If you've watched Resident Alien, you know the core premise: Harry, an alien, crashes on Earth and spends the series pretending to be a human so he can complete his mission (and eventually repair his spaceship). He's brilliant at it. He studies human behavior obsessively. He nails the performance. He says and does all the right things.
And he's absolutely miserable.
The alien's constant act of "being human" — perfectly mimicking behavior while feeling fundamentally separate from it — is actually a masterclass in imposter syndrome. And what's wild is how closely it mirrors something I see constantly in development teams: brilliant people who excel at their jobs while feeling like complete frauds.
The difference? The alien's situation is literal. He's actually not human. But the developers I know? They are good at what they do. Yet they're convinced they're faking it, waiting to be exposed, performing competence while feeling like imposters.
Resident Alien shows us why this matters and what healthy teams do differently.
Spoilers ahead.
The Performance Never Stops
I'm perfect at being human. I eat the right foods. I wear the right clothes. I laugh at the correct times. — Harry (the alien)
The alien masters the mechanics of being human. He learns that humans eat, so he eats. He learns they sleep, so he sleeps. He learns they make eye contact and nod during conversations, so he does that too. From the outside, he's perfectly human.
From the inside? He's performing.
He's studying people constantly. Every interaction requires calculation. Every social moment is data to process. He's not being human; he's executing a flawless simulation of humanity.
This is what imposter syndrome feels like.
The senior developer who's been coding for ten years but still double-checks their syntax before committing. The architect who designs brilliant systems but thinks "someone more experienced would've done this differently." The tech lead who runs meetings perfectly but believes they're just playing the role of leader, that eventually people will realize they don't actually know anything.
Externally, they're crushing it. Internal monologue? I'm faking this. The day they figure out I don't belong here is coming.
The alien studies human interaction the way imposter syndrome victims study "how to look competent." Both are performances. Both require constant vigilance. Both are exhausting.
And here's what breaks my heart about Resident Alien: the alien's performance is so good that humans don't realize it's a performance. Harry's colleagues think he's quirky but genuine. Harry's friend friendship with Asta seems authentic. Even when people like him, he feels like an infiltrator in his own relationships.
Your team probably has people like that. The person who gets consistently high performance reviews but experiences every compliment as "they just haven't figured me out yet." The developer everyone respects who still feels like a fraud when asked to mentor someone. The person doing everything right while convinced it's all smoke and mirrors.
Blending In Is Not the Same as Belonging
I don't have a family. I have a directive. — Harry
The alien blends in flawlessly. He has a job, a house, colleagues who value him, a best friend. By every external measure, he belongs. He's integrated. He's part of the community.
But he doesn't actually belong. He can't. He's pretending to be something he's not, and the fear of exposure is always there.
This distinction — blending in versus belonging — is critical for team health, and most teams get it wrong.
Blending in is conformity. It's doing what's expected, following the rules, hitting the performance metrics. It's showing up at standups and saying the right things. It's matching the team's communication style. It's being professional. It's sustainable, mostly, but it's also lonely. Because you're performing, not being.
Belonging is different. It's being yourself, fully, while still being part of the group. It's saying "I don't know how to solve this" without fear. It's being weird and having the team appreciate your weirdness. It's being able to disagree with the direction and know you'll still be valued. It's psychological safety. It's authenticity.
The alien has blended in perfectly into small-town America. And he's miserable because he doesn't belong — can't belong — because he's not being honest about who he is.
Your team might be the same. You can have a team where everyone blends in beautifully. Where people come to meetings. Where they hit deadlines. Where they say the right things in retros. And underneath, you can have a team full of people performing competence while feeling like frauds.
The developer who won't ask questions because that signals weakness. The junior engineer who nods along to architecture decisions they don't fully understand because pushing back feels like admitting they don't belong. The person who's quietly struggling but appears fine because showing struggle reads as "not qualified for this role."
Blending in sustains itself through performance. Belonging sustains itself through authenticity.
Here's the thing though: the alien doesn't have a choice about his blending. He's literally not human. But your developers aren't aliens. They could belong. They're choosing to blend because your team culture doesn't feel safe for authenticity.
The Loneliness of the High Performer
Why do you care what these humans think? — The alien's species to Harry
The alien is competent by any measure. He's solving problems. He's helping his town. He's succeeding at his mission. And he's profoundly alone because no one actually knows who he is.
This is the imposter syndrome experience in its purest form: achievement without belonging.
