The man who ended my presentation was our CEO.
I’d been Director of Computer Operations for years. I knew the systems inside and out. I had a proposal that would save the company millions, prevent system failures during peak shopping seasons, and modernize infrastructure that was overdue for replacement. I’d spent weeks preparing. Technical diagrams. Flip charts. Bulletproof projections.
I walked into that executive boardroom ready to dazzle them with my expertise. See why smart people communicate badly.
Halfway through my first slide, the CEO raised his hand.
Not to ask a question. Not to dig deeper into the technical specs. To end my misery.
“Richard, I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’re done here.”
Silence.
My carefully crafted presentation became worthless paper. My million-dollar project died right there on the conference table.
But that CEO wasn’t being cruel. He was being honest. I really had no idea what I was talking about. Not because my technical solution was wrong, but because I never bothered to explain why anyone should care.
I Was Speaking Computer to Humans
That night, I replayed the meeting over and over. For more, see Eight Skill Areas Where Senior Management Consultants Carry Unique Authority.
What went wrong? My solution was solid. My research was thorough. My projections were accurate.
Then it hit me.
I wasn’t talking to fellow computer nerds. I was talking to business executives who needed to understand one thing: how does this make our company better?
Instead, I gave them a technical manual when they needed a business case. I spoke in code when they needed plain English. I showed them how clever I was when they wanted to know how this solved their problems.
System optimization. Infrastructure enhancement. Operational efficiency improvements. Those were the words I used. Every one of them created distance between me and the people who controlled the budget.
What Is the Hidden Cost of Jargon?
Nobody tells you this when you climb the corporate ladder: your expertise becomes your enemy if you cannot translate it.
Every technical term you use creates distance between you and decision-makers. Every diagram you draw without explaining its impact loses their attention. Every time you say “use” instead of “use,” you sound like a robot.
Research from Harvard Business School Online found that inadequate communication costs large companies an average of $64.2 million per year, while smaller organizations risk losing $420,000 annually.
The NeuroLeadership Institute documented something even more revealing. A study by Adam Galinsky at Columbia Business School found that people with low status are more likely to use jargon to compensate for insecurities. Authors from lower-ranked schools used more jargon in dissertation titles than those from prestigious schools. Participants told they were lower status in a mock pitch competition chose more jargon in their presentations. The people who actually had authority spoke plainly. The people trying to prove they belonged hid behind big words.
Jargon doesn’t make you sound authoritative. It makes you sound insecure. And according to a separate study cited by the same institute, vague language actually makes listeners doubt you’re telling the truth. Our brains process concrete statements faster, and because of that processing speed, we associate simple language with credibility.
I wasn’t impressing anyone in that boardroom. I was proving I didn’t understand my audience.
What I Should Have Said
If I could rewind that meeting, here’s how I’d open:
“This project will save us $2 million next year and prevent our systems from crashing during Christmas rush. Here’s how.”
That’s it. Impact first, details second.
Instead of explaining how the technology worked, I should have painted a picture of what happens when it doesn’t work. Registers down during peak shopping hours. Customers walking out. Revenue disappearing.
Then I could have positioned my solution as the thing that prevents that nightmare. But I didn’t. I led with features instead of benefits. Process instead of outcomes. How instead of why.
What Separates Memorable Communicators?
After that disaster, I spent years studying what makes some business leaders unforgettable while others get tuned out. The pattern is consistent.
They lead with impact. Instead of explaining how something works, they start with why it matters. They answer the question “What’s in it for me?” before getting into the details.
They use stories. Data informs, but stories transform. A well-told story about one customer’s experience carries more weight than a spreadsheet full of metrics.
They speak in pictures. Abstract ideas bounce off people’s brains. Concrete imagery sticks. “We’re going to turn this ship around” hits harder than “we’re implementing a strategic pivot.”
They keep it short. As Harvard Business Review documented, transformational leaders “use short words to talk about hard things” and “choose sticky metaphors to reinforce key concepts.”
Warren Buffett writes his annual shareholder letter as if he’s writing to his two sisters who aren’t active in business. He even starts the draft with “Dear Doris and Bertie” and removes the salutation when he’s finished. He doesn’t discuss portfolio optimization strategies. He says he buys good companies when they’re cheap.
The people who get things done speak like humans, not business textbooks.
Why This Matters for Your Book
I tell this story to every ghostwriting client because it applies directly to the book they’re writing.
Business authors make the same mistake I made in that boardroom. They write for their peers instead of their readers. They lead with credentials instead of stories. They explain methodology when the reader wants to know what happened and why it matters.
The executive who spent 30 years in healthcare doesn’t need to prove she understands the regulatory landscape. Her readers already assume that. What they need is for her to translate that expertise into language that helps them solve their problems.
The entrepreneur who built a company from nothing doesn’t need to walk the reader through every pivot and funding round in chronological order. He needs to identify the three or four moments that changed everything and tell those stories with enough specificity that the reader feels like they were in the room.
That CEO taught me that expertise without translation is noise. The same principle applies to every book I help clients write. The knowledge has to serve the reader, not impress them.
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