Last Updated on October 31, 2024 by Michael

How to Completely Dominate Public Speaking Without Actually Knowing What You’re Doing

Public speaking is terrifying, like watching a clown car crash, but without the fun honking. It makes your heart race, your palms sweat, and for some reason, your body decides this is the right time for your entire digestive system to revolt. But fear not… wait, sorry, don’t panic. There’s a way to navigate this sweaty mess, and I’m here to help you come out on the other side as the screaming train-wreck hero you were always meant to be. Let’s get weird.

Dance Moves That Make No Sense (But Feel Right Anyway)

If you ever feel yourself drowning in nervousness, why not start dancing? Not just any dancing. We’re talking about the kind of moves that make people question if you’re having a moment or if you’re just the freest soul they’ve ever seen. There’s power in unpredictability, and there’s nothing more unpredictable than breaking into the chicken dance during a speech on fiscal responsibility.

No one ever said public speaking had to be static. Spin, shimmy, moonwalk, and maybe even attempt a cartwheel (if you’re feeling especially unhinged). You’ll inject a level of kinetic energy that will either impress or confuse, and frankly, you should be okay with either.

Some people might tell you that dance doesn’t belong in serious presentations. They’re wrong. The worm can absolutely complement a sales pitch. Interpretative dance could communicate your Q3 earnings. The more abstract, the better.

The beauty of nonsense dance moves is that there’s no wrong way to do them. Stand up, put your arms in the air, and pretend to make waves like an inflatable tube person. Go on; let the spirit of randomness consume you. That’s how you truly captivate your audience.

If you’re selling the idea, commit to it completely. If you half-heartedly pop-and-lock, people will sense weakness. But if you dance like your life depends on it, people will respect that—even if they still don’t understand it.

Don’t forget to integrate those bizarre moves into the most serious parts of your speech. Delivering hard data? Wave your hands as if you’re trying to summon a pigeon. Announcing a company merger? Take a spin. It’s the juxtaposition of information and physical absurdity that keeps them hooked.

When you make your audience laugh, it becomes easier for them to connect with your message. Dancing your heart out gives you an air of carefree confidence. And nothing says “I’m a confident speaker” like dabbing after explaining profit margins.

Maybe, halfway through, you suddenly go completely still and freeze in a dance pose. This disorients the audience in the best way possible. They think you might be malfunctioning, but they can’t look away.

And the great thing about unexpected dancing is that it’s an excellent distraction. Forget what you were going to say next? Just start doing the Macarena. If you’re going down, go down swinging—literally.

You don’t need to be a good dancer. In fact, the worse, the better. A clumsy breakdance is better than no breakdance at all. Think of it as adding a quirky signature to your speech.

The moves should make zero sense, yet somehow, the audience will find themselves wanting to join in. Maybe they won’t admit it out loud, but when they get home, they’ll probably be dancing in their socks too.

Dance moves turn you into a legend. You’ll become that person who danced like no one was watching, except everyone was, and they loved every second of it.

If you’re nervous, just imagine everyone naked. It’s classic advice, right? Wrong. That’s for amateurs. Instead, take it to the next level. Imagine them wearing nothing but socks. Socks that don’t match. Socks that are fuzzy and covered in cartoon frogs. Now, stand there, look at them, and imagine them trying to seriously judge your performance while they’re sporting frog socks. Now who’s in control? You, that’s who.

Picture Mr. Businessman. He came in all high and mighty, with his three-piece suit and Rolex, ready to tear your speech apart. But he’s got socks covered in frogs. Bright green frogs. And one of them is holding a tiny banjo. Try not to laugh. That’s the true power play here—reversing the awkwardness like some kind of social ninja.

Also, don’t just stop at socks. Maybe they’re all wearing medieval helmets or inflatable sumo suits. The more surreal, the better. Before you know it, you’ll forget about your own discomfort because you’re mentally outfitting the room in inflatable giraffe costumes. Own it. They’re your inflatable-giraffe people now.

And when you’re up there talking, keep giving yourself mental commentary about their socks. If you start feeling the pressure, just go back to imagining those frogs—“socks of power” thoughts can truly be grounding. You’re not just speaking; you’re the jester at the court of mismatched absurdity.

