In this episode, Quillette’s Zoe Booth sits down with Dr Giancarlo Dimaggio—an internationally recognised psychiatrist and psychotherapist best known for his work on metacognitive therapy and the treatment of personality disorders. Based in Rome, Dr Dimaggio is the co-founder of the Centre for Metacognitive Interpersonal Therapy and has published extensively on narcissistic, borderline, and avoidant personality disorders. With a Hirsch index of 56, he is one of Italy’s most highly cited psychotherapists. He also serves as Editor-in-Chief of the Journal of Clinical Psychology: In Session and as a Senior Associate Editor of the Journal of Psychotherapy Integration.

Their conversation explores the intricacies of narcissistic personality disorder and the broader challenges of diagnosing and treating personality disorders. They unpack common misconceptions about narcissism, reflect on how early experiences shape personality, and examine what makes therapy effective for patients often deemed “difficult to treat.”

Zoe Booth: Giancarlo, thank you so much for joining me here today.

Giancarlo Dimaggio: Thank you for inviting me. I’m honoured.

ZB: I know you’re an expert in personality disorders, and I’m very interested in your work, your research. You’ve got—how many citations do you have now? Quite a lot.

GD: I can’t remember the exact number of citations, but my Scopus Hirsch index is actually 56.

ZB: So that’s quite high, right?

GD: It is quite high. Considering the field, I’m probably the psychotherapist with the highest H index in Italy, I think. And, you know, it’s pretty good.

ZB: Wow. So it’s a privilege to be talking to you today. Hopefully you don’t diagnose me with anything—we’ll see. But to start with, what exactly is a personality disorder?

GD: Well, the very core of personality disorders is that the suffering lies in the interpersonal domain. They have symptoms—but people often think those with personality disorders make others suffer. This is not true. They suffer a lot themselves—more than people with pure symptom disorders.

They have great difficulty engaging in, maintaining, making sense of, and enjoying interpersonal relationships. That’s the core of personality disorder pathology. Some even propose renaming them “interpersonal disorders.”

So, they don’t trust others. They may cling to others, swing between extreme dependency and distancing—some of them withdraw constantly. There’s a wide range of interpersonal issues.

ZB: So you compared them to symptom-based disorders—is that right?

GD: Yes. The classic diagnosis would include symptom disorders: anxiety, depression, eating disorders, mood disorders in general—OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder—and personality disorders.

But this isn’t “carving nature at its joints,” because people with personality disorders also have a lot of symptom disorders. The difference is, they are often more difficult—sometimes much more difficult—to engage in treatment and keep in treatment until it works.

ZB: Right. Wow. So how many people have personality disorders?

GD: Well, it very much depends on how you assess them. A very rough estimate would be around ten percent of the general population, but that’s very rough.

ZB: And the most common ones?

GD: Again, it depends on how you measure. Probably the most clinically significant are borderline personality disorder—around twenty percent of all personality disorder cases—and avoidant personality disorder, which is related to poor social engagement, social withdrawal, and poor interpersonal functioning. These are the more withdrawn and shy individuals. So those two are perhaps the most frequent and relevant.

ZB: Wow. It must be hard to draw the line between someone who’s just shy or even just likes spending time alone, compared to someone with an actual avoidant personality disorder.

GD: Yes, this is important. Usually, personality disorders are extreme manifestations of natural tendencies.

If you’re, let’s say, a solitary hunter in Scandinavia, and you spend most of your time alone—but you don’t suffer—it’s your ecological niche, and you’re fine. But if you live in the centre of Milan or Rome and you tend to be very shy, not engage with others, that can come with suffering and dysfunction.

Shyness is human—we can all be shy at times. But when it interferes with your functioning and deprives you of the chance to live a fulfilled, satisfying life, and comes with suffering, then you’re in the domain of a personality disorder.

ZB: Right, okay. So it’s a scale, because obviously some people are more narcissistic than others, but not narcissistic enough to be diagnosable?

GD: Exactly. It’s about suffering and functioning. These are the two major criteria. If you suffer and have problems in society, that cannot be good for you.

ZB: Hmm, very interesting. So, you’re an expert in all personality disorders, but perhaps most specifically you focus on narcissistic personality disorder, which everyone is talking about at the moment. Every second conversation I have—people say, “My father-in-law is a narcissist,” or “My ex-boyfriend is a narcissist,” or whatever. But what really is narcissistic personality disorder?

