How to cause applause.

"So those are the mating habits of the wildebeest."

Silence.  Oh dear.

Other than a single clap which died as soon as it was born, nary a peep from the audience.

What went wrong?  They were definitely listening.  They seemed to enjoy it.  So why no applause?

Because they didn't know you'd finished.

Like tipping a waiter at the end of a meal, applauding a speaker at the end of a speech is appreciation of a job well done.

But while tipping is a solo act, applauding is done in concert with others, simultaneously.  And that can be an issue.  No-one wants to be the only person in the audience clapping, so people tend to wait for others to start.  If no-one starts, there's no applause.

So how do you get people to put their hands together at the end of your speech, creating that rewarding and comforting buzz of appreciation?

The key is for there to be no doubt about when they're expected to start clapping.

You could use the method favoured by broadcasters, which is for the studio manager to hold up a placard with the word Applause! printed on it in nice big letters while making vigorous upward motions with their free hand to prompt compliance, followed by a winding movement to keep it going and a cutting action to signify enough's enough.  This works fine with studio audiences, but may be a bit too ambitious for the average AGM.

Or you could use the method favoured by political leaders at party conferences, which is to have someone planted in the front row - a sort of cheerleader, but in a suit and without the pom-poms -  tasked to kick-start the applause.  And not only at the end of the speech, but at significant moments throughout, so everyone can see how genuine and heartfelt is the solidarity between audience and speaker.

But the simplest, quickest, most natural and most graceful way of getting people to applaud is to pause after your final words, look at the audience, and thank them for their attention. This signals you no longer require it, meaning you've finished, meaning now would be the perfect time to show their appreciation.

''So those are the mating habits of the wildebeest.''

(Pause.)

''Thank you very much.''

(Applause.)

In other words, if you want to get a thank-you from them, thank them first.

Does your message have broccoli appeal?

A good message is founded on an audience benefit.

But this alone is no guarantee of engagement, because people don't always do what's good for them.

Take children and food.  As any parent knows, children have a profound resistance to eating things that are good for them.

Offer them something high in fat, sugar or salt (preferably all three) and they'll bite your hand off. But something green, healthy and plant-based? Umm, I'm not hungry.

With my little cannibals, I tried every technique in the book to get them to eat their veg.  Hiding it under the meat, mixing it up in the food, playing games with it, pleading, begging, cajolery, bribery and threats. It all ended in tears.  Mine, not theirs.

Until one day I noticed (and I can't be the first person to have done so) that a broccoli floret looks a bit like a tree, with its canopy of lush, dark green foliage branching over a pale green trunk.

Eureka.  "Tonight", I said "we're going to eat some trees."  Two pairs of eyes gazed at me.  "Look, here they are."  The eyes dropped to the plate and widened.   "I wonder who can eat the most trees?" A pause and then a flurry of broccoli-guzzling to warm the cockles of the parental heart.

Sprouts, too, were a success.  But only when 'sprouts today' (yuk) became 'who can eat a whole cabbage in one mouthful?' (wow), then 'eating baby cabbages' and then finally just 'babies for supper' (yum).

What learnings do I bring you from this rigorous field-study? That eight in 10 kids would rather eat a baby than a Brussels sprout?  Probably.

That for the audience to perceive a benefit in your message, it must appeal to their imagination? Definitely.

To do this you need to add a twist that takes the message out of the mundane and into the adventurous.

Here's an example, announcing your plan for this year's company conference.

With broccoli:

This year we're going to review our policies, procedures and systems to determine how we can work more effectively as an organisation.

Without broccoli:

This year we're going to rip up the rule-book and re-invent the business to make it work better for everyone.

The same message, but transformed to offer the potential of some excitement. (Not as much as the karaoke planned for later, but there it is.)

The thing about most business communication is that the default is set to 'boring'.  Consideration is needed to transform your message into something that will engage your audience.

But it needn't take much effort, so long as you use your own imagination to appeal to theirs.

Pondering the powerpointlessness of existence.

Why do we exist? Is that chair really there? What is the sound of one hand clapping?  Long have I pondered these mysteries, as I'm sure you have.