Befriend the Microphone (Or Don’t, Who Needs It?)

The microphone is your sworn enemy. It’s tiny, yet it holds all the power. It can make you sound like a god or like a mumbling, incoherent mess. The key to befriending the microphone is to treat it with the same respect you’d give a particularly untrustworthy hamster. You’re going to want to talk into it gently, but not get too close—this hamster might bite.

Better yet, if you’re feeling brave, don’t use it at all. Throw it off the stage. Yell “I HAVE A VOICE!” and let your natural volume take over. Sure, people might wince, but they’ll remember you. They’ll tell their kids about that one person who confidently launched a mic into the stratosphere and roared a PowerPoint presentation like they were leading the troops into battle.

And if the mic is on a stand, adjust it with extreme precision. Take 27 seconds to make sure it’s at the perfect height. You’re stalling, sure, but you’re also building suspense. “Oh wow,” they’ll think, “this person is clearly preparing for something amazing.” Then blow into it, make that terrible static sound, and say “Just checking!” No one likes that sound, but no one’s ever brave enough to stop you from making it. Be the hero they didn’t ask for.

Or if you feel like the microphone is betraying you, just back away slowly. Let it win this time. You’re the bigger person. You don’t need it, and you’ll let the audience know that by projecting your words straight into their terrified ear canals.

Become a Human PowerPoint

Bring a Cardboard Cutout of Yourself and Argue With It

What’s better than one of you? Two of you. But don’t bother bringing a friend—bring a cardboard cutout of yourself instead. Nothing says confidence like literally doubling your presence on stage.

Set your cutout up beside you, and at some point during your presentation, start arguing with it. The cutout might not talk back (unless you’re incredibly convincing), but that’s what makes it great. You can assign it opinions, ideas, even blame. It becomes a physical manifestation of all the doubts you want to address.

You could accuse the cardboard cutout of not understanding basic market economics. You could then, of course, tell the audience how wrong the cutout is. It creates a strange dynamic of you being both protagonist and antagonist—an elaborate display of duality that nobody asked for but everyone secretly needed.

Every so often, pretend the cutout interrupts you. Pause, sigh, and look at it as if it’s done it again. “No, Jeff the Cutout, that’s NOT how price elasticity works!” Now you’ve got people siding with you against your own cardboard likeness.

This cutout also helps you deflect tension. If you mess up, just say, “That was the cutout’s idea, not mine.” Everyone hates a scapegoat, but they’ll adore you for inventing one out of cardboard and raw confidence.

At some point, you should threaten the cutout. Say something like, “One more comment like that and I swear I’ll fold you in half!” Then laugh and play it off like a joke. The tension will be palpable, but so will the laughter.

Give the cutout a ridiculous name. Something like “Stanley the Second” or “Wallace the Whisperer.” Keep referring to it throughout your speech. When the audience thinks they’ve finally forgotten about it, bring it back into the conversation with a vengeance.

It’s not just about arguing, though. You can make the cutout agree with you too. Say, “Wallace thinks I’m right, don’t you, Wallace?” and nod enthusiastically. The crowd will be entertained by the absurdity of you looking for validation from yourself.

You could also use the cutout as an example of poor posture. Stand it next to you, slump over, and say, “Don’t be like this guy.” Now your speech is also a health PSA. Multifaceted brilliance.

When you need to leave the stage for a moment, tell the audience that Wallace will take over. Walk away confidently, leaving them to stare at the empty-eyed representation of you. You’re giving them a taste of what life would be like without you—spoiler: it’s unsettling.

Finally, dramatically toss the cutout to the ground at the end. It’s time to show you’ve conquered whatever it represents. Not just the fear of public speaking, but the fear of yourself.

PowerPoint slides are for cowards. That’s right, I said it. Nothing screams “I’m not sure I know what I’m talking about” like a deck of sad, fading slides with bullet points about quarterly performance. Instead, become your own PowerPoint. Use your body as the visual aid.

