Pretend for just a moment that you are the lead act in a circus clown show. You are fully aware of what people find funny, how they react to exaggerated antics, and the impressions they form while watching the interlude between main acts under the big tent. You know how to get them to laugh, how to poke fun, how to turn awkwardness into comedy. Your band of misfits—your fellow clowns—are nothing if not consistent. They come across exactly as you would expect. Overdressed, overly dramatic, a bit chaotic. You worry. You wring your hands. You obsess over every detail—timing, props, facial expressions. But when the show is over and the audience files out, there is not much you can do to change what they remember.
You were a clown show. A good one? Perhaps. A bad one? Maybe. But what they remember, what sticks in their mind, is that they saw a clown show. That’s it.
The truth is, the leader of a clown show would never try to pretend to be something else. He knows what his role is, what his troupe is meant to be. There’s no illusion. There is no attempt to shift genres or redefine the audience’s expectations. Any effort to make the act something it is not would be futile. It is, after all, a clown show.
This metaphor has been circling in my mind for a while. It came into sharp focus a few weeks ago when I watched one of my children present themselves to a group of adults, hoping to win their favor for a job or internship—something of that nature. I remember cringing internally. I thought, “They should not have said that.” Or, “They should not wave their hands like that.” I worried they were giving off the impression of a child asking for something beyond their reach.
But that impression was entirely accurate. They were a young person, relatively inexperienced, trying to take their first steps into the working world. No matter how much coaching I might have given, no matter how polished their words or how well-fitted their outfit, the underlying truth was clear. They were a beginner, and that was what the audience perceived.
A few months earlier, I had a small team pitch me an investment opportunity. The idea was intriguing—AI tools to automate marketing tasks. The pitch was professional, the presentation sleek. But the deeper I listened, the clearer the reality became. There was no product yet, no software built, no proprietary algorithm or patented method. Just an idea and a team of college-aged founders looking for funding.
Their real goal? To pay themselves salaries so they could work on this full time. They dressed the idea in business language. They talked about scaling, market opportunities, customer segments. But the substance remained unchanged. They were asking for money so they could afford to keep building. No matter how refined the pitch, the truth of the matter could not be hidden.
I have been part of many organizations in my life. For-profit companies, nonprofits, small startups, large corporations. Boards, associations, volunteer groups. And there is one consistent reality that I have encountered every time. No matter how much effort is spent on optics, you cannot conceal the true nature of an organization. You might manage to fool someone for a moment, but not for long. Eventually, the truth emerges. It always does.
Even if you are a master communicator, an expert strategist, someone with impeccable timing and finesse, you still have little control over the impressions others form. That is because those impressions are largely built on prior experience, personal bias, and subconscious judgments. You might influence 1 to 5 percent of that. If you are exceptionally good—perhaps 5 percent. But that still leaves 95 percent of the impression formation process completely outside your control.
So, what is the lesson in all of this?
Stop trying so hard to fool people. Instead, direct your energy toward telling the truth. Be honest about what you are, what you are not, and where you are headed. When someone’s impression naturally aligns with what is true, your job is easy. When it does not, trying to force it will only waste time and money.
Tell the truth. Tell it well. And let that be enough. The truth, told plainly and with conviction, may not impress everyone, but it will always outlast pretense. In a world obsessed with crafting the perfect image, the real power lies in being comfortable with what you are and where you stand. When your actions, your message, and your purpose are aligned with the truth, you don’t need to manipulate impressions. You become clear, and clarity—more than charisma or cleverness—is what people remember. So, be less concerned with playing the part and more focused on living the part. The world may still see a clown show, but at least it will be an honest one.
