Would you mind dropping the mike?

I love kids. They are adorable little beings and when I have my own I'm going to walk around town with my baby or babies and be like: 

But kids for some reason are masters when it comes to timing.

For example, during sacrament meeting when it's as quiet as a church mouse and we have time to ponder what God and Jesus has done for us or in the grocery store when you're shopping and minding your own business when this happens:

A child screams.

In this case it sounds as close as what Obi-Wan Kenobi describes as "as if a million voices cried out". It is high pitched, shrill, and grates on the nerves.

And while this is going on you just want to say this to the parent who seems to do nothing to stop the screaming:

But either one of three things happen:

1) The parent will give in to the child's demands and take them outside or hand them that obnoxiously brightly colored item that caused them to scream in the first place.

2) The parent will argue with the child and you end up like this:

or

3) The child will throw a tantrum and cause more kids to scream, creating a audio mess that makes you want to leave or cover your ears because: 

But in the end the child will win and for me it makes me wonder how they can pull off this form of persuasion without any lasting social drawbacks that we, as adults, suffer when we try this ourselves.

The Lack of Words

Growing up, we make a lot of mistakes.  Heck, I think I've made more now that I'm out of the house than when I was still just a kid in it.  My parents were behind the majority of the reprimands, time-outs, yelling; all trying to change and shape me into a better person.  But quite honestly, I don't think it was done very well.  Not to say I'm not a better person because of if, but I'm saying there were more effective ways to punish children than to yell at or ground them.  I know because the one time my dad didn't do that is the time that I decided to actually change my behavior.

I won't tell you what I did, because it's quite embarrassing, but let's say it was an extremely important rule in our house: and I broke it.  I didn't think he was going to find out, as usual, but he did, as sometimes.  When he did, there was no storm.  No thunder, no lightning, no flood of yelling streaming into curses towards me and my disobedience.

There was silence.

We sat like that for over ten minutes.  Me dying for him to yell and get angry, but him just sitting there on the verge of tears, extremely disappointed.  That silent and emotional disappointment was so much more powerful than the anger.  The anger I could get angry at; I could get huffy and yell it wasn't fair, or that he didn't understand, etc. etc. etc.  But in the silence I could see how much he cared about me, and that's why those rules were in place.  In the silence I vowed to never break that rule again, and to try to be better about following his counsel and rules in the future.  From then on was I perfect?  No where near.  But I can say that from then on my dad and I had a much closer relationship, full of respect, that we still carry on today.

In this case, it was a lack of words that spoke the most.

Now You See It, Now You Don't...

Once, while living in Florida, I stumbled upon a dusty, Moroccan-style room. Intrigued by the faded sign out front that read "Come In and Be Amazed", as well as the enticing air conditioning that was an oasis in the humid air of Orlando. As a child, I always loved magic. My uncle would always pull a quarter out of my ear each time I saw him, and my mom could take a refrigerator full of ingredients and make an incredible meal in less than 30 minutes. My life was largely magical, because I viewed it as such. I grew up on Harry Potter and Disney, and Santa and flying reindeer (read: I'm still partially convinced my letter to Hogwarts was somehow lost in the mail).

But within the confines of this musky, claustrophobia-inducing room, entered an icon. The magician was slick. I had seen countless magic shows, but never anything like this. He made foam balls multiply before your eyes; playing cards changed their faces at the snap of his fingers. I was hooked. 

Often times, I think we forget about the action of persuasion. With no words, this magician made all of us believe in what he was doing he knew all the angles, all the flicks of the wrist to get us to buy into his tricks...

... and I did, quite literally. As it turns out, that small room was actually a magic shop (I somehow missed the signs) and the show was merely a sales pitch to persuade the audience to purchase their novice magic sets, and I walked away, 65 dollars in the hole. 

While I am still mesmerized by a good magician, this experience did make me stop and think. How much is our society using propaganda and techniques of persuasion to make us believe or behave a certain way? Not just in the words that are used but also in actions, videos, pictures, sounds - really anything can be used to persuade an audience - and the best persuaders know how to use multiple techniques seamlessly together. 

So the next time you find yourself in a small, hazy magic shop, just remember that everything is not what it seems...

Thanks, Jonathan!

