Why do we resist telling stories?
Why do we think that if it’s a “formal” presentation, we must be stale, stuffy, rigid and boring?
There were more than 100 decision-makers in the audience. Bankers and financial advisors. Builders, architects and contractors. Business owners and corporate policy makers.
The presenter's topic was emerging trends for improved efficiency in the building design and construction trades.
He was a knowledgeable advocate for something he believed in strenuously. In private conversation, his obvious enthusiasm for the subject would command your attention. Now he had a chance to turn a few heads among those very likely to be making some big-dollar construction decisions in the foreseeable future.
Did they hear wonderful, inspiring, stimulating accounts of real people dealing with real concerns? A compelling narrative about matters of consequence to their own lives and fortunes?
No.
They received a data dump.
The heard a presenter drone on about statistics while watching a script of banal marketing language projected lifelessly, endlessly on a huge screen in another part of the room.
No drama. No passion. No stories.
A pity.
I cheated. Rather than watch the speaker or the screen, I watched the room. What I saw was an audience that was fidgety and disengaged. They didn’t know where this presentation was going. And few seemed to care. It didn’t concern them, after all. It was about his agenda, not theirs. They already were thinking ahead to their first appointments of the afternoon.
Too bad, because I would guess more than a few had it within their power to make some big choices about what materials and systems they would buy when building or remodeling an office or warehouse or even private home.
Too bad, because it was genuinely a great topic and worthy of attention.
It was opportunity lost, however, because the speaker evidently felt safer retreating behind numbers and projected narrative instead of engaging his audience about a topic he really knew and understood well.
A teachable moment squandered, regrettably, because the speaker centered his remarks on the details of his topic rather than on the information needs of his audience.
He droned. Not on purpose, of course. He stepped in front of his audience with every good intention to share something important. But rather than have a conversation with them, rather than make a compelling case and spark their imaginations, he instead donned an insulating cloak of deadpan formality, stitched together with a lifeless PowerPoint display of talking points.
Style and substance are not mutually exclusive. You don’t get points for boring an audience in the flawed belief that the more bland you are, the more important your message.
Boredom is not a safe place. Don’t go there. It gets in the way of understanding the message you are attempting to convey, while it is style that enables and encourages that understanding.
Style has a voice. It’s you. Don’t be afraid of it.
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