It was 1917. American forces had arrived in France to join the war against Germany, but were not yet actively involved in the fighting. The Commander in Chief of the American forces, General Pershing, made a quick visit to the First Division. General Sibert, the division’s commander, and his chief of staff were absent when the general’s visit was announced, so the chief of operations put together a demonstration of a new method for attacking an enemy trench.
Sibert and his chief of staff arrived in time for the demonstration, and after it was completed Pershing turned to him and asked for his critique. Because of his unfamiliarity with the exercise, he flubbed it, as did the chief of staff when Pershing turned to him. Pershing was disgusted and turned angrily to his staff car to leave.
At that point, the operations chief, a young lieutenant colonel named George Marshall, made a decision. He stepped forward and began explain the situation to the general. Pershing looked at him dismissively and began walking away. Then Marshall surprised everyone by grabbing Pershing’s arm, saying:
“There is something to be said here, and I think that I should say it because I’ve been here the longest.”
Pershing turned and stared at him and snapped, “What have you got to say?”
Assume it’s on at all times
For some reason, most of us draw a clear line between conversations and presentations. It’s like crossing the border from a comfortable and familiar territory into a dangerous land–I’ve known incredibly charismatic and articulate individuals who totally lose their personalities or morph into stuttering fools when the number of listeners leaves single-digit territory.
When these individuals learn how to approach presentations more as conversations, they tend to relax a bit more. They begin to talk with, not at, the audience, they dial back on the formality, and they engage the individual audiences on a more personal level. Both sides benefit from the change.
However, based on some recent coaching experiences I have had, I’ve come to realize that sometimes the equation should also work in reverse: some people might be helped by seeing their individual conversations more as presentations.
Why? When you cross into presentation territory, you know people are judging you, so your guard goes up and you increase your preparation, focus and situational awareness. A well-crafted presentation has a clear purpose and structure, the speaker is more careful in his word choice, and generally has a heightened awareness of his demeanor, delivery, and impact on the minds of the listener.
These characteristics raise your game and make for successful presentations, so why do speakers forego those advantages when they let their guard down in daily conversations? In letting their guard down, what they gain in relaxation they may pay for in terms of reduced conversational effectiveness. They may be unfocused or rambling, they get sloppy in how they express their thoughts, and pay less attention to how the listener is receiving their message.
Even a conversation between two peers who work closely with each other on a daily basis—certainly when a subordinate is speaking to a superior, there is some judging going on, even if neither party is conscious of it. At one of my clients, it’s commonly accepted that “you’re always interviewing for your next job.”
Just like TV news anchors occasionally get into trouble by saying something inappropriate because they think they’re off the air, you should treat every business conversation as if your mike is on. Even in a “normal” conversation, why wouldn’t you have a clear purpose and focus for the conversation, why wouldn’t you choose your words carefully, why wouldn’t you pay attention to your demeanor and delivery?
Do you sometimes feel like you’re talking to yourself? Do people start to look at their phones a few seconds after you start speaking to them? Do you have trouble getting people to return your calls and emails?
If the answers to any of these questions make you uncomfortable, you might want to take stock of what you’re saying and how you’re saying it. The first step is to figure out why people won’t listen. Maybe it’s because:
- You waste their time
- They don’t trust you
- You’re boring
The solution is simple: anything you say must be relevant, true to the best of your knowledge or ability to verify, and stated in a way that is clear, concise and compelling.
Relevant. This is the most important principle for being heard. Attention is a scarce commodity these days, so if you want it, you have to give something of value in return. Is it something they care about? Will it improve their life in some way? Do you filter what you say through the “so what” test? Do you know enough about the other party and their situation to add value? In conversation, do you listen with the intent to understand, and then reply with something meaningful? Do you adapt to their style instead of making them adapt to yours?
True. Content is still king, and yours had better be solid if you want to gain and maintain personal credibility. Just as a restaurant with great atmosphere and fine china in the world won’t stay open long if it uses rotten ingredients, being articulate and forceful won’t help you if others perceive you’re full of BS. Do you have sufficient, accurate and relevant evidence to back up your statements? If you’re hoping to influence someone decision, have you prepared to the point where you can anticipate and answer their main questions?
