up creating a different kind of hell—one where they can’t actually help their team because they don’t understand what their team does anymore.

Both mindsets miss the point entirely.

The Questions That Matter

Before you chase that management role, ask yourself these hard questions:

Is your team the cheapest way for the company to solve this problem? Maybe another team is already building something similar. Maybe you’re about to duplicate effort just to grow your empire. Every time you hire someone to do work that could be done elsewhere, you’re burning company money on your personal monument.

Can you actually grow these people? Having five direct reports sounds impressive until you realize you can barely give two of them the attention they deserve. You know what’s worse than not getting promoted? Reporting to a manager who’s too stretched to help you grow. That’s career murder.

Are you ready to be a manager of managers? Because that’s where empire building leads. Suddenly you’re not just responsible for code quality—you’re responsible for other managers who might be as clueless as you were. It’s incompetence squared.

Are you ready to get more technical, not less? Surprise! Being an SDM means understanding multiple technical areas deeply enough to make judgment calls when your engineers disagree. You can’t hide behind “I’m not technical anymore” when your team needs a tiebreaker on architecture decisions.

Would you be comfortable recommending your best person for a role on another team? Because that’s what good managers do. Empire builders hoard talent. Real leaders develop it and let it fly.

If you can’t answer yes to all of these, you’re not ready to be a manager. You’re just ready to be selfish with a fancier title.

The Real Answer

So what should I have told Dave back in 2014?

“I want to be a manager because I’ve realized that the biggest impact I can have isn’t through my own code—it’s through building systems that help other engineers write better code, make better decisions, and grow faster than they would on their own.”

It’s not about helping people feel good.

It’s about building people who can build things.

That’s the difference between managing and leading. And it’s the difference between getting the job and watching someone else get it.

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Have you made the transition to management? What was your “aha” moment about what the role really means? I’d love to hear your story.