Utah State Campus

My entire childhood I never wanted to attend BYU. Growing up in Provo, I thought it would be ridiculous to stay home and be a Zoobie. So, as soon as I graduated high school I was in Logan hating on BYU. But while in Mexico for two years I realized how unique the opportunity to attend a church sponsored school really was. Although I had more respect for BYU students, I still wasn't willing to apply. What would my Utah State friends say?  I would betray those I came to love in Logan.

Me as a total Zoob!

With just about 6 months to go a former companion, Jonathan, told me I should got to BYU. I quickly denied him, but he was persistent. He told me that he knew we both needed good friends to be around after returning home. And he told me that I would find those friends at BYU. I thought about who I would hang around with at Utah State and I knew I needed BYU much more than it needed me. Jonathan knew exactly what was important to me and how to persuade me to join him at BYU. His timing couldn't have been better--he knew I was thinking about how to return home and stay active.

 He was right about finding friends at BYU. Almost two years after our conversation he introduced me to who is now my wife.

"ON SALE!!!" The Perfect Persuader

One of the first assumptions you learn about in Economics is “People act in their own self interest.” This statement is important because it allows you to assume that people will make rational choices and therefore are predictable. You may hear this and think to yourself that all econ majors are selfish people but in reality we all make decisions that make ourselves better off and therefore more happy. Not selfishness but common sense.

The amazing thing is….. not only do Economists make this assumption but so does every business that tries to sell you something. As a result they use the power of persuasion to get you to buy their product. And guess what? We give in every time!

For example; A few days ago I received a gift card to my favorite climbing store for my birthday so that I could buy some much needed new equipment. When I walked into REI on Monday (Labor Day) there was a huge sign that said LABOR DAY SALE and the second I walked into the store one of the clerks was right on me, telling me about every deal that they had. He was quite persuasive but I held my ground! I was going to use the funds on that gift card and not a penny more! When I reached the aisle with the piece of gear I needed…. lo and behold it was on sale! Instantly ideas ran through my mind of what I could use the few extra dollars on my gift card for. And then I saw another piece of gear that I had been needing for quite some time and guess what? It too was ON SALE! Well of course I had to buy it! And so I did! Later realizing that I had walked into that store dead set on not spending a penny extra and walked out 30 dollars poorer.

What do I learn from this? First, courtesy clerks are horrible persuaders. Second, an “On Sale” sign is quite a much better persuading tool and a desperate 60 year old man acting as a “courtesy” clerk. It is interesting that persuasion does not necessarily need to be vocal or even come in the form of written arguments. An unbeatable price is persuasion enough!

The Persuasion of Silence

                Growing up in Montana, I experienced my teenage years in an area where I was the religious minority.  Religion, itself, was a minority.  I had a great group of friends, but they also asked a lot of questions.  You see, I was a part of the Speech and Debate team.  My friends had something to prove and I had something to defend.  There were many long bus rides where my friends and I would go back and forth on topics of religion.

                I remember one night in particular when, as we were traveling back to our hometown, that my friend Nick and I were talking.  Quickly, the conversation turned to what I believed.  He was a vehement agnostic.  We were in our teenage years and, like many teenagers, he had decided to rebel against the traditional views of his family.  Usually, our bus ride talks were calm and measured.  We had learned how to agree to disagree.  On this occasion, however, our talking got louder and louder until it drowned out much of the road trip chatter.  A bunch of our teammates around us began to lean in and listen.  I’ll be honest, he asked some hard questions and I didn’t know all the answers, though I tried to explain to the best of my abilities the importance of faith and trusting in things we can’t always see.  At one moment, he arrived at the pinnacle of his argument, exclaiming in a loud voice his final question.  He asked it to our newfound audience as much as to me.  Dead silence ensued.  It was that moment when you realize that you’re losing the argument, public opinion and you wonder if you’re losing the people around you. 

               

My Comfort Zone

My comfort zone has grown tremendously over the years. As a child this zone was skin tight but know it is as big as I chose to make it. This is all thanks to my wonderful mother who was constantly pulling and stretching the impenetrable comfort zone.

One of these stretching moments was when in 7th grade my mom said “you should play rec basketball this year! It would be so fun!” “uhmm…. I’m not too sure about that” I would whisper back. Eventually my mom’s persistence was enough to get me out of my comfort suit and into a basketball uniform.

Then came the time for the real try outs. Should I or should I not, I thought to myself. There were many reasons I gave myself not to tryout but in the end my mind was changed. This change came when I was playing basketball in gym class. My gym teacher came to me and gave me the courage I needed to try.

