Ringelmann Effect

The Ringelmann Effect sounds like something out of a Victorian novel, possibly a side character in a Sherlock Holmes mystery who solves crimes by doing absolutely nothing—and that’s kind of the point. Because the Ringelmann Effect is all about people doing less, not more. It shows up whenever a group of people gathers to tackle a task and, somehow, as if by dark magic or the lure of leftover birthday cake in the breakroom, everyone starts doing less than they would on their own.

Picture your mates helping you move house. It starts well—boxes fly, people are laughing, someone makes a playlist, and there’s a strong vibe of camaraderie and collective ambition. The first hour is almost inspiring. You start to think, maybe teamwork really is the dream. But by hour two, the cracks begin to show. One’s “gone to get more tape” (read: popped to the shop for biscuits and possibly a nap), another’s developed a sudden and very intense commitment to reorganising the cutlery drawer, and someone else is holding a box labelled “miscellaneous” while doing a perfect impression of a Greek statue. The momentum is gone. The sofa is still in the hallway. The pizza hasn’t been ordered. Everyone is now expertly avoiding eye contact and pretending to look very busy doing nothing in particular. The Ringelmann Effect has checked in and unpacked its overnight bag.

This slightly infuriating human quirk was first spotted by Maximilien Ringelmann, a French agricultural engineer with an eye for the obscure and the time to conduct rope-pulling experiments. In the late 1800s, he asked people to pull on a rope—either solo or in groups—and measured the force. Turns out, the more people pulling, the less effort each individual put in. Not in total, mind you, just per person. It wasn’t because they were weak or distracted by 19th-century snacks or existential dread. It was the creeping sense that others would take up the slack. And when everyone thinks that, the slack just sits there, doing absolutely nothing, like an intern on their first day without a password.

Fast forward a century and change, and the Ringelmann Effect is still strutting about, now dressed in business casual and clutching a team calendar. It turns up in group assignments, committee meetings, community clean-ups, Zoom calls that could’ve been emails, and that cursed workplace brainstorming session where someone suggests something unhinged like “interactive spreadsheets for team bonding.” It’s there in volunteer groups and on sports teams and whenever someone utters the phrase “let’s all chip in.”

It’s all down to visibility, or rather, the tragic lack of it. When you’re alone, every bit of effort you make is obvious. You either write the report or you don’t. You clean the kitchen or you don’t and live in shame and stickiness. But in a group, effort becomes foggy, like trying to spot your boss at a music festival. If you don’t send the email, maybe Claire will. If you zone out during the call, maybe no one will notice. If you leave early, well, Dave was barely doing anything anyway and he’s still somehow the loudest.

Our brains are little efficiency experts. Not always in a helpful way. They weigh up the odds of being noticed, recognised, or blamed. And if the odds are low? The effort drops. It’s like a psychological group discount on work. Everyone pays less, but no one gets a bargain. The work suffers, the momentum slows, and somehow, the deadline still looms, unamused.

This isn’t just about laziness. That would be too easy. It’s about the bizarre way groups morph into strange, slow-moving beasts when no one’s clearly steering the ship. People get confused. They hesitate. They assume. And the bigger the group, the worse it gets. In a team of two, it’s pretty obvious who’s making the coffee. In a team of twelve? You could hide in a cupboard and no one would notice until the biscuits run out. And even then, they’d just complain about the biscuits.

So what do we do about it? Burn teamwork to the ground and go full lone wolf? Tempting. But no. Groups can be brilliant—when they work. The trick is giving the Ringelmann Effect fewer shadows to hide in and fewer excuses to drape itself over a beanbag and take a nap.

Start with clarity. Painfully, gloriously clear clarity. Everyone needs a role, not just a vibe or a “general sense of contribution.” Instead of “let’s all work on this together,” try “you handle the numbers, you do the slides, and you, yes you, sort the snacks and bring biscuits that aren’t disappointing.” Precision is your friend. Vagueness is where the loafing lives and breeds.

And for the love of productivity, keep groups small when you can. Small groups are awkward, and that’s great. It’s hard to disappear when everyone’s looking directly at you and you’re in charge of one third of the outcome. In big groups, responsibility becomes invisible. In small ones, it wears a name badge, speaks loudly, and wants results.

Next up, praise. Good, honest, specific praise. None of this “great synergy today, team” nonsense. That’s corporate filler. Instead, “Loved your notes from the meeting, super clear,” or “thanks for sorting the printer, you absolute legend.” Praise doesn’t just boost morale—it reminds people they’re seen. Being seen makes effort feel worth it. Recognition gives meaning to the madness and adds a little spring to the step of even the most spreadsheet-weary soul.

Leaders, you’re not exempt. If you’re floating above the group like some kind of motivational drone, your team will follow your altitude—and probably zone out. But if you’re on the ground, mucking in, asking questions, solving problems, fetching chairs, moving boxes, sorting tech issues—people notice. They step up. Leadership by example isn’t a cliché. It’s basic psychology, seasoned with a bit of humility and maybe a splash of coffee.

Also, talk to people. Not in awkwardly scheduled one-to-ones with too much eye contact and not enough tea. Just casually. Ask how things are going. Offer help. Listen when they say something’s confusing. Often, people slack not because they’re disinterested, but because they don’t know what to do, are too polite to ask, and are hoping someone else will blink first.

And maybe—just maybe—give the team-building day a rest. Nothing says “please no” like icebreakers and an outdoor obstacle course. Real bonding comes from shared effort, not shared trauma involving inflatable rafts and Gary from HR shouting about core values. No one ever bonded over a team trust fall except when they all decided never to do one again.

The Ringelmann Effect won’t ever disappear. It’s too deeply human. But it can be tamed. With clarity, visibility, purpose, and a healthy dose of praise, groups can work like actual teams, not like crowds waiting for someone else to start the conga line.

So next time you’re halfway through a project and wondering why it’s crawling along like a snail in a puddle of glue wearing ankle weights, remember Maximilien and his rope. Remember that effort is contagious—but so is idleness. And maybe, just maybe, grab a metaphorical rope, dust off your hands, and start pulling a bit harder.

And if none of that works? Bring back the threat of a full-day workshop with Gary and his 58-slide PowerPoint about “collaborative purpose alignment.” That ought to get things moving—or at least get everyone pretending to move very convincingly.