I've watched brilliant developers experience this. They ship features that become company staples. They solve architectural problems that save thousands in infrastructure costs. Their code is elegant. Their contributions are valued. And they experience each success as evidence that they're fooling people, not as evidence that they're actually good.
The loneliness comes from the gap between what they're accomplishing and what they believe about themselves. The achievement is real. The self-doubt is also real. And they're managing both in isolation because admitting the self-doubt would shatter the performance.
So they stay late to catch things other people miss. They triple-check their work. They volunteer for the hard projects because maybe this time they'll feel confident. They help others excel because at least then their value is clearly demonstrated (even if they still don't believe in their own competence).
This is unsustainable.
The alien's storyline shows this unsustainability. He can maintain the performance for a season or two. But eventually, the pressure of maintaining a false self 24/7 breaks him down. He gets sick. He questions his mission. He risks his cover to help his town because being useful is the only way he feels like he has value.
Your developer working 50-hour weeks while dealing with imposter syndrome isn't a high performer — they're burning out. They're trading long-term sustainability for short-term appearance management.
Why Imposter Syndrome Thrives in Teams Without Belonging
I need to keep my distance. It's safer this way. — Harry
The alien maintains distance because connection means risk. If Asta knew who he really was, she might reject him. If his colleagues knew the truth, they'd see he doesn't belong. The distance protects him from that rejection.
This is also how imposter syndrome survivors operate within teams. They maintain distance by:
Controlling the narrative. Only showing the polished version of their work, not the messy iteration process. Presenting decisions as certain when they're actually uncertain. Hiding the moments when they're figuring things out in real time.
Avoiding vulnerability. Never admitting they're confused, overwhelmed, or out of their depth. Never asking for help unless absolutely necessary (and then making it seem like a minor thing). Never saying "I don't know" without immediately trying to figure it out before anyone notices.
Proving their value constantly. Taking on extra work, solving problems beyond their scope, being the person everyone relies on. Because if they can be indispensable, maybe they'll feel like they belong.
Staying away from situations where incompetence might be exposed. Not speaking up in meetings. Not volunteering for things that might reveal gaps. Not trying new things where they might fail in front of others. Safe is small.
The alien does all of this. He stays emotionally distant from his friends. He works overtime on his mission. He avoids situations where his true nature might be revealed. He performs competence with mathematical precision.
And none of it actually makes him feel like he belongs, because belonging requires being known.
Here's the kicker: this isn't a personality flaw. This is a rational response to an unsafe team. If your team culture is "we value competence above all else" or "mistakes are learning opportunities we never talk about after fixing them" or "if you can't figure something out quickly, maybe this role isn't for you," then yes, distance is the smart strategy.
The imposter is protecting themselves. And your team is reinforcing the imposter by not creating conditions where authenticity is safe.
The Cost of Performing Competence
Harry, you're the most human person I know. I just wish you'd let someone in. — Asta
The alien's constant performance takes a toll. He experiences the town, Asta's friendship, and his mission through a filter of strategy and self-protection. He can't actually be in the moment because he's too busy managing the performance of being in the moment.
A developer performing competence experiences something similar. They can't be fully present in their work because they're managing the appearance of competence. They can't collaborate authentically because collaboration requires admitting uncertainty. They can't build genuine relationships with teammates because relationships require showing up as yourself.
The performance costs include:
Slower problem-solving. If you can't admit you don't understand something, you spend longer trying to understand it alone. If you can't ask for help, you stumble longer before finding the solution. The team could solve it in an hour; you solve it in a day while maintaining the illusion of capability.
Worse code. Code reviews become threatening because they might expose your work as less good than it should be. You're defensive instead of collaborative. You're protecting your reputation instead of optimizing for the right solution. You submit code that's "good enough to not be criticized" rather than "the best we can build together."
Isolation. You can't bond with your team around shared struggle because you're pretending not to struggle. You can't celebrate solving hard problems together because you made sure no one knew you found it hard. You're technically part of the team while being emotionally separate.
Burnout. Maintaining a false self is exhausting. It's an extra full-time job layered on top of your actual job. The alien doesn't sleep well. He's anxious. He's managing two versions of himself constantly. Your developer is doing the same thing and pretending it's fine.
Limited growth. You can't improve in areas where you're performing competence because improvement requires admitting there's a gap. You can't learn from mistakes because mistakes reveal that you don't know something. You're stuck in a local maximum of "appears good" while actual growth stalls.
