I Could Be Wrong

Have you ever been in the middle of a disagreement and realised that you what you’re saying is ridiculous? When this happens, do you have the courage to back down? Few of us like admitting we might be wrong but why should it trouble us? After all, haven’t most of humanity’s greatest discoveries come from trial and error? Trying out ideas, misunderstanding and making mistakes brought about important innovations like the wheel and farming.

In terms of communication, admitting we could be wrong is, potentially, very persuasive. Who wants to listen to sanctimonious blowhards, who think everything they say is fabulous? I know I’m more likely to listen to someone who knows what they’re expressing are ideas, rather than irrefutable facts.

It seems to me, and I could be wrong, that there’s a peculiar paradox in the way we currently communicate. Individuals increasingly use shouty marketing tactics to sell themselves, while organisations are striving to appear approachable and human. Social media has encouraged us to present ourselves as superbeings, who bounce breathlessly from one success to another. This is hardly surprising. Being under constant surveillance makes us defensive and unwilling to reveal our true selves. The corporatisation of our culture, where failure isn’t an option, has compelled us to massage our personal brands.

It’s not just boring if everything someone tells you is perky and perfect; you instinctively know you’re not getting the whole story. After a while, your internal lie detector starts searching for inconsistences. In a post-truth era, we’re all expecting to be lied to. 

Many of the companies I write for are seeking to cut through the mess of marketing babble with a communication style that feels human and relatable. The problem is that the people they want to reach are expending ever more energy filtering this content out of their day-to-day lives. Effective communication is like shooting at a moving target and must be sensitive to shifts in public tolerance. 

When someone admits fallibility, we tend to heave a sigh of relief. OK, we say, we can put our guard down and let this person in. It may be a bitter pill to swallow but the key to appearing human, rather than faceless, includes ‘fessing up that you don’t know everything.

The most memorable manifestation of this I’ve seen was a film Volvo made about driverless vehicles, in which a range of people were interviewed, including Volvo employees, and asked their opinion. One production line worker expressed her doubts in a charmingly forthright way. “It’ll never happen”, she said succinctly. This raised a smile but also said something significant. The company were confident enough to accept conflicting opinions. These days, I write for Volvo Cars and I’m a committed advocate for autonomous driving and the benefits it will bring, but that’s beside the point. By admitting they could be wrong, Volvo’s message was infinitely more convincing.

It’s a characteristic of intelligent and self-assured individuals that they’re comfortable admitting what they don’t know. It’s the suspicious and insecure among us who vainly erect a shield of infallibility.