I've sat in a lot of leadership meetings over the years — as a participant, as a facilitator, and occasionally as the person silently watching from the corner because someone wanted "an outside set of eyes." There is a pattern I see in almost every company past about fifty people, and once you notice it, you can't unsee it.
The meeting on the calendar is not the meeting where the work happens.
The meeting on the calendar is where slides get presented, where polite questions get asked, where the CEO summarises, where someone says "great, let's take that offline," and where the room files out feeling reasonably good about itself. The actual meeting — the one where the real conversation occurs, where two people argue about whether the platform team can absorb the integration work, where someone admits they don't believe the Q3 number, where the CFO and the CRO finally settle who's funding the new region — happens in the next ten minutes. In the hallway. In a Slack DM. On a quick coffee. In the parking lot.
Everyone knows this. Nobody designs for it.
Why the second meeting exists
The official meeting has too many people in it to be honest, too short a time window to be deep, and too visible a venue to be exploratory. You can't say "I think we're kidding ourselves about the H2 forecast" in front of fourteen people including two board observers. You can't say "I have no idea how my team is going to deliver this on top of everything else" when your peer just confidently committed to the same thing for theirs. The official meeting is a performance space. It's not a thinking space.
So the thinking moves elsewhere. It moves to the place where there are two people instead of fourteen, where the cost of being wrong is low because there are no witnesses, and where the conversation can actually start with "okay, but really though…"
This isn't a bug. It's an entirely rational response to a meeting designed for the wrong purpose. The problem is what happens next: the decisions made in the second meeting never make it back into the system. They live in two people's memory, in a half-written DM thread, in the muscle memory of "we agreed in the hallway that…" Three months later, when someone asks why a particular initiative quietly changed direction, nobody can quite reconstruct the moment. The hallway agreement worked, but it left no trace.
What it costs you
The hallway meeting is efficient. It is also invisible, untraceable, and uncoachable. A few specific costs follow from that:
The first cost is that newer leaders never learn how decisions are actually made. They watch the official meeting, take notes diligently, and then wonder why their initiatives keep dying for reasons that weren't discussed in the room. The real reason was discussed in the hallway, where they weren't.
The second cost is that the decisions are fragile. A hallway agreement between two executives can be undone by a single Slack message a week later, because there's no document, no system entry, no shared artefact that captured what was decided. It was an agreement between two people, not a commitment by the company.
The third cost is the one nobody talks about: the official meeting becomes increasingly performative because everyone knows the real work happens elsewhere. Energy drains out of it. People stop preparing for it. It becomes a status ritual rather than a decision-making venue, and over time the company loses the ability to make decisions in a room of more than three people.
What I'd actually do about it
I'm not going to pretend you can eliminate the second meeting. You can't. It exists because it's serving a real purpose — the official meeting cannot be both broadly attended and psychologically safe at the same time, and small honest conversations will always be where the real thinking happens. That's fine. That's healthy, even.
But you can do two things to stop the second meeting from being a black hole.
The first is to legitimise it. Some companies do this with a "small room" tradition — a tightly scoped follow-up with three or four people, on the calendar, where the harder conversation is supposed to happen. It doesn't have to be a heavy ceremony. It just has to be a venue where the hallway conversation can occur without being a secret.
The second — and this is the one that actually moves the needle — is to give the small room a place to land its decisions. Not a meeting note in someone's notebook. Not a slack DM. An entry in the same system that holds your goals, initiatives, capacity and ownership. When the two people in the hallway agree that the platform team is taking the integration work, that agreement has to land as a change to the initiative's owner, the capacity allocation, and the dependency graph. If it doesn't land there, it didn't happen — and three months later, when nobody can remember the conversation, the company is back to renegotiating it from scratch.
The Vindaris view
We didn't build Vindaris because people are bad at meetings. We built it because the most consequential conversations in any company happen outside the meeting, and those conversations need somewhere to land that isn't a person's memory. The meeting after the meeting is fine. The meeting after the meeting with no system underneath it is what makes strategy feel like fog.
If your leadership team's real decisions live in hallways and DMs, you don't have a meeting problem. You have a system-of-record problem. Fix the second, and the first stops mattering as much.