Clear. Make it easy for them to understand you. Simplification is not “dumbing it down”—it’s getting to the essence and stating it in direct, unambiguous language. If people can’t understand what you’re saying, they’re unlikely to make the effort to listen. Are you addicted to meaningless, multi-syllabic buzz words? Do you use big words in an effort to make yourself sound more intelligent? Do you speak in vague generalities? Do you speak with excessive “ums” and other filler words?
Concise. Part of not wasting someone’s time is being efficient in the time it takes to express your thoughts. This goes hand in hand with being clear, because the effort to be concise exposes the fuzziness of your thinking. Do you get right to the point, or do you backtrack, go down blind alleys and meander like a spy who thinks he’s being followed? Do you give the bottom line up front so that they don’t have to endure all the context?
If people trust you and you don’t waste their time, you may not have to worry about the third problem—being boring. But just in case, the fifth principle may help:
Compelling. Techniques that can make your speech compelling and memorable include using vivid language, unique and interesting stories, apt analogies, and painting word pictures. But the best way to be interesting to someone else, paradoxically, is to be interested in them. Perhaps the greatest value you can bring to someone in a conversation is to make them feel good about themselves. Think about it: people love to talk about their kids, but look for the exits when others talk about their own. Being interested in others will also make you more empathetic, which enables you to tap into the emotions that resonate with others.
When using an analogy, you have to think more than one step ahead
You know how those Viagra commercials show you how wonderful life is with their drug: with virile types driving big trucks or couples lounging in an outdoor bathtub? Right after those scenes comes the disclaimer that tells you about the risks you run when you use the wonder drug.
This article is the disclaimer. So far, I’ve written about how powerful analogies can be in your presentation, but you do run risks when you deploy that “perfect” analogy. After all, persuasion is a two-way street, and your audience may not passively sit there and accept what you’re selling. You may be so focused on getting your chess pieces into position to attack your opponent that you overlook the danger to yourself. Any time you decide to use an analogy to dramatize of support your proposal, you run several risks:
They may shoot down your analogy. In 1988, Dan Quayle was debating Lloyd Bentsen in the Vice-Presidential debate. Quayle tried to defuse concerns about his youth and inexperience by pointing out: “I have as much experience in the Congress as Jack Kennedy did when he sought the presidency.” Bentsen replied: “Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you’re no Jack Kennedy.”
Many analogies seem to fit so well that you take it for granted they will be accepted without argument by your listeners, but be prepared in case someone in the audience tries to show that the analogy does not apply.
They may turn your analogy against you. Your listeners may accept the analogy but point out a different lesson from it. For example, the story above made the point that an opponent may crush your analogy. But someone could weaken that analogy I used above by pointing out that the Bush-Quayle ticket actually won.
This points out the danger of falling in love with your own analogy; you see its beauty but may be blind to its weaknesses. Listeners who are opposed to your idea are going to be much more objective and may bring to mind other details about the source analogy that are just as important. Every analogy is going to have differences as well as similarities, and you can count on listeners to point those out. Here’s an example of someone trying to use an analogy to sell a new concept, from the movie Jurassic Park:
Dr. Hammond: All major theme parks have had delays. When they opened Disneyland, nothing worked.
Dr. Malcolm: But. John. If the Pirates of the Caribbean breaks down, the pirates don’t eat the tourists.
They may counter with a stronger analogy. You see this all the time in the Sunday morning news shows where competing experts debate some pressing international question. One may bring up WWII to urge that we stand up to an aggressor nation, and the other will counter with the specter of Vietnam.
“Pressure-test” your analogy. As with anything else you put into your presentation, spend some time considering the opposing point of view. It will help strengthen your arguments and you might even learn something that will improve your proposal. Put yourself in the position of a skeptic and try to poke holes in your own analogy, and then come up with answers to those counters. In Quayle’s case, Bentsen was expecting the Kennedy analogy; if it was that obvious to the opposition, Quayle’s handlers should have anticipated his reaction.
If you’re going to use a story, research it to get all the facts, because the part that you remember is only a small part of the entire story. When I thought of the analogy contained in the Dan Quayle story, I did not automatically think focus on the fact that Quayle did, after all, win the election.
Other articles in this series:
How Analogies Help Sell New Concepts
How to Select the Right Analogy