GD: The way people talk about narcissism in social media and everyday conversation is pure craziness. It’s nonsense.

Everyone who struggles with someone in a romantic relationship—generally a man—is labelled a narcissist. It doesn’t make sense. The picture that social media and people who make money off the topic present of narcissism—or pathological narcissism—is just ridiculous.

It's as though these people spend their lives manipulating and taking advantage of others purely for the sake of it or out of cruelty. That doesn’t make any sense. It’s simply a very powerful strategy to engage users on platforms, websites, and social media pages. But it doesn’t correspond at all with the real picture of what a personality disorder is.

It’s a disease. It’s a condition. And people with narcissistic personality disorder suffer. They suffer a lot—from anxiety, depression. They are prone to guilt—which is the last thing people think of when they think of narcissism—but they are. They feel shame. And, as time passes, some commit suicide—often in the second half of life—when they must confront the fact that their grandiose expectations remain unmet, it’s too late to keep dreaming, and there are no alternatives.

So, it is a disorder. Can they be stressful to others? Yes, they can. As with any other disease or psychological condition, they can be stressful to relatives, partners, and those around them. That’s normal. I’m not saying they are pleasant. They can be quite problematic—especially in romantic relationships and at work.

But the true victims of narcissism are the people suffering from the disorder.

ZB: So we should feel sorry for them?

GD: I’m not asking that much of people who have been in contact with someone with serious narcissism. But it is a condition that needs understanding and treatment. What you read on social media—you know, calling them emotional vampires, saying they gaslight, do orbiting, love bombing, whatever—is just nonsense.

It’s a way to attract people who then label themselves as victims of narcissism, when they might do better to consider whether they themselves are suffering from something internal. And if I may add one last point—many people who complain, “My former partner was a narcissist,” or “my relative, my colleague,” actually suffer from what I call narcissism by proxy.

They feel the need to engage with high-status individuals—they want to idolise someone because of their own narcissistic expectations. They’re striving for grandiosity. Then they get rejected, and their complaints are actually rooted in narcissistic frustration. It’s difficult to say, but it corresponds to what we often see.

ZB: And is it gendered? Are there more male or female narcissists?

GD: Well, it is somewhat gendered. The split is roughly 70–30—more males than females. But there are many narcissistic women. The purest example of a narcissistic woman is the main character in The Devil Wears Prada. She was a grandiose narcissist, full-blown.

ZB: So, you mentioned grandiose narcissists. Am I right in thinking there’s also such a thing as a vulnerable narcissist?

GD: Yes, exactly. People mostly think about those who are boastful and arrogant—and those people do exist. But what we mostly see in clinical settings are people with so-called vulnerable narcissism. These are people who have grandiose expectations—they would like to be seen as special and superior—but underneath, they conceal a deep sense of low self-esteem, fragility, and inferiority.

They’re prone to resentment, harbour fantasies of vengeance, feel very envious—and mostly, they suffer a lot.

The bigger picture is that the distinction between grandiose and vulnerable narcissism is not so clear-cut. There are people who rely more on their grandiose self and suffer a bit less—still dysfunctional, but less so. And there are those whose self-esteem and level of narcissism oscillate during the day or week. These people suffer much more, and they are the ones we see in psychotherapy most often.

ZB: Hmm. So you’re saying you see more vulnerable narcissists than grandiose?

GD: Yes. And they need treatment. There’s also a common misconception—that people with narcissism make others go to psychotherapy because they make them suffer, but they themselves never go. That’s not true. We see a lot of people with narcissism in our clinics.

ZB: Do people know they’re narcissists?

GD: Sometimes they don’t. You know—“I’m just superior, that’s how I am.” That’s what they show. But of course, they’re concealing a different attitude. Sometimes they do know.

ZB: Fascinating.

GD: So it’s not completely unconscious. Sometimes people are aware. And the funny thing is—if they don’t read social media that label them as monsters—some people can even be somewhat proud of being narcissistic, because they equate it with being superior. So they can get a bit of fun out of it.

ZB: Interesting. Have you heard of this term, the “dark triad” or “tetrad” personality traits? What do you think about that?

GD: Yes, yes. Well, it’s a concept from non-clinical research. It’s a measure that combines three traits: psychopathy, Machiavellianism—which is the tendency to deceive and manipulate for personal gain—and narcissism.

