The year was 2012 and I was finally about to become an official British citizen. I’d studied for and sat the Life in the UK exam. I’d submitted the seemingly endless paperwork - everything from my Australian birth certificate and my marriage certificate to years of bank statements and references from employers. Finally it was the day I would be presented with my certificate of citizenship and swear my loyalty to The Crown.
As I joined my fellow inductees at the local council chambers, I suddenly felt guilty. I’d rocked up in a casual outfit of slouchy trousers and trainers, treating this as admin to get through before rushing off to the school pick-up. Immediately I could see that for others this was a big, emotional deal. People were really dressed up. They had their extended families in tow. They were crying. I was just happy that from now on I could join my husband and daughter in the shorter queue at the airport. What can I say, I’ve never been the chest-thumping patriotic type. This was simply a matter of pragmatism for me and I was getting a bit tense as it was all taking a lot longer than I’d assumed it would.
When we were finally being ushered into the right room, it was announced that it was mandatory that one of us stand at the front of the room and read a poem. Tradition, apparently, and no one was getting their passport until it was done. I could see panic strike everyone’s faces. There were definitely some people thinking, ‘Saying words in front of strangers? Please, god, just deport me.’
I shot my hand straight up to do it. Like I said, I really needed to get to the school run. Loud, collective exhales of relief all round.
I was happy to do it because I know that many people would rather die than stand up to speak in front of a crowd. I am perfectly happy addressing a crowd and I figured it was doing everyone a solid and so hopefully this would not be a day where I looked like the scumbag mum who forgot to pick up her kid.
I wasn’t always comfortable with public speaking. But these days I really love it, which feels like something you’re not supposed to admit. I find every time a challenge and one I’m always adrenalised by. I get a buzz out of connecting with an audience and, well, I cannot sing or dance or act. So talking it is.
Anyway, if you’re a magazine editor, there’s no getting around it. Addressing rooms full of people is part of the job. There were things like internal conferences, where you’d be asked to present something to usually around 150 colleagues from all over the world. I always had to present an award at the Glamour Awards, which was probably the thing that made me the most nervous, because it was always in a room full of very famous people whose profession was to entertain. I mean, how do you follow an hilarious Amy Schumer or Melissa McCarthy? In my case it was in definitely not trying to be funny.
But it was upon the occasion of the 10th anniversary of Glamour magazine, in 2011, when I had a breakthrough that would forever change my confidence around speaking to crowds.
We hosted a very fancy celebration dinner at London’s Claridges Hotel, and I was expected to deliver a speech about Glamour to about 150 guests. The room would be full of important advertisers and celebrities who’d been on our cover. I wasn’t nervous, but for some reason I began my speech by saying I was nervous about giving my speech. I think I did this with the idea of it being a disclaimer: if they think my speech is crap, they’ll still have to be kind to me about it because I’ve mentioned how nervous I am.
The speech went fine. I mean, it’s not like The TED Talks team were on the phone wetting themselves about it or anything, but it was perfectly nice and I even got a couple of laughs (for the right reasons). After the dinner when everyone was mingling, an important executive from a major beauty brand approached me: ‘Your speech was really great. But listen, don’t start speeches by telling people you’re nervous. What you said was really good and starting that way does you a disservice and it makes everyone on edge. No one wants you to be nervous, they really want to hear what you’ve got to say.’
It was constructive criticism that changed me for the better. I’ve always seen it as a great kindness that he said that to me and I’m going to try and unpack for you here how it helped my confidence with speaking, ever after.
I know this might seem ludicrous advice to try and follow if you are one of those people who would rather die than address a crowd. But that piece of advice stopped me thinking about my experience of my speaking and consider the feelings of the audience. I force myself to stop thinking about my nerves or self-consciousness and start thinking about what I want the audience to feel, and what I want them to get out of it. And the last thing they want is to sit there dying of embarrassment because they can sense my fear.
I’ve never understood that whole ‘imagine the audience all wearing their underwear’ tip for getting over your own nerves. To me, that seems an exercise in trying to feel ‘bigger’ than those you’re speaking to; an idea that if you can belittle them in your imagination by picturing this vulnerable state, that you will somehow ‘conquer’ them. I don’t want to conquer them, I want to make the audience my friends. I want them to enjoy the experience of hearing me speak, or - as is often the case with the work I do - I want them to enjoy the company of the person I’m on stage to interview for them.
So I know this sounds easier said than done, but I decide I am not going to be nervous. I spend a lot of time visualising myself on that stage, or behind that lectern, delivering a very good speech. Alongside that, I actively look forward to having done the speech and feeling the high I know I will feel from having done it well. My husband says he doesn’t know how I can stand to do it - to get up in front of a crowd and just talk. It’s because I decided a long time ago that I would act confident with it, even if I was nervous, because otherwise the audience would be sick with discomfort.