Sitting cross-legged, somewhere in the high Himalayas?

No, sitting in a meeting room, somewhere between slide 37 and slide 157 of a powerpoint presentation.

We have Bill Gates to thank for bringing verbal vomit into the digital age. Powerpoint makes it possible for people effortlessly to spew words onto slides, slide after slide, forever, mercilessly, to the last syllable of recorded time.

Actually, you can't blame Mr Gates for inventing a tool which, like any other, can be used or abused.

You can, however, blame Moses.  His coming down from the mountain is the first recorded instance in history of someone using visual aids in support of a presentation.

Two tablets of stone, five points hammered onto each.  A lot to take in. No wonder the human race finds them hard to follow.

There's a clue in the first word of the phrase 'visual aid' - and that's what a slide should be.

Whoever came up with the phrase didn't say 'verbal aid'.  Verbal aids include the lungs, throat, tongue, teeth and other bits we use when talking. Our brain, maybe.

Words belong in your mouth, not on your slides.  For a visual aid to be effective it has to be entirely or predominantly graphic.

Let's say I'm giving you a presentation about a dog.  Here's an example of a non-graphic visual aid.

The only graphic element here is the colour.  You may say there's useful information, but I can tell you all that.  I don't need to write it on a slide.

Unless I say nothing and let you read it in silence, I'm forced to read it out to you word for word.  Which is boring - and suggests you can't read.

Much better, surely, to use an image, such as a photo of the actual dog.

If you have to use words on a slide, then why not set yourself the challenge of using no more than five?  They'll have much greater impact that way.

Because there are so few words here, they become graphic elements in their own right.  Most of the slide is white space (well, purple).  This reduces the information load and gives impact to the few words that you do use.

But perhaps it's a blessing that we've moved on from stone-age visual aids.

There's a lot less wear and tear on arm muscles.

What we can learn from the humble nose-trimmer

A decade has passed since the Innovations catalogue last flopped onto British doormats between the pages of the Sunday papers.

Described as 'the source of gadgets that really ought to be useful', it was full of the stuff that gets a smile from Jones and a sneer from Meaden before Bannatyne puts the boot in.

Highlights included a 'handy portable shredder' and a 'fun, fur-lined, vibrating golf-club cover'.  Solutions in search of a problem. 

Another was the 'battery-operated nasal and aural hair trimmer'.

Now my first encounter with this device shocked me to the core. Maybe it was the picture, which showed a bloke shoving the product up his nose and then sticking it in his ear.

I couldn't see why anyone would shell out £9.99 (incl. P&P UK mainland only) for one of these (reduced from £89.99 hurry hurry hurry).  What's wrong with a pair of pliers?

But as a swift google reveals, the bottom hasn't dropped out of the electro-assisted rhino-depilatory business yet.  There are thousands of the things for sale out there.

They have survived the demise of the Innovations catalogue, and live on in the hearts and briefcases of hirsute Britons.

So I think we can learn an important - and comforting - lesson from the humble nose trimmer.

The fact you can't see value in something doesn't mean someone else won't.

This matters when you're selling something - a product, service, strategy, decision - that you don't entirely believe in.

Thinking about the emotions that drive audience decision-making will help you discover motivators that may work for them, if not for you personally.

Fear of rejection.

With Trimmo, no-one will ever again tell you to go and comb your nose.

The need for security.

Trimmo: sniff with confidence.

The avoidance of embarrassment.

Now you can light a cigarette without setting your nose on fire.

Whatever you're selling, time spent in reconnaissance of audience psychology is seldom wasted.

Except, perhaps, in the case of fun, fur-lined, vibrating golf-club covers.

The 180-degree shift

What's the worst presentation you've ever had?

Mine was when the speaker fell asleep 10 minutes into their own talk.  The speaker, mind, not the audience.  How we laughed.  Actually, perhaps it wasn't so bad.

That was unique.  The usual methods of destroying a presentation include: death by powerpoint, reading word-for-word, speaking in a dreary monotone, arrogance, bafflement, inaudibility, boring them, embarrassing them, patronizing them, confusing them, insulting them, making lame jokes....the list could go on.