It’s associated with misdeeds in personal life. Though, with the exception of highly skilled or intelligent individuals—who may become white-collar criminals—in general, the dark triad is not beneficial to those who embody it.

But probably, the dark triad is partly responsible for the negative impression people have of narcissism, because it includes two traits—psychopathy and Machiavellianism—that are linked to predatory motives. These are not inherent to narcissism.

So, people with those traits do bad things and make others suffer. They exploit others—not because of narcissism, but because of the other two components: psychopathy and Machiavellianism. That’s the problem. In a way, the dark triad is the non-clinical equivalent of so-called malignant narcissism. And I want to be clear—malignant narcissism doesn’t exist.

It was just a term coined by the great psychoanalyst Otto Kernberg, but it relates more to antisocial personality disorder. So it’s better if people avoid using the term “malignant narcissism.”

ZB: Hmm. So antisocial personality disorders—how do you define antisocial behaviour?

GD: It’s a general tendency to break rules, violate norms, act selfishly, and to act out of a predatory motive—without caring about the consequences for others. That’s not the motive that drives people with narcissism.

ZB: There are so many different personality tests out there in pop culture. A lot of people know about the Myers-Briggs test, but there’s also Jordan Peterson’s test—the Big Five personality test, or OCEAN. I did that. I was under the impression that it was quite a legitimate test, and I suggested—when I first met my boyfriend—that he take it too, so we could see if we were compatible. And we seem to be so far. What do you think about that test—the Big Five, or OCEAN test?

GD: Well, I don’t know the OCEAN variant specifically, but I do know the Big Five. It’s probably the most widely used test in personality psychology—not in personality disorder psychology, but personality psychology in general. It’s extensive, and it’s reliable. A lot of studies show it predicts certain things.

Do I like it? Not so much. It’s like—well, this isn’t my metaphor—but it’s like describing a car just by its appearance. The Big Five doesn’t give you a sense of a person’s inner functioning, which is far more complex.

But in general, my advice is: testing is useful if it’s delivered by a specialist when you have a problem and need to understand your functioning. In pop culture? I’d say don’t use them. Just live your life. You’ll be better off.

ZB: That leads nicely to my next question—but just to clarify, OCEAN is: Openness, Conscientiousness, Extraversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism. It’s just easier to remember that way.

So, my next question is: How good are we at telling the story of who we are? Are we reliable narrators of our own personalities?

GD: Mostly, we are not. We tend to unconsciously lie about ourselves. We’re not very good at identifying the real motives that drive our actions.

I can say, “I’m a good father,” and I may believe that. But if you observe me with my sons—it’s not personal, by the way—maybe I become very edgy and nervous. I yell at them, have no patience, prefer to go play tennis or paddle. And that is the truth.

So self-statements are usually very biased. Sometimes they’re full of self-justifications or idealisations.

Just a simple example: if you ask someone in psychotherapy, “How was your family?” they might say, “It was normal. Good. A nice environment. They were kind.” That’s what they can tell you. But after some sessions, when you explore specific episodes, challenges, or particular days and periods of their real story, a very different picture can emerge.

You discover experiences of neglect, mental illness, struggle—emotional violence even. And they weren’t lying at the beginning. It’s just that they were recalling a self-serving version of their history.

That’s why skilled clinicians, especially when working with patients with personality disorders, don’t rely on generalised cognitive beliefs about the self, others, and the world. We want episodes, because episodes include action, and action reveals our true tendencies.

ZB: Interesting. So you want to hear what happened—and how they reacted to it?

GD: Yes. Before being psychotherapists, we need to be investigative journalists. Tell me the story—the why, the where, the when, the who, and the plot. Only then can you investigate and discover the personal truth. That’s what the person actually thinks and feels—and the reason behind their behaviour.

ZB: Can you trust the way someone describes a situation? For example, one person might feel like someone was yelling at them and abusing them, while another person might feel that it was just a bit of anger—nothing serious.

GD: Again, the truth is in the story. In general, we need to trust our patients. We must have confidence in their reports. It’s rare that people lie.

Some people do lie, especially in court-mandated cases, or those with alcohol and drug abuse issues, or certain other disorders. They might hide information for various reasons. But generally, we believe our patients.

What we do is dig deeper and explore the story, the episode—and then the truth emerges. There’s a very important indicator of truth: if you dig deeper and something genuinely true emerges, the patient’s facial expression changes, their arousal changes, their body language changes. They display new communicative signals.

