Everyone's a critic. Connie arrived for our lunch date looking wrung-out. "Good grief, woman, sit down." I said. "You look like you've been run over by a bus. Waiter, we need wine, stat."

Connie shot me a grim look. "You're being generous. It's more like the bus ran me over, then backed up and dropped off a couple of linebackers who jumped up and down on me."

"For heaven's sake, what happened?"

"We unveiled the new Web site at the staff meeting this morning. And suddenly, everyone is an expert on Web design. I mean everyone - accountants, engineers, the mailroom guys. All of 'em turned into designers when I wasn't looking. They all have opinions, and most of them are convinced they could have done a better job, faster, with a smaller budget. We're trying not to take it personally, but it's hard. Our little team has been working overtime on this project for months."

"You poor thing! But you knew this was coming, right?"

"I should have, of course – it's part of the routine. But I convinced myself that this time we were so on-target, everyone would cheer. What was I thinking?"

The corporate folks responsible for creative work simply have to develop thicker hides than most if they want to survive. For some reason, colleagues who wouldn't consider picking apart cockamamie financial schemes will happily rip into an annual report or advertising campaign like sharks on chum. For the writers and designers who labor to bring forth a work of corporate art, it's as if delivery room nurses were taking shots at their newborn.

"Maybe we should have worked harder at the start to get people's opinions," Connie muttered.

"It never hurts," I said. "You can learn a lot about how something ought to work from the people who have to use it. But when it comes to matters of taste, buy-in is an illusion. You can gather input on design 'til the cows come home, but you'll never get agreement on purple vs. green. Sooner or later, somebody has to decide. And then ignore the critics."

Old hands learn to cope. A friend who headed up an advertising agency's creative team passed along his technique: "Some clients have to find something to gripe about. Michelangelo could show them the Sistine Chapel ceiling, and they'd want changes. So we just plant a distraction. If there's a male model in the layout, we give him a mustache so they can pick on that."

Connie gazed darkly into the dregs of her chardonnay. "You'd think colleagues would be a little supportive."

"It's not about you or your project, kiddo," I said. "They'll tear into the poor slobs who plan the office holiday party, or decorate the lobby, or order company T-shirts."

Connie brightened. "Hey, there may be hope for us after all! The big awards dinner is coming up next week, and some new kids handled the arrangements. It's just about their turn in the barrel."

Erica Heath is a 20-year veteran of the corporate wars. Her e-mail address is ericaheath@aol.com.