Two points here.  First, no-one sets out to fail.  They don't get up in the morning and think 'what's the quickest way I can destroy my credibility today?'  Most speakers are doing their best. They're just going about it the wrong way.

Second, if you study the many reasons why presentations fail, you'll see there's just one root cause: failure by the speaker to engage their audience.

Whatever the purpose of the presentation, success is entirely dependent on engaging audience hearts and minds.  That is, engaging (a) their attention and (b) their commitment so that (c) they take the action you require.

I believe the starting point for engagement is a 180-degree shift: from talking about Me to talking about You.

We live in individual and separate universes.  Call it a design fault, but it's part of being human.  We are self-centred.  I'm at the centre of my universe.  You're at the centre of yours.

If I want to engage you, I have to get out of my universe and into yours.  I have to see things from your point of view, not mine.  And then use the insights gained to shape the substance, structure and style of my communication.

Why?  Because you're the person I need to get what I want, whether I'm selling my product, my big idea, my vision for the company, or simply myself.

How to turn your material from Me-centred to You-centred?

1 - Recognize that your default position, by virtue of being human, is set to 'Me-centred'.

2 - Take positive action to turn your material round through 180 degrees so that it's You-centred.

This means thinking of your audience from the moment you start planning and preparing the communication.

So.  Who are they? How do they feel about this?  How much do they know?  What will turn them on - and off?  Where's the best starting point for them?  How can I make what I want to say as simple as possible?  How can I make it really easy for them to buy into my idea?  What do I actually want them to do as a result?

Here's a warning.  Very often, what seems to us the best way to structure a presentation seems that way because it's structured from our own perspective.  It fits nicely in our own little universe.

For example, you're preparing a proposal changing the way your organisation does something.  Here's your first stab at the structure:

My proposal
'Corners'
NB Importance of timing
Implementation (not my problem)
How it will make things better

This is not a structure, it's a shopping list of points. If there's any logic here, it's in your universe only, no-one else's.  There's reference to something called 'corners'.  Only you know what that means.  This is an entirely Me-centred presentation.

A better way of ordering your material could be as follows:

What is my proposal?
How will it work?
How will it make things better?

This is logical, and easy to follow.  But just because it's logical doesn't make it engaging.  In fact it's still Me-centred: the subject of conversation is still your proposal.  The audience only get a look-in at the end (if they're still listening).  Bring the audience in at the beginning, as well as at the end.  Make them the subject of conversation - and take yourself out of it.

Why do we need to change?
What do we need to change?
How will it make things better?
How will it work? (Now that they're sold on the idea.)

In any communication, there's never a guarantee of success.  But by taking pains to put the audience first, you're far more likely to engage them.

You're the cleverest*/sexiest*/most powerful* person on the planet.

*Delete where not applicable.

Fear.

Even seasoned speakers experience presentation nerves.  Particularly when there's a big audience.

The more formal the setting, such as when you're on a raised stage, the more you're likely to have a sense of alienation.

You're in an 'us v. them' situation, only much worse, because there's no 'us', just you up there.  All alone.

Particularly at the start.  There's ice to break and an abyss to cross before you can get going.  It's like going for a jog in the Andes.

So how to bridge the gap and melt the ice?

Why, by the usual method, of course: flattery.

If you think you're immune to flattery, or curl your lip at the very idea of it, it can only be for one of three reasons:

1 - You're a saint.  Far too wise to be charmed by a flatterer.

2 - You've never been flattered.  Poor you.

3 - You've been flattered, perhaps quite often.  But - and this is key - you've been flattered badly.

Let's be clear about this.  Just because you know you're being flattered, doesn't make it bad. After all, the very fact that someone thinks you're worth flattering is in itself flattering.

No.  Bad flattery is when it's so obviously false that it makes you embarrassed for the flatterer.  It's smarmy, unbelievable, undignified and cringe-worthy.

(Funny how we most often notice this when someone else is being flattered.)

So what's good flattery?

Good flattery, you might think, is sincere.  And you'd be half right, because, in order to feel flattered your audience needs to believe you mean what you say.