That means you’ve broken through the protective mechanisms and entered what I’ll call their soul.

ZB: Interesting. What do you mean by “soul,” by the way? Very Italian of you, I think.

GD: No, it was just a metaphor. I wouldn’t use it again.

ZB: Okay. How much does our childhood influence our personalities today—and whether or not we develop personality disorders?

GD: Wow. That’s a very important question—and especially important today. Because what you’re asking, more or less implicitly, is the nature versus nurture question.

Who we are today: Is it the result of our family, our childhood, our social world? Or is it genetics?

To be honest, it’s impossible to disentangle. When people say personality is a social construction—that’s nonsense. But when people say it’s all genetics—that’s nonsense too.

It’s about temperament, which is your constitutional make-up. And it’s about your environment. The best answer you’ll get is that it’s a mixture.

It’s very likely that your childhood—especially family experiences—shapes your personality. That makes sense. If you grow up surrounded by neglect, violence, constant criticism, fear, anxiety, or mistrust towards the world and society, that will shape the lenses through which you understand your life as an adult.

ZB: Can you change your personality?

GD: Well, first of all, personality is not carved in stone. It can change spontaneously—and it does, to a certain extent. I don’t recall the exact proportion of personality that is subject to spontaneous change over a lifetime, but it does happen.

And personality disorders can also shift a bit on their own. Some aspects may soften over time. For example, borderline personality disorder—which is often characterised by impulsivity and emotional dysregulation—can improve with age, as people tend to become less emotionally reactive.

Of course, you pay the price for the problems you had earlier in life. But in general, it can get better. That said, personality disorders should be addressed with treatment. They can be worked on through psychotherapy. That has been the goal of my professional life.

ZB: So what’s the difference between psychotherapy and a general psychologist?

GD: Psychotherapy is a science. It’s delivered by trained professionals, ideally with extensive training in psychopathology and in how to treat people. So it’s very specialised.

You need to be a qualified psychotherapist. In Italy, for instance, you can only be a psychotherapist if you’ve completed a certified four-year training programme or if you’re a psychiatrist. In other countries, the requirements may be different—you might be allowed to practise as a psychotherapist even if you’re a nurse or a social worker. It depends on the legislation.

But psychotherapy involves both understanding the problem and having the ability to deliver techniques. So, again, it’s specialised. You’re not just a psychologist and a psychotherapist—you have to become a psychotherapist through hard work.

ZB: Is it true that Freud was the first psychotherapist?

GD: No, not at all. And I may make some people nervous by saying this—but I believe modern psychotherapy would have been better, and would have progressed more quickly, if its main inspiration had been Pierre Janet rather than Freud.

Pierre Janet was a French thinker. His understanding of dissociation, his use of techniques like behavioural exposure, hypnosis, and other experiential methods—that’s psychotherapy as we do it today. His understanding of the human mind is much more consistent with modern science than Freud’s.

Freud, of course, was a great thinker—but also great at creating a social network.

ZB: What do you mean by “social network”?

GD: He was influential. He created a society. He attracted followers. Pierre Janet, by contrast, was more of a lone wolf—somewhat socially withdrawn. But modern psychiatry and cognitive psychotherapists owe far more to Janet than to Freud.

ZB: Interesting.

GD: Even Janet spoke about the importance of the transference relationship—what happens between patient and therapist. Of course, Freud said a lot more on the subject, but again, I consider myself much more of a nephew of Janet than of Freud.

ZB: What is transference, exactly?

GD: Transference is how the patient constructs the therapist. We don’t enter the therapy room neutrally—we bring our pre-existing schemas and patterns and instinctively project them onto the therapist.

For example, I might tend to see myself as weak or stupid, and see others as superior, harsh, or judgemental. So when I enter the room and have something vulnerable to disclose—mistakes, failures—I will expect the therapist to criticise me.

It’s important not to confuse transference with erotic or romantic transference, which is just one specific type—not the most common, by the way. Erotic and romantic transference refers to feelings of romantic or sexual attraction towards the therapist.

ZB: So, do psychotherapists get their own psychotherapy?

GD: In general, yes. Different schools have different positions. Of course, psychoanalysis requires personal therapy as a prerequisite. In the cognitive school, not so much. But in Italy, even cognitive schools generally ask you to undergo your own psychotherapy.