The performance is sustainable for a short sprint. For a career? For a team culture? It's corrosive.
Psychological Safety as Permission to Stop Performing
You know what the thing about humans is? They're surprisingly understanding. — Asta to Harry
The turning point in Resident Alien comes when Harry risks showing his actual self to Asta. Not fully — he can't reveal he's an alien, the stakes are too high. But he drops the performance enough to be authentic about his loneliness, his alienation, his fear of not belonging.
And Asta's response? She appreciates him more. The parts of him that seem most alien — his honesty about struggle, his intensity, his weird perspective on human behavior — are the parts she actually values.
This is what psychological safety does. It creates permission to stop performing.
Psychological safety is the understanding that you can be yourself without risking your place on the team. You can say "I don't know how to do this." You can admit you made a mistake. You can disagree with the direction. You can be struggling. You can be weird. And you'll still be valued.
When psychological safety exists:
People ask questions instead of pretending. The junior developer asks what a decorator does instead of spending an hour in the documentation. The senior person says "I've never used this library before, let's figure it out together" instead of Googling alone at midnight. The whole team learns faster because knowledge is shared instead of hoarded out of fear.
Mistakes become learning. Instead of "who screwed up this deployment," it's "what conditions allowed this bug to reach production?" Instead of blame, it's curiosity. Instead of hiding errors, people surface them quickly because they know the response will be supportive problem-solving.
Collaboration is real. People actually talk about the hard parts of projects because they're not managing the performance of competence. Pair programming becomes a learning opportunity instead of a threat. Code reviews are about making the best solution, not protecting egos.
People stay. Burnout decreases when you're not running a 24/7 performance. Retention improves because people want to work with teams where they can be themselves. The weird developer who's been job-hunting stays because finally there's a place where their weirdness is appreciated.
Growth happens. You can take on challenges that might expose knowledge gaps because mistakes are expected, not shameful. You can try new technologies. You can lead projects in areas where you're not the expert. You can actually develop instead of just performing at your current level.
The irony is that psychological safety actually increases performance because people are freed up to think, learn, and collaborate instead of just manage appearances.
The Role of Belonging in Fighting Imposter Syndrome
I'm not just trying to fit in. I actually want to help. — Harry
By the end of season one, the alien's relationship to the town shifts. He stops just performing competence and starts actually caring about these people. He's still pretending to be human, but the performance is grounded in genuine investment.
And his imposter syndrome gets slightly less intense because he's not just going through the motions — he's actually part of something.
This is where teams get it wrong. They think the solution to imposter syndrome is "just believe in yourself" or "recognize your accomplishments." Those help, but they miss the point.
The solution to imposter syndrome is belonging. It's being part of a group where you're actually known, actually valued for who you are (not just what you produce), and actually safe to be yourself.
Teams that have this don't have developers performing competence. They have developers being themselves, which happens to include competence as one attribute among many others.
How do you build this?
Lead with authenticity. If you're a Scrum Master or tech lead, model vulnerability. Talk about what you don't know. Admit when you're uncertain. Show that growth is ongoing, not a fixed state you've already achieved. The alien eventually does this with Asta, and it changes their relationship.
Make space for struggle. In retros, ask "what was hard?" instead of just "what went well/poorly." Normalize talking about confusion, overwhelm, and fear. When people hear that others are struggling, imposter syndrome gets quiet. When everyone's pretending everything's easy, imposter syndrome whispers "everyone but you has this figured out."
Celebrate not just outcomes, but growth. "You shipped that feature" is good. "You shipped that feature after learning three new technologies and you asked for help when you needed it" is better. Recognize the work and the learning, not just the results.
Make asking for help the norm. Pair programming, asking in channels, rubber-ducking with teammates — make it obvious that collaboration is how good work happens. The alien eventually does better work because Asta helps him, not because he solved everything alone.
Protect people from the pressure to blend. When someone's being their authentic self and that's different from the team norm, that's good. The weird developer who solves problems in unconventional ways? Protect them. The person who works differently (different hours, different process, different style)? Make space for it. Different is usually where innovation happens.
Address competence publicly, not privately. If someone's genuinely struggling with their job, that's a conversation. But the conversation is about capability building, not about confirming they don't belong. The alien doesn't belong because he's literally not human. Your developer belongs; they just need to learn something specific.
Be explicit about what belonging means. The alien doesn't actually know if he'd be accepted for who he is because it's never tested. Your team members are probably in the same position. Be clear: "You belong here even if you don't know something. You belong here even if you fail. You belong here even if you're struggling. Belonging is unconditional; contribution is where we work on growth together."
