It’s not enough to speak clearly. Leaders need to do this, too

Flush from his victories on the battlefield and in the arena, Maximus negotiates an endorsement deal with a major olive oil producer. Days later, marketing posters sporting his image appeared plastered on walls throughout Rome. 

Do you remember this subplot in Gladiator? Of course, you don’t. But not for the reason you might imagine. 

Such a scene, apparently, was included in the original script.  Surprisingly—to non-historians—the relatively recent innovation of celebrity athletes selling products is not an innovation at all. Many centuries before Michael Jordan started hawking sneakers, heroes of the Roman Coliseum were lending their names and likenesses to the mass marketing of ancient times. 

So why was the scene clipped from Russell Crowe’s cinematic rendition? Simply because no one would have believed it. 

Herein lies a most irksome paradox. It’s not enough for something to be true.  It must be believable. This is despite the obvious fact that our collective belief or refusal to believe has absolutely no impact on reality. 

Imagine reading a Shakespearean-era novel in which the protagonist is anguished over being unfriended. Utterly implausible, you tell yourself.  Except that the first recorded use of unfriend traces back to a letter penned in 1659.  Okay, that’s a little late for Shakespeare, but not by much. 

The examples are endless. The ancient Persians invented the first air-conditioning system. The ancient Greeks invented central heating. The first vending machine dates back to first-century Alexandria. 

So what do you call it when you can’t tell the truth because no one will believe you?  That’s our latest entry into the Ethical Lexicon: 

The Tiffany Effect 

The perception of any historical fact as anachronistic or unrealistic to modern audiences despite its accuracy. 

Also referred to as the Tiffany Problem, the expression was coined by fantasy author Jo Walton. The name Tiffany dates back as early as the year 1200, traditionally given to girls born on January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.  The Old French spelling “Tifinie” derives from the Greek Theophaneia, meaning “manifestation of god.” 

But none of that matters. Modern readers know that the name Tiffany arrived on the scene with Audrey Hepburn; consequently, they also know that it has no place in Medieval literature. No amount of historical lecturing is going to convince them otherwise. 

Interestingly, the greatest of artists refused to allow accuracy to get in the way of their art.  Michelangelo’s David is famous for its disproportionate right hand, neck, left shin, and left buttock. (And let’s not forget that, in all likelihood, David was wearing clothes when he faced Goliath on the battlefield.) The artist, in his genius, recognized that the combined effect of rippling musculature and imperfect proportionality would somehow coalesce into a breathtaking masterpiece that depicts reality better than reality itself. 

There are two lessons for leaders here. First, it’s not enough to speak clearly.  Only by anticipating how our words might be misunderstood or misinterpreted can we ensure that our message will be received the way we intend.  Communication that fails to take into account the recipient is miscommunication, no matter how certain the communicator is of accurately conveying the message. 

Second, we need to practice humility. Just because we are 100% certain doesn’t mean we can’t be wrong. Almost two centuries ago, humorist Josh Billings warned against precisely that when he observed: “I honestly believe it is better to know nothing than to know what just ain’t so.” 

By demonstrating a willingness to admit ignorance and acknowledge they might be wrong, leaders actually build credibility in the eyes of their people while modeling the values that sustain a healthy culture. Sometimes, that means avoiding the appearance of being wrong even when we’re right. 

But you’ll justifiably ask: Don’t we have an obligation to speak the truth and to disseminate truth throughout the world? Well, yes and no. Concerning the scriptural obligation to give rebuke for wrongdoing, the sages taught: “Just as one is required to speak words that will be accepted, one is prohibited from speaking words that will not be accepted.” 

In other words, we can cause more damage by giving others information they aren’t willing or able to process than we cause by remaining silent. In such cases, we might be able to modify our message to make it more easily received, even at the expense of perfect accuracy. 

The Tiffany Effect leads us into an ethical tempest. What is our first and highest priority? To speak literal truth, or to enable others to recognize a deeper truth?  Navigating the treacherous waters between honesty and effectiveness presents a daunting challenge in countless relevant situations. 

Whether we’re trying to sell clients, consumers, or colleagues, the same principles of ethical marketing apply: How can we make it easier for others to hear and accept our ideas by framing them to be palatable without distortion or misrepresentation? Err too far to one side and you lose your sale. Err too far to the other side and you lose your integrity and, perhaps, your reputation. 

Tiffany might be an entirely appropriate name for my 13th-century heroine, but if readers refuse to buy into the accuracy of the story because of their own erroneous misconceptions, the writer wisely changes her name to Theophaneia.  When we know our people and our audience, we can craft our message to meet them where they are and thereby serve their best interests. The willingness to do just that is the first step toward eliminating the Tiffany Problem altogether.