My personal view is: you shouldn’t go just because you’re required to—because then it can be fake. But during supervision, your supervisor may discover your blind spots, your soft spots, your vulnerabilities. At that point, it’s better to go and have personal therapy.

Otherwise, your personal history—your own traumas and “ghosts” (this is very Italian, I know)—will influence how you are in the room with patients. So it’s better to leave those ghosts where they belong: in the past.

ZB: Do you think there’s a risk—people talk about it all the time—that psychiatrists or even psychologists might “lift the lid” on something that should be left alone, and that it can be dangerous? What do you think?

GD: I think that’s the same as saying the Earth is flat. Or that vaccines cause autism. Or that nuclear energy is the most dangerous energy source. People can believe anything.

The real answer lies in science. And science says psychotherapy helps. If you suffer from a condition, from a psychological disorder, psychotherapy does more good than harm—like any other medical intervention.

That said, I do agree that adverse effects of psychotherapy have not been sufficiently explored. So we want more knowledge in this area. The latest wave of randomised controlled trials now asks researchers to assess adverse events—and that’s important. It builds credibility in our profession.

But, in general, psychotherapy is a science—or at least it aims to be—and it can be improved, yes, but it helps.

ZB: You said before that it’s not helpful to force psychotherapy. But what about people—have you worked with criminals, or people in prison, or anything like that?

GD: Not personally, but I’ve worked with a couple of colleagues—one of them in Australia, by the way—on men who had committed domestic violence and were court-mandated to receive treatment.

And then you have to draw a line. Some of them enter your room simply because they were ordered to. And if they have psychopathic traits, and truly believe that using violence is acceptable or normal, there’s not much you can do.

But with many others—even if they’ve committed something criminal or violent in a relationship—there are psychological reasons behind it that can be addressed. That might include personality disorders, emotional dysregulation, substance abuse. If you treat the underlying problems that led the person to become violent—psychologically, physically, coercively—towards their partner, then yes, you can treat them successfully.

ZB: I feel like there’s a lot of discussion now about people having less faith in institutions. There seems to be more mistrust and more people leaning towards conspiracy theories. I don’t have hard evidence that there are more conspiratorial people now, but it definitely feels that way. Do you have any thoughts on this?

GD: I do—although I don’t have evidence. So I want to be clear: I’m a scientist, and I try to distinguish between personal opinions and facts supported by data. What I’ll say now is more in the realm of opinion.

We often hear that we live in a narcissistic era. There’s no evidence for that. People post images of themselves on social media—they look amazing, they look beautiful—but that’s not narcissism. Because if you observe these people outside the camera frame, they’re consumed by insecurity. They would hardly show their bodies as they are, for fear of judgement. That’s not narcissism.

What I have observed more is a combination of group thinking and mistrust. And these are features of paranoid disorder—a combination of a deep sense of personal vulnerability and the belief that others are powerful, malignant, intrusive, controlling, or abusive.

That mindset undermines the capacity to trust. You’re always on guard, always wary of being caught off guard. So you develop a pervasive sense of mistrust. And what social media gives these people is a sense of community.

Because thirty or forty years ago, if you held those beliefs in your village, you were alone. But now you go online, and you see others who feel the same—and then you form alliances. And that’s the problem. Something that would have been dismissed as irrational or “crazy” becomes groupthink—it becomes a legitimate idea. And that’s a serious concern.

Also, trust is fundamental for human relationships. The majority of our daily interactions are built on trust. We need to assume the other person is being honest—or at least not lying outright. Otherwise, conversation becomes impossible. You can’t question everything the other person says.

But if you become generally mistrustful, your social interactions become strained, unpleasant, even hostile. And I think that’s what many of us are witnessing today.

ZB: So you believe social media plays a role in that?

GD: I have no hard evidence—but if I had to bet my money, I’d say yes, it does play a role.

ZB: Because our communication style has changed, and more communication now happens online than before. That’s definitely true.

GD: Yes. And online communication fosters a lot of biases. In general, under the influence of emotions, we rely on fast-track cognitive strategies to interpret what’s happening. That’s normal. We make thousands of decisions every day. We don’t have time to reason carefully about each one.

But when communication is designed to amplify negative emotions—which social media seems to do—it reduces our ability to correct for emotional biases in our reasoning.

