Reflections

Why outstanding presentations are harder than they look

A few things that quietly get in the way—long before the first slide is designed

We all think we know the basics. A good presentation has a purpose — to hit a goal, move a decision forward, or bring people into alignment. On the surface, that sounds simple. Almost obvious.

The hard part is making that happen in the conditions we’re usually given.

Not in a vacuum, but between meetings. Under pressure. With limited time to think. And with far more at stake than ever appears on a slide.

People will say, “I need a presentation.”
But what they’re really saying is, “Help me communicate — clearly, intentionally, and in a way that actually connects.”

That work rarely begins on the slides.

It usually begins with a conversation. With questions that don’t yet have tidy answers. With the chance to think out loud while ideas still have room to move around — before they harden into structure, obligation, and expectation.

One of the biggest challenges I see is that many leaders don’t have a true thinking partner in this process.

There’s no shortage of smart people or strong opinions. What’s missing is often the space to simply talk something through — with someone who understands the organization, the history, and the nuance, but isn’t advocating for a particular department, function, or even a familiar (but outdated) slide.

So we end up approaching new presentations with preexisting components — already shaped, already entrenched, already defended.

By the time presentation development enters the picture, the meeting is on the calendar. Expectations are forming. Unseen pressures are quietly at work. And the nature of the work shifts — away from shaping intention and toward managing consequences.

Earlier contemplation creates freedom.
Later reaction tends to restrict it.

There are also constraints we rarely name, but always feel. Board dynamics. Regulatory language. Brand promises made years ago that still need to be honored. Things that can’t quite be said, but absolutely must be respected.

These forces never appear on the slides, yet they influence nearly every choice behind them.

And then of course, there’s the very human fear of leaving something out.

Slides often carry more than information — they carry people, conversations, and expectations. Omissions can feel risky, even when inclusion weakens the message. So content accumulates. Slides grow dense. And what was meant to clarify begins to blur.

As we work through the clutter, some part of us knows it is just too much. Another part is fearful that simplicity will be mistaken for being uninformed.

Sparse slides can feel exposed. They can look unfinished rather than intentional. In response, three slides’ worth of material end up on one. Entire talk tracks appear verbatim on the screen — not to strengthen the message, but to protect it.

The intent is safety.
The result is dilution.

What actually builds connection isn’t density. It’s coherence. But coherence requires trust — in the thinking, in the presenter, and in the room.

Yet in many organizations, everyone owns a piece of the story. But very few own the whole. When presentations truly resonate, it’s usually because someone quietly held the thread from beginning to end — not loudly, not visibly, but with consistency and care.

The most effective presentations I’ve been part of weren’t rushed into existence.

They were built out of dialogue.
They had room for reflection before production.
Conversation before execution.
Judgment before polish.

Sometimes we just need time, trust, and space to think.