Need to make a graph? Stretch your arms out and make a wavy line. When it dips down, do a dramatic squat. When it peaks, stand on your tiptoes and point to the ceiling. Boom. You just showed market fluctuations with your own form. Who’s going to forget that? Absolutely no one. Congratulations, you’re the living embodiment of the Dow Jones.

When it’s time to list things, just start pointing at different parts of your body. “Point one: (point to your left shoulder) Revenue. Point two: (point to your right knee) Expansion.” Don’t worry about why your knee is expansion; people will have to figure that out for themselves. Let them do some of the mental heavy lifting—it builds character.

And if anyone asks where your slides are, make them up. Just say, “Oh, I emailed them to all of you. Check your spam folders.” Even if they don’t exist, they’ll start doubting themselves. Maybe they missed it. Maybe they’re the problem. Slide gaslighting, I call it.

Then, do something truly unpredictable. Take a moment to freeze in place, mid-sentence. Stare at an imaginary point in the distance, and just hold that pose. They’ll wonder if you’re waiting for a transition slide. You’re not. You’re just watching them squirm in their seats, trying to figure out what comes next. Genius.

Pretend You’re Hosting a Game Show, But Only You Know the Rules

Use Props That Have Nothing to Do With Anything

Props are supposed to support your presentation, but what if they don’t? What if they’re completely irrelevant and absurd? That’s when things get interesting. Bring a toaster. Hold it up in front of the audience, and then set it down without acknowledging it. People will be dying to know how the toaster fits in.

Maybe the next prop is a snorkel. Put it on, look at the audience, and then take it off. Still no explanation. Let their curiosity eat away at them. They’ll be on the edge of their seats waiting for the big reveal that never comes.

Walk around with a watering can. Occasionally stop, tilt it as if you’re watering an imaginary plant, and continue with your speech. No one will understand what’s happening, and that’s precisely why they won’t be able to stop watching.

If you’re feeling ambitious, bring a pet rock. Give it a name. Introduce it, and then periodically reference it throughout the speech. Don’t make it a big deal—just drop casual lines like, “Steve the rock agrees,” and then move on like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Sometimes, props should serve no purpose other than to raise eyebrows. Roll a tire across the stage, then proceed as if nothing happened. If someone asks what it’s for, look at them like they just asked you why the sky is blue. “It’s a tire,” you say, and continue without elaboration.

Random objects like balloons can be inflated mid-speech. Inflate one while discussing something serious, like tax brackets. When fully inflated, hand it to someone in the front row and continue talking. Now it’s their balloon, and they have no idea why.

Consider bringing in a deck of playing cards, occasionally shuffling them while you speak. Never play a game. Never explain. Just shuffle. This implies you’re preparing for something that never comes, which builds suspense that leads absolutely nowhere.

The stranger the props, the more memorable you become. A sock puppet? Perfect. Speak to it, then respond as yourself. People may be slightly terrified, but they’ll also be enraptured by the chaos.

What about a cooking pot? Stick it on your head like a helmet when you get to a particularly important point. Nobody will know if you’re serious, but they won’t forget you either.

At the end of the speech, gather all your random props, and hold them triumphantly above your head. Let out a primal yell. You’ve done it. What, exactly? Who knows. But that’s not their concern.

Audiences like participation. At least, they think they do, right up until they’re actually asked to do something. That’s when the fear sets in. Use this to your advantage by treating your speech like an elaborate game show—but here’s the kicker: you don’t tell anyone the rules.

Start asking random questions, like, “Who here likes spaghetti?” When someone timidly raises their hand, point and shout, “Congratulations! You’re now the CEO of spaghetti.” Then move on as if nothing happened. The CEO of spaghetti doesn’t know what’s expected of them, and neither does anyone else. Now they’re all paying attention, terrified of becoming an unexpected executive of an obscure food item.

Throw in a “prize round” where the prize is a rock you picked up from the parking lot. Hype it up like it’s made of solid gold. Watch as people cheer for it like they’re on “The Price Is Right” even though it’s clearly just a rock with a slight chip in it. This is how you create investment. This is how you keep them hooked.