So, reasoning becomes poorer. We’re more prone to confirmation bias, or the “better safe than sorry” strategy. That strategy means, “If I hear a rustle in the bushes, I assume it’s a lion and run.” Because if I’m wrong, no harm done. But if I’m right, I save my life.

It makes sense in the jungle. But if you apply that strategy in social life, you either become overly anxious or more reactive—more prone to fight-or-flight responses. And that’s not helpful for healthy social interaction.

ZB: Fascinating. Could you tell me a bit about your therapy? I’m not sure if you came up with it, but it’s called metacognitive interpersonal therapy. Did you found this therapy?

GD: No, it’s something that my colleagues and I developed over the years. It’s part of the cognitive therapy family—cognitive behavioural therapies. But it’s also influenced by many other approaches: experiential therapies, psychoanalysis (despite my criticisms of certain psychoanalytic ideas), and others. Psychoanalysis has been—and still is—a major influence.

Our approach differs from standard cognitive behavioural therapy in many ways. First, we always focus on personality disorders. Then, one of the major changes we introduced is the need to help people become more aware of their stream of consciousness.

Often, people are unable to accurately report their thoughts and feelings. So, it’s not just “I think” and “I feel”—there’s missing information. They might say, “I’m tense” or “I’m nervous”—but that’s not enough. We ask, “Please, tell me the episode,” and then we dig into it. We observe their embodied reactions to human interactions within those episodes.

For example, I might say, “The interview went well.” And I’ll tell my friends, “It was great.” But if you asked me to analyse how I felt when Zoe asked me a specific question—and I reflect deeply—I might notice tension in my chest or my arms. And then I might realise: Actually, in that moment, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to answer. I was afraid my response wouldn’t make sense. I was embarrassed by my Italian accent. I felt ashamed.

So, again, I’ll say the interview went well. But if you explore the episode, you uncover my vulnerabilities. And that’s what we do with patients.

We use a number of techniques to help them change their perspectives and find healthier ways to see themselves and the world. And finally, we try to make it empirically supported. I think as a scientist. We’ve done several studies, including some randomised controlled trials. The most recent one is an adaptation for eating disorders, published in a major journal. We still need more evidence, but the evidence we have so far is promising.

ZB: Hmm. Yes, I saw you post about that on LinkedIn. Fascinating. Could you give us a brief summary of your work on eating disorders?

GD: Yes, that work was mostly done with my colleague in Verona, Gloria Fioravanti, who runs a private centre for the treatment of eating disorders. We ran a randomised controlled trial that combined elements of standard enhanced cognitive behavioural therapy—currently the most used treatment for adult eating disorders—with our own understanding of personality disorders.

The approach is international in scope. It includes monitoring what happens in the patient’s mind throughout the day regarding weight, eating behaviours, and related concerns. We provide correct information on how to eat, and address common issues. But then we dig into interpersonal episodes.

We ask, “What happened beforehand?” We explore how interpersonal dynamics contribute to maintaining the eating disorder. For example: someone might binge eat due to dysregulated anxiety, shame, or anger following an argument with their mother. So, in that case, the eating behaviour is the final outcome of a deeper issue rooted in interpersonal conflict.

ZB: Right.

GD: So, we try to regulate eating behaviours and address the underlying causes. That’s it in a nutshell. And—it worked.

ZB: Very fascinating and important work that you do, helping people.

GD: Thank you. We’re very happy. It was a small pilot trial, but in psychotherapy for personality disorders—and even more so in eating disorders—a major issue is dropout.

Depending on the study and the treatment, twenty percent to fifty percent of patients drop out. Of course, if someone doesn’t complete treatment, it doesn’t work.

In all the studies we’ve done with metacognitive interpersonal therapy—including the adaptation for eating disorders—we’ve kept the dropout rate very low, around ten percent. I think that’s a great result, and now we’re trying to replicate it. Fingers crossed.

ZB: Great. Well, good luck with it.

GD: Thank you.

ZB: We’ve been going for almost fifty minutes—I think we should wrap it up. Is there anything else you’d like to say?

GD: No, I think we’ve covered a lot of ground.

ZB: We certainly have. It’s been fascinating. You’re very easy to talk to.

GD: So are you. You were very good at improvising. Our conversation took a different direction than we planned—and that’s great. It was very smooth.

ZB: Great. Well, thank you so much for joining me.

GD: Thank you very much, Zoe, for giving me this opportunity.