Think about it: When you’re sitting in an audience, do you sit there thinking, ‘I hope the person who gets up to speak next really sucks. I will enjoy that.’ No one wants to watch the slow moving car crash of someone else’s humiliation. If you’re tasked with addressing a crowd, unless you’re in the unfortunate position of telling them something like they’re all about to lose their jobs, they want you to be at ease when you’re talking to them. They are on your side.
I had a further breakthrough about a year after that Claridges dinner when I was invited to be the keynote speaker at a dinner at Australia House. It was an awards ceremony where several Aussie ex-pats would be given ‘Australian of the Year’ awards (not me, still waiting for mine lol). This was a particularly nerve wracking one because the brief was to talk about me. By this time I was used to speaking about the magazine and the work we did, but I’d never been asked before to talk about my life story. It felt vulnerable and exposing - the challenge of trying to make my little life sound interesting to a crowd.
I forced myself to accept the invitation because I do like to push myself and well, it was a very flattering honour to be asked. I spent weeks trying to figure out which bits of my career/life history would be halfway interesting. I decided that, as the audience would be almost all Aussies, I’d lean hard on cultural references and in jokes. Everyone particularly liked my tales of being in charge of the ‘Dolly Doctor postbag’ (a magazine problem page that achieved iconic status Down Under.)
I have to tell you: it was the closest I’ve ever come to feeling like a rock star.
That speech went down a storm, not because I am an amazing human being or speaker. But it was the first time I’d dared to make the content of a speech personal. The audience was able to view me as a rounded human, rather than a title - ie ‘editor of Glamour’. It was the first time I’d ever dared to be ‘the real me’ in such a forum and it really taught me a lesson. The more myself I am able to be when I’m public speaking, the more the audience relaxes and the better it goes. Every time.
Of course, everyone’s fear about public speaking is in tanking up there in some way. And I’ve had my share of those moments. Once, I was booked by a speaking agency to speak to a conference of accountants about the magazine industry. Don’t ask me why, I think I was supposed to be the light relief after all those slides featuring numbers. It happened to be the very morning we all woke up to the news that we were leaving the EU, so I was in a shaky and heartbroken mood to begin with. I turned up to a hotel room in central London and surveyed the audience - it was about 60 middle-aged men, all of them looking through me with glazed, dead eyes. Oh dear, I thought. Dry crowd. No worries, I’ll start with a joke.
I said, ‘It’s so nice to look around the room and see so many Glamour magazine subscribers, I can tell I’m with my natural audience here.’
OK, not exactly James Acaster, but an acceptably amusing ice-breaker I thought. Not one person let out even a polite titter. They all just kept staring through me, like I wasn’t even there. Excruciating. What did I do? Ploughed on, gave my speech, and spent the whole time looking forward to when I could phone my husband and laugh about how dire it was. Nobody died, you know?
Here are my tips for better public speaking.
Make sure the voice is you. By which I mean, as much as possible, make sure that whatever you’ve written down to say, is how you would speak to someone in a normal conversation. Don’t suddenly be dry and formal, or use words that you would never use, but you’ve pulled out to sound ‘fancy’ in your speech. If it is you speaking the way you would in any everyday conversation, you will be so much more comfortable when it comes time to deliver it.
Own your humanness. If you suddenly have a dry throat, or you muddle your words it’s fine. Laugh about it. I was at a conference last year when a woman got up to speak and tripped and fell face first onto the stage. When she reached the lectern she started with, ‘And how’s your day going?’ and we all became her fans for life.
Prepare. I know it’s obvious but it makes a huge difference to your confidence and your ability to speak well. Know your speech inside out. Practise it in front of the mirror hundreds of times. It will really help you with understanding the best places for pauses and what words to stress. And it will mean you can handle it - no sweat - if an autocue dies or you suddenly realise the papers you’re reading from are all in the wrong order.
Really visualise people engaging with what you’re saying. See yourself succeeding at it and owning the room. And look forward to doing it. Decide that you’re going to be confident and do a great speech. I promise you it works.
And a reminder of that piece of advice that changed me: Don’t tell everyone you’re nervous. Don’t undermine yourself and your content with this. Just speak.
Lastly, I want to recommend an excellent book on the subject from my friend, Viv Groskop, How To Own The Room. It’s full of great advice and strategies. And if you’ve got any tips that work for you, share them with the group!
Love this Jo, great advise. Being dyslexic let me talk any day. Now writing is a different challenge.
Play to your strengths and dare to try, is my advise which is everything you just said. Thank you XX
This is good.