Then, halfway through, change the rules entirely. Suddenly, you’re playing a game called “Who Can Stay Silent The Longest.” Don’t tell them it’s happening—just stare into the crowd with an intense look until everyone stops talking. When the silence takes over, shout, “We have a winner!” and throw the rock at them (not literally—we don’t need lawsuits here).

Your job is to make them question what reality is and what role they play in this nonsensical narrative. Are they contestants? Are they audience members? Are they pawns in your bizarre plot to dominate public speaking? Yes. Yes to all of it.

The Art of Random Yelling and Whispering

Introduce a Random Character Halfway Through

Out of nowhere, introduce an entirely new character—maybe you’re suddenly channeling the spirit of an old pirate named Captain Clambake. This character can come in with wild commentary, give opinions that make no sense, or pretend to be an expert on whatever mundane topic you’re covering.

For instance, if you’re presenting on corporate culture, Captain Clambake might interject with salty advice like, “Arr, corporate synergy be about as useful as a peg leg in a dance-off!” Then, switch back to your normal voice as if nothing happened.

To make it even more confusing, tell the audience that Captain Clambake is a licensed expert on workflow automation. This makes no sense, but they’ll be too bewildered to question it. The audience now has two speakers, one of whom may or may not exist.

Give your character a backstory. Captain Clambake was fired from his last job for “excessive barnacle references.” Toss out these details with a straight face. People will try to decide if they’re supposed to laugh or nod along.

When Captain Clambake disappears, make a point of mourning him. Say something like, “Unfortunately, Captain Clambake had to set sail once more. He’ll be missed.” The emotional whiplash will keep everyone engaged.

Make sure the character interjects at the most unexpected times. If you’re in the middle of whispering something intimate about quarterly sales, suddenly switch to Captain Clambake yelling about the importance of treasure. Nobody will see it coming.

You could even dress slightly differently when Captain Clambake arrives. Put on a bandana or pull out an eye patch. It doesn’t have to be convincing—it just has to be strange enough to keep them interested.

Let your character disagree with you. Argue with Captain Clambake, and then make the audience decide who’s right. Are they on your side, or do they side with an imaginary pirate with questionable financial advice? Either way, you’ve made them invested.

In one of Captain Clambake’s segments, have him deliver some completely inaccurate statistics. When you switch back to yourself, correct them by sighing, “Sorry about that. Clambake’s a bit behind on current research.”

Eventually, let your character get “fed up” and leave in a huff. Then, acknowledge the awkwardness by shrugging. “He’s got a temper,” you say, as if everyone knows Captain Clambake personally.

This approach keeps the audience on their toes because they never know who they’re dealing with. You’re two people, and both are equally unreliable—but that’s what makes it work.

Monotone is the enemy. If you’re speaking like a robot, people will start thinking about their grocery lists or whether they left the oven on. To counteract this, introduce sudden bursts of yelling and whispering. No warning. No explanation.

You’re delivering a perfectly normal speech about sales metrics, then suddenly: “AND THAT’S WHY QUARTER TWO WAS A DISASTER!!!” It doesn’t even matter if quarter two was a disaster. They’ll all be awake now, that’s for sure. Follow it up by leaning into the mic (if you haven’t thrown it yet) and whispering, “But don’t tell quarter three I said that.” Now everyone’s wondering what kind of personifies the financial quarters like that—you, that’s who.

Also, unpredictability is key. Whisper the things that are actually exciting, and scream the mundane parts. “We had a 2% INCREASE in FOOT TRAFFIC!!!” Then whisper, “And then we acquired three new coffee mugs for the break room.” Now they’re laughing, they’re confused, and most importantly, they’re listening.

If anyone in the audience looks like they’re nodding off, lock eyes with them and yell the next sentence directly at them. Make them the unwilling protagonist of your sound and fury. It’s edgy, sure, but you’re in the wild west of public speaking now—and out here, there are no second chances.

When you start whispering, go for absurd intimacy. Share a secret that isn’t really a secret, like “I only wrote this speech because my cat told me to.” People might laugh, they might shift uncomfortably, but they’ll be wondering what kind of person consults with a cat on PowerPoint topics. Spoiler: it’s you, and you’re nailing it.