 At times credibility (ethos) is more persuasive then words. My gym teacher was one of the basketball coaches. She need only give me a few words of encouragement to persuade me to go out for the team. When you are the right person (when you have ethos) you only have to say a few words to win arguments and change lives. Lucky for me my coach was that person.

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Selling the Speedo

Growing up I never knew what water polo was. As far as I knew it was played with horses in a pool. It never really called my attention until high school. My best friend, Josh, wanted to play, but didn't want to do it alone. I gladly agreed to join with him, and we decided to head to our first practice that afternoon.

I walked onto the pool deck eagerly anticipating what would come. Our coach happily gave us our first "uniforms" and told us to change. I opened the bag, and saw a brand new speedo. At that moment I had a sudden change of heart.

I told Josh that water polo seemed cool, but I didn't think I could work the speedo. He laughed and grabbed me on the shoulder. He proceeded to explain to me that the sport wasn't about the speedo. I remember him comparing it to school, to cars, really to anything he could think of. He really wanted me to play with him.

Finally, he reminded me that as freshman in high school, polo was the edge we needed to get girls. With that he had me hooked, and we walked back to the pool deck in our new uniform.

Obviously I'm not proud of what it took to persuade me. However Josh knew me well. He appealed to my interests.  He was my best friend and I believed just about everything he told me at the time.

Either way I grew to love the sport!

Well Done, Meathead

THE Mr. Woo

My high school freshman teacher was a terrifying individual. He was a rather short, fairly round elderly Asian man who wore hideous Hawaiian shirts and berets on his shiny, bald head. They frequently fell off when he got particularly passionate about something. He called us all by last name in a rather loud and gruff tone that made you jump when he shouted 

“Mc-INN-es!”  Or he called us meatheads. It kind of depended on his mood. Mr. Woo made kids cry and shake with fear.

He was my one of my favorite teachers.

This man was very persuasive in a very subtle way—so subtle I didn’t realize it until years later.

We all thought he hated us. But, although he never said it, he actually was hard on us because he cared about us and wanted us to succeed.

Mr. Woo was a tough teacher. He knew we were smart and expected us to perform—no excuses. He’d call us out and demand correct answers. If we were wrong, he told us. It was humiliating for us insecure 14 year olds. But when Mr. Woo gave praise, it was the greatest thing ever.

“Mc-INN-es. Get up here!” He’d hand me an assignment. “Well done. Sit down.”

We were subtly persuaded to work hard in that class. I didn’t want to fumble for an answer in front of my classmates. I wanted to prove to my teacher that I could do it.

I still remember lessons from that class. Yes, about warnings in Romeo and Juliet and how to analyze Poe. But more importantly, Mr. Woo convinced me (largely without my knowing) that I could do hard work. No excuses. I was competent. If I applied myself I could do well.

Cracking Up With Persuasive Power

When I was about 10 years old and had entered the armpit of the educational system (otherwise known as middle school), the good old gullibility jokes were trending. "You know, if you say the word "gullible" reaallllyyy slowly, it sounds like you're saying "orange!" "Oh hey guys look, somebody wrote the word "gullible" on the ceiling!".

As the self righteous pre-teen that I was, during dinner one night, I began telling my family all about how gullible the students in my classes were.

"Thank goodness I'M not that gullible!" I exclaimed.

For a few moments, everyone continued enjoying their meal. And then my mom turned to my dad.

"Hey honey...did we celebrate crack day this year?"

My dad responded, seemingly concerned. "No....I think we've forgotten it the past few years!"

"What's crack day?" I demanded, full of teenage indignation. If I had been missing out on something, I wanted to know about it.

"Well," my mother replied, "you know that babies are born without a buttcrack".

My siblings and I gaped across the table, aghast.

"Yeah, haven't we talked about this?" My dad continued with the air of one discussing the weather. "Babies don't have a crack until a few hours--sometimes days--after they're born. Katelyn, I think yours was the day after your birthday...isn't that right, sweetheart?"

My mom nodded affirmatively. "You see, babies don't develop their crack until they've had their first...ahem...bowel movement".

This was new information to myself and my three younger siblings. The conversation that followed was a combination of us kids being disgusted and slightly fascinated, as well as us insisting on knowing when our crack days were.

"Can we have CAKE on my crack day?" my younger brother asked.