Imposter Syndrome Is a Signal, Not a Character Flaw
Sometimes I think the hardest part of being human is just showing up. — Harry
Here's something crucial: imposter syndrome isn't proof that you don't belong. Often, it's the opposite. It's the sign of someone thoughtful enough to recognize gaps between what they know and what they need to know. Someone careful enough to consider whether they're making the right decisions. Someone who cares about doing good work.
The alien's constant self-doubt comes from taking his mission seriously. He worries about doing it right. He questions whether his approach is optimal. He cares. That's why he suffers.
Similarly, your developer experiencing imposter syndrome is probably:
- Detail-oriented enough to notice things others miss
- Thoughtful enough to question their own decisions
- Conscientious enough to care about quality
- Growth-oriented enough to see how far they have to go
These are exactly the traits you want on your team.
The problem isn't that imposter syndrome means they don't belong. The problem is that their team culture made them think they needed to hide these qualities behind a performance.
So if you're experiencing imposter syndrome, the issue isn't "you suck." It's probably "your team doesn't make space for authenticity" or "your previous team had a culture that required performing competence" or "you're measuring yourself against an impossible standard."
And if people on your team are experiencing it, it's probably "you've built a culture where admitting struggle feels unsafe."
Building Teams Where Belonging Is Possible
The reason I trust you is you don't ask me to be anything other than what I am. — Asta's father to Harry
The alien eventually finds versions of belonging with specific people — Asta, Ben, the bartender. Not perfect belonging (he still can't tell them the whole truth), but genuine connection built on something closer to authenticity.
Real belonging in a team looks like:
You don't have to perform. You can show up as yourself. You can have a bad day. You can be confused. You can grow and change and learn. The team values you as a whole person, not just as a function you perform.
Your mistakes are data, not indictments. When something goes wrong, the conversation is "what can we learn" not "whose fault." You can surface problems early because early surfacing is celebrated, not punished.
You're known. People understand your strengths and your growth areas and they plan accordingly. They don't expect you to be good at everything. They value you for what you're actually good at and they help with the rest.
Your weird is wanted. If you think differently, work differently, problem-solve differently — that's not something you hide. That's something the team leverages because diversity of thought produces better solutions.
You can say no. When something's not your strength or you're stretched too thin, you can say so without fear. Your team trusts that you're being honest about your capacity because that's how you stay sustainable.
You grow together. Learning is collaborative. You help others grow. Others help you. Growth isn't something you do alone in shame; it's something you do together.
The alien moves toward some of this with his people. Not fully, because the stakes of revealing his true self are too high. But enough that he feels less alone.
Your team can have full belonging. It requires intentional culture-building, but it's possible. And when it exists, imposter syndrome doesn't disappear, but it stops running your life.
The Real Cost of Belonging
There's one more thing Resident Alien gets right: belonging requires risk.
The alien risks everything every time he lets someone get close. He risks exposure. He risks rejection. He risks someone realizing he's not actually human and destroying the relationships he's built.
Belonging requires vulnerability. It requires showing up as yourself and trusting that you'll be accepted.
That's scary. It's easier to perform competence because performance is controllable. Authenticity? You can't control how people respond to the real you.
So here's my ask: if you're a leader (Scrum Master, tech lead, manager, architect), create the conditions where that risk is safe. Make it clear that authenticity is safer than performance. Make it obvious that struggle is expected. Make it impossible for your team to feel like they need to hide.
And if you're experiencing imposter syndrome, recognize it might be a signal that you're in a team culture where blending in is required. Consider whether you actually don't belong or whether your team just doesn't make space for belonging.
The alien in Resident Alien is doing everything right and still feels like a fraud because he can't be honest about who he is. Your team might have people like that. Good people. Capable people. Just performing instead of being.
You can change that. It starts with creating psychological safety. It continues with actually valuing authenticity. It compounds when people see that being yourself is safer than being perfect.
Belonging isn't a luxury. It's not something you get after you've proven yourself. It's the foundation that lets people actually be themselves, which is when they do their best work.
The alien gets that by season two. Maybe it's time your team did too.
If you're struggling with imposter syndrome, please know: it's not proof that you don't belong. It's often proof that you care about doing good work and you're in an environment that makes it unsafe to be honest about the gaps. That's a team problem, not a you problem.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to check in with my team and make sure they know they belong, struggles and all.
