The Iceberg Syndrome
Let’s forget about speeches for a moment and take a look at another arena in which communication skills are also essential: networking.
Ever since I can remember, my friends have called me ‘the socialized. I have always been deeply interested in getting to know people and their stories. Meeting and talking to strangers is not everyone’s passion, but it is mine.
Consider how two strangers normally meet at a cocktail party. I call it the iceberg effect. When A meets B, the only thing each one can see is the tip of the other’s iceberg, as it were. Naturally, A says something to B about the weather or a recent movie, and B responds with something about the economy or about the Superbowl. These topics keep them both above the waterline — that is, the conversation stays superficial.
(Image 1)
But a passionate networker like B (in Image 2) feels uncomfortable right away. B is not interested in talking about tomorrow’s weather, or about sports, and the economy is too depressing right now. B doesn’t find any of those topics exciting or even interesting — not at a cocktail party.
Instead, B is interested in what lies beneath the surface. And I, of course, am B. I like to dive right into the ice-cold water and say: “You know why I always talk to the people who are standing alone at cocktail parties? When I was 17, I went on a skiing trip — all by myself. I was young, and very shy, and I couldn’t talk to anyone. I remember what an awful feeling it was, so today I like to talk to the people at a party who are standing all by themselves. Maybe they’re lonely.”
And guess what? In little encounters like this, I’ve never had someone run away from me — no matter what you might have predicted. No, they usually will say something like: “That ’s interesting — and don’t we all get lonely sometimes? Actually, I remember...” And I’ve heard some very interesting stories — much more interesting than the next day’s weather, or even the Superbowl.
You get the point. By refusing to be superficial, by being authentic and transparent, B rapidly gains the confidence of A, and something interesting can happen.
It’s the same when you’re speaking in public — you also have to dive into the water, even if at first it feels cold. Share anecdotes with the audience: stories about your problems with dating when you were younger, stories about your mistake of drinking and driving, stories about your idiosyncrasies, even stories about the loss of a loved one or about a broken marriage. The audience will hang on your every word. You’ll be getting to them on an emotional level.
So, what are the limits to transparency? You set the limit. Set it high!
Be Jack Lemmon — be transparent!
STEP THREE
30 Seconds
Do you remember the cat who is so incredibly confident it can stand up to speak in front of 500 Rottweilers? Confidently the cat takes 500 leashes in its paw and pulls gently but firmly, creating a connective tension with the audience. When you speak in public, you have about 30 seconds, more or less, to create that tension between yourself and your listeners, to gain and hold their attention. Your very first sentence is the most crucial rhetorical tool you’ll ever have — it’s like the cat’s paw, because you must use it to grab your audience’s attention.
Boring George
You’ve heard of Curious George, but have you heard about Boring George? If we take a look at average speakers from all over the world — at congresses, banquets, seminars, fairs, weddings, or anywhere — we usually hear a standard, and boring, beginning:
“Hello everybody, and good evening! My name is George Boring, and it is a great honor and pleasure for me to have the opportunity tonight to talk to you about mobility in the 21st century...”
Is that a powerful beginning? If you were in the audience, would it grab your attention? Is this the powerful rhetoric that will blast all the way to the back row of a room filled with 500 guests who just had one too many glasses of red wine?
Let’s take a closer look at this general, standard opening that we’ll hear 99% of the time.
We Know You, George
George is already well known to us: his name appeared on the invitation, and again on the program, and if that weren’t enough, somebody introduced him by name just a few moments ago. We know you, George! And we know what you’re going to talk about, too, because that’s on the invitation too, as well as on the agenda, and maybe on the sign outside the door as well. We know we’re right in the middle of the evening, and we certainly know that it’s a great honor and pleasure for you to be speaking to us — how could it be anything else? In short, you’ve been talking for almost a minute, but you haven’t yet said anything we don’t already know — so we’re already half-way to falling asleep!
I’ve Never Sold A Car In My Life
Once, when I was with KPMG in Barcelona, I had to present the results of a market study whose objective was to analyze the various success factors for retail automobile sales in Spain. We’d invited seven top representatives of auto manufacturers, the country’s biggest importer, and its biggest retailer, and a prominent professor of entrepreneurship, Pedro Nueno of IESE Business School. It was quite an exclusive group.
Had I been inspired by George Boring’s standard beginning, I probably would have started my presentation like this:
“Hello everybody! I know it is early in the morning...” [Insert fake smile.] My name is Florian Mueck, and I would like to share the results of our market study about success factors in automotive retail in Spain with you. Why don’t we start right away by looking at...”
But I did not start like the other 99% of public speakers. Even then, I knew that the first sentence was my only chance, my 30-second chance, to wake everyone up — to grab the leashes of all those Rottweilers — and generate the tension necessary to keep their attention. So instead, I started like this:
“I’ve never sold a car in my life!” Here, instead of a fake smile, I paused for a full three seconds to let the audience think about what I’d just said. Then I continued: “And I don’t know whether any of you has ever sold a car in your lives, either. ” I knew no one had — that much was certain. “But [pause], after talking to all these actors in the marketplace [theatrically pointing at the first Powerpoint slide], after listening to the needs and preoccupations of retailers, manufacturers, importers, dealerships, repair shops, financiers and customers, I can tell you one thing for sure: Selling a car must be one of the biggest challenges in our lives!”
Professor Nueno would never have acknowledged my existence before I made that presentation, but ever since then, every time we see each other, he greets me with a big smile.
Be Creative
The first sentence is holy; it is sacred; it cannot be cluttered up with meaningless verbiage like “Good evening” or “Hello everyone” or “My name is...” An opening sentence must be catchy, a grabber — powerful.
Be creative. If you talk about water, drink a glass of water in one gulp first, then say: “Water is great, but [pause, and turn the empty glass upside-down] there ’s not much left!” If you’re going to talk about music, sing! If you’re speaking about the internet bubble of 2000, bring a balloon and let it explode, then say: “I was a broker in New York, when the bubble burst!”
Whatever you do, make it catchy and unexpected: ask a rhetorical question, for example, or simply exclaim in a single word: “Divorce!” — and let the pause be long enough to get a little uncomfortable. You could entertain the audience with body movements and nothing else. The list of possible openers is nearly infinite; it’s only cut short by your imagination.
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