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Jacinda Ardern
There’s a moment in A Different Kind of Power when Jacinda Ardern recounts being told—by a senior male MP—that she was “too nice” to lead. The implication was clear: leadership requires ruthlessness, and Ardern, with her softness and empathy, didn’t fit the mould.
Her memoir is a gentle but pointed rebuke to that view. Written in the same measured tone that made her globally admired, Ardern offers not just a political narrative, but a manifesto for an alternative form of authority—one rooted in compassion, communication, and moral clarity.
She doesn’t claim perfection. From New Zealand’s early COVID response to the Christchurch mosque attacks, she often second-guesses her own decisions, inviting readers into the uncertainty that defines public leadership. But what distinguishes this book is her honesty about doubt—and her insistence that it doesn’t weaken leadership; it refines it.
“I wasn’t trying to be perfect,” she writes. “I was trying to be useful.”
For Finito World readers, the book is especially relevant. It explores how one can lead without abandoning kindness, how one can command without shouting. Ardern shares workplace insights on burnout, delegation, and the quiet power of asking for help. She confesses to struggling with imposter syndrome and encourages young professionals to see vulnerability not as a flaw, but as a form of intelligence.
There are lighter moments, too—anecdotes about her daughter, about late-night dinners with exhausted staffers, about the oddity of suddenly being recognised in foreign airports.
But at its core, A Different Kind of Power is a deeply serious book. It’s about rethinking success. About making space for decency. About changing—not just what leadership looks like—but how it feels.
For anyone entering a new job, building a team, or wondering whether they’re “too soft” for power, this is essential reading.