"Of course!" My parents beamed.

I'm ashamed to admit that it took a few weeks for me to realize that my parents had made the whole thing up. My total naivety, coupled with their confident affirmations and ability to come up with stories together out of thin air, meant that I spent a good while wholly convinced that babies were born single-cheeked.

Moral of the story: use your persuasive powers for good. Or to embarrass your children when they later ask their friends when their crack day is.

Fomo is Real

The other day I was at a ward activity when I joined a conversation with some of my friends. They were joking around about one of my friends' serious case of "fomo" (fear of missing out). As they teased her about the struggle of deciding whether or not to be responsible versus procrastinate some assignments she had to do, I laughed and joined in the teasing.

After a little bit, I started to wave goodbye as I explained to them that I had to go pick something up from a friend as I hadn't been able to do it all week and she was finally home at that moment. Bla, bla bla.


Just before I walked away, someone said, "Alright, so whose apartment are we all going to?" Without much thought, I changed directions and started following them instead.

"Actually, I'll just go with you guys."

Of course, then they all started laughing at me.

Elder Holland and Coke

The most powerful persuasion is the specific kind. Sometimes, persuasion is more subversive or psychological. I’m not talking about that. Sometimes, specificity lends itself to power. In the right place, under the right conditions, and using the right words, speaking directly to someone’s situation can be a powerful motivator. Of any person I have heard speak, Elder Holland is a master of this. He can pinpoint a word and run with it.

Sitting in a mission prep class back home, the missionaries showed me Elder Holland’s talk, “We Are All Enlisted.” The talk itself is essentially priest quorum scripture, so I’ve heard it countless times. But in my then current situation, Elder Holland’s call to arms resonated with me in a way that no other General Conference speaker has in the past. My situation was this: recent high school graduate, incoming college freshman, recently ordained elder, and future missionary. Elder Holland spoke specifically to every one of those points. He didn’t dance around the issues; he attacked them. In no time before or since have I felt a stronger desire to go on a mission.

In many ways, Elder Holland is a marketer. He definitely isn’t one in the multi-million dollar ad campaign sense, but he is in the sense that marketers know their target consumer. Marketers know who they want to sell to before they’ve even made the product. Elder Holland knew before writing his talk exactly who he wanted to speak to.

The power of marketing is irrational. Elder Holland seems to understand it, but people are free to choose to buy whatever they want. That’s just agency. If this is the case, how do faceless conglomerates and dynamic companies persuade people to buy their products? In my marketing class, the most powerful example of persuasion comes from Coca-Cola. By strategically placing their “Friendship Vending Machine,” Coca-Cola saw a 1075% increase in sales (article here). Coca-Cola dispenses happiness; the Friendship Machine doles out twice the happiness. Coca-Cola knew its target audience and spoke directly to them with the Friendship machine. Elder Holland knew his target audience too: me.

Persuasion of the Mind and Heart

I'll admit it. As a high school runner, I pursued victory with a missionary zeal. While this meant training hard to make myself as competitive as possible, it also meant recruiting my friends who were in good shape to abandon whatever endeavors they might feel like engaging in on a fall afternoon to slap on trainers and shorts and beat their poor bodies into submission over miles upon miles of twisting forested mountain trails. Believe it or not, this is as hard as it sounds! Nonetheless, I was consistently inviting potential runners to evening runs, fun little cross country socials, and other fellowshipping events in the hopes that some of them might feel the truthfulness of my message and join the team. There was one friend, Dylan, whose story highlights an important aspect of persuasion.

Dylan was a fine young man, who was in great shape and, more importantly, had the defiant disregard for reality that characterizes those who see mountains as molehills and pain as a pleasant companion. He was a clear candidate for the XC team, and had always been a good friend of mine. I decided to try to recruit him. I invited him on runs, told him about all the fun stuff we'd been doing as a team, and even tried to get him to come to some non-running activities. It was all to no avail. Perhaps he knew what I was trying to get him into, or more likely he just had better things (he thought) to do. Regardless, all that changed one night. I invited him to a stake dance. He's not a member, but he loves to dance, so he came and had a great time. While there, he met the vivacious and flirtatious Bianca Flufferhoffer (name has been changed.) They had a great time at the dance, he got her phone number, and when I drove him home, he could not stop talking about her. That was when I said, "You know, Bianca runs cross country..."

Dylan was a member of the team that ran at state in 2012.