The Closing Act: Pretend You’re Leaving, Then Don’t

Pause to Take Questions, Then Ignore the Answers

Ask the audience if they have questions. Smile warmly, nod encouragingly, and when someone finally raises their hand, point at them and say, “Good question.” Then completely ignore it and move on with your speech. This isn’t about being polite—it’s about wielding the power of expectation and shattering it.

If someone asks a genuine question, take a deep breath, look deeply thoughtful, and then say, “The answer is more complicated than time allows.” Even if the question was as simple as, “Where are the restrooms?” It’s about asserting dominance through non-answers.

Pretend like you’re about to answer. Say things like, “Great point, let’s unpack that.” Then just pause and stare into the middle distance. Let the silence stretch on for a beat too long, and then move to the next topic as if nothing happened.

Consider throwing in a red herring. If someone asks a technical question, respond with something wildly off-topic, like, “That reminds me of the time I got my foot stuck in a bowling ball. But I digress.” Move on as if you’ve addressed their concern perfectly.

Take a question, and then proceed to answer a completely different question instead. If they ask about quarterly growth, respond with an impromptu critique of 1990s sitcoms. It’ll confuse them, but confusion is half the battle.

At one point, call on someone, then shake your head and say, “No, I don’t like your energy. Next!” It’s a power move that will make everyone in the room question whether or not they want to speak up. They’ll also never forget you.

Instead of answering, start taking notes on their question, mumble something about getting back to them, and never get back to them. They might think you’re taking this very seriously. Joke’s on them—you’re not getting back to anyone.

Ask a rhetorical question, let someone answer, and then say, “Wrong!” without any explanation. It establishes your authority over the discussion, regardless of what the answer was.

Throw in an obviously fake statistic. When asked about market data, say something like, “Well, recent studies show that 98% of all employees prefer their desks to be made out of cheese. Fascinating stuff.” Move on before anyone can question you.

At some point, say, “That’s a great question—let’s circle back to it.” But make a spinning gesture with your hand, like you’re actually circling something, and then never come back to it. This leaves them in an endless loop of anticipation.

By the end, people will be wary of asking questions, which makes them easier to manage. You’ve shattered their confidence, but in a fun, unpredictable way that keeps them on edge. That’s the sweet spot of public speaking.

One of the best ways to end a speech is to not end it at all. Wrap up with a powerful closing line like, “And that’s why we need to invest in a better future.” Pause. Wait for the applause. People are clapping, probably relieved that it’s over. They’re ready to leave. But that’s when you hit them with it: “Wait, one more thing.”

Watch their faces fall. You’re not done. You were never done. You have at least three more points to make, and now they’re trapped in the limbo of polite society, where they can’t leave until you say they can. Revel in it. This is your time now.

Start pacing the stage like you’re Steve Jobs presenting the iPhone for the first time, except you’re actually just presenting your opinion on seasonal allergies. Make it sound important. Use big words. Gesture dramatically. Make it seem like you’re building to a new grand finale.

Then do it again. “Actually, one last thing.” At this point, you can see the soul leaving their bodies. But now they’re invested. What else could you possibly have to say? You’ve brought them to the brink, and now you’re pulling them back. It’s an emotional rollercoaster, but they can’t get off. The ride’s in your hands.

When you finally decide to actually end, just drop the mic (unless you already threw it, then pantomime dropping it). Walk off without looking back. Maybe wink at someone on the way out. Leave them bewildered, dazed, and questioning their entire existence. That’s how you dominate public speaking: with confusion, chaos, and a complete disregard for the conventions of polite communication.

Conclusion: Who Even Needs Conclusions?

You want a conclusion? Forget it. No neat little bow. No heartwarming summary. You’re a public speaking anarchist, and the rules don’t apply to you. If someone demands a conclusion, point to the ceiling and say, “The conclusion is up there.” Then walk out, leaving them to ponder if they’ve just experienced an actual public speaking seminar or an elaborate social experiment.

Congratulations. You just mastered the art of public speaking without knowing a single thing about it.