Why do we read slide decks to each other?
Reading bedtime stories is one of the coolest things I’ve gotten to do as a parent. I’ve inserted my own backstories and accents, but for the most part, I just read the words on the page. Even if I read the same book three days in a row, my kids listened like it was the first time hearing it. They hung on every word. A big reason for this is that they didn’t know how to read. For them, reading a book was a magic trick.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve watched my youngest learn how to read. Now she’s reached a point where she can read “chapter books”, which means the covers are no longer cardboard and the book has chapters. She’s very proud of herself. I usually read a page or two and then hand it off so she can read the rest. Sometimes she asks me to “tell” her a story, which is another parenting favorite. I can take those stories wherever I want and adjust on the fly based on the audience reaction.
During bedtime the other night a thought came to me. I no longer read books to my daughter because she can read them to herself. Then why, in the corporate world, do we read slide decks to each other. We can read.
I thought about my rocky relationship with slide decks. Early in my career, if I had to present something, I was meticulous about my slides. I made sure they had every word, every graphic, every chart. My slide deck was my presentation. I didn’t want to risk missing something so I included ALL of it. When it came time to “present”, I just read the words on the page.
After a few years of this, I started to feel weird reading to a bunch of adults so I’d try to throw in a few bonus details along the way. I’d mix around the words of a bullet point to keep it spicy. I started saying things like “well, I’ll let you read that part” if I saw that I’d built a wall of text I didn’t want to read through.
Somewhere along the way, I took a stand up comedy class. Comedians don’t use slides. They also don’t memorize their content. They’ve definitely practiced, but each time, they have to bring stories to life without reading them. They focus a lot on transitions to help them get from one segment to another.
After taking that class, I became totally anti-slide. I’d speak at events where the hosts would ask me for my slides in advance, either for review or get them set up for presenting. I’d send them a bare bones slide deck with a few pictures and words. They were always confused and frustrated by this.
“OK, but where are your slides?”
“Those are my slides.”
It was scary to jump into a slide-less world. What if I forgot something? What if I froze up? To ease my fears, I borrowed from stand up comedy and focused on my transitions. If I knew those, I would feel comfortable with my content. It’s not as free form as when I make up a story for my daughter, but a lot closer to that than reading her a book.
I’ve become less of a slide hater recently. I think they play an important role, even the word heavy ones. I just don’t think they make sense for live presentations. They’re a great way to present information without even being there. Since you can’t tell the story with your spoken words, you do it with written words — written words that people can read for themselves.
So here’s my question to you: What’s your relationship with slides?
Before you answer, put yourself on the receiving end. Instead of the one presenting, think about what it’s like for you to be the audience!