Cricket. Couscous. Louis Vuitton.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get someone you’ve never met before to like you like that?”
“To want to help fund us.”
“And be your plus one on a dinner date?!?”
I’m outside the office of a prominent politician. The leader of one of WA’s political parties. It’s started to rain. In 2020. The Chair of the Board is somewhat baffled. And me, amused.
There is irony. The Chair knows the politician. They were called to the Bar together but had never worked with each other. A necessary strategic partnership. Seeking support. We needed them to like me. He is somewhat ambivalent. And me, excited.
Although a competent salesperson, I’m not a fan of selling. It has a fakeness to it. An inauthenticity. Like a knockoff Louis Vuitton handbag from Bali. Pretending to be something it never really was. That you’ll discard without a second thought the minute you can afford the real thing.
But it’s a critical skill for leaders of non-profits whose existence is founded on the generosity of tired taxpayers, proactive philanthropists and gluttonous governments.
I know this. They know, I know this. Which is where the song starts. And the dance begins. He is somewhat nervous. And me, ready to do what I do best.
Be. Myself.
Research shows a first impression is imprinted within a fraction of a second. Princeton psychologists Willis and Todorov found judgments like trustworthiness and competence can be formed after 100 milliseconds of exposure to a face. You then have less than 7 seconds for that first impression to be etched into their perception.
Once the initial meet and greet is done. The niceties nuanced. We get down to it. I go for the jugular. My Mr. Miyagi killer move:
I ask them about them.
Their life, family. Interests.
As the Chair looks at me somewhat confused. Like I’m missing the point. Whilst hitting the mark. And me, I’m in my most-happiest place.
Connecting.
As equals.
One human with, and to another.
No seriousness. No talk of funding, strategic partnerships. Policy or system changes. There is lightness, laughter and love for cricket. Big Bash. Something I know sweet FA about. But they do. I watch them light up with passion and enthusiasm. Unexpected. Most likely contextually, rarely shared.
Then it happened.
They divulged a dream to meet the CEO of the WACA - who I happened to know. Not directly. By association. Their wish to have dinner with them, to talk all things cricket. For one meal.
And then I did it.
The pitch: If I could get the CEO of the WACA to come to dinner, they would take me as their plus one. A parliamentary leader. I’d met less than an hour before.
Deal. We shook hands.
And two months later. In a restaurant on a cold winter’s night.
We had dinner.
Four humans talking cricket over couscous and chardonnay. Forgetting who we were. But not why we came.
That's the thing about first impressions. The best ones happen when you stop trying to make them.
And the best connections aren’t based on how much you’re selling.
But if they’re fake or the real thing.
H2BH 030/365