But how often do you meet people you genuinely admire?  Suppose none of them are in the audience you have to address tomorrow morning?

If the flattery isn't genuine, it has to be faked.  But properly-faked, with something of the care an expert forger would take over his first Leonardo.

How?  You have to make sure the flattery is (a) well-targeted and (b) evidence-based.  Any evidence will do.

Let's say that you've thought about the people you're addressing and you've decided what they really enjoy is feeling important.  

Don't say something silly, like:

"Wow!  It's such a privilege for me to address such an important group of people!" (Simper, simper.)

Anyone can say that, with no thought or effort.  Plus it suggests this is the first time you're addressing important people, which doesn't say much for you.

Instead, how about something well-targeted and evidence-based, like this:

"Last week I looked at the final confirmed list of people attending this conference.  And I have to say I was excited. Because sitting here, in this room, today, are the 300 most important people in the dog-biscuit industry. As you know, we're in a golden age of canine snacking.  And you're the visionaries who've made it happen..."

OK, it may be laying it on with a trowel, but it's evidence you've actually made the effort to research your audience.  This is flattering.  

The '300 most important' figure injects further evidence in the form of measurement.  Fact: there are 300 people in the audience.  You've bothered to count them.  Who's to say if they're the most important people in the industry?  A good handful of biscuit barons is good enough.

If you've read your audience right, and they do indeed aspire to being canine snacking visionaries, they'll happily take the credit for ushering in the golden age.

Good flattery does no harm.  It makes people feel positive about themselves and positive about you.

A good way to break the ice and bridge the gulf.

Are you a fiddler on the hoof?

How should I hold my hands?  What do I do with my feet?

These are strange questions.  We don’t normally give thought to our extremities.  It’s enough that they stay attached and do what they’re supposed to do.

But presentation nerves can put a sudden and unwelcome spotlight on them.

They become an unexpected source of embarrassment, like Grandma whipping her clothes off at your dinner party.  They intrude into the proceedings, demanding attention at a time when we've plenty else to think about.

"What do I do with these things?  Put them in my pockets?  Hold them stiffly down my sides like a guardsman? Play with my hair?  Pick up a pen and see how quickly I can click it?  Or perhaps hold them up casually behind my head, displaying the evidence of my nerves, in two saturated patches around my armpits?"

"And what about these other things? I don't want to look frozen.  So perhaps I'll sway from side to side.  Or pad about like a caged panther.  Or maybe stand on one leg? And now on the other.  Whoops, I’ve fallen over."

There's only one thing worse than fidgeting and being painfully conscious of it.  And that's fidgeting and being painfully unconscious of it.

Why? Because you can bet that your audience will be aware of it.  After all, they've got nothing better to watch.  And as they become fascinated by your erratic motion, they will cease to regard you as a source of information and start to see you as a source of entertainment, however appalling.  Which of course destroys your credibility, let alone distracting the audience from your message.

Happily, there's a simple rule here.  The only movement on-stage or on-screen that does not distract an audience is movement with purpose.

So if you use your hands in normal conversation, use them in the interview or presentation. If you don't, then put them behind your back. What's natural for you, works for you.  If your hands become a visual aid to support what you're saying, that's movement with purpose.

Similarly, if there's a good reason to walk from one part of the stage to another, such as to change a slide, that's movement with purpose.  If someone on the other side of the audience asks you a question, walking towards them is movement with purpose.

Pacing about just for the sake of it is distracting and irritating.  A bit like a film director trying to make a scene more interesting by getting the cameraman to shake the camera.

Pointless movement makes you look uncomfortable and unconfident, as if you're trying to escape.  When it comes to stance, the key is to stand still.  Let all movement be from stillness and return to stillness.

Here's something that may help you remember what to do with your hands and feet.  Think of a tree.

Trees do not move about the terrain, occupying one spot today and a different one tomorrow.  They are rooted in the ground.  But only dead trees are motionless.  Living trees have branches that move with the wind.

So unless you're moving with purpose, keep your feet rooted to the ground.  But allow your upper body - shoulders, arms and hands - to move naturally.

Be like a tree.