A confession: Ben Levy took away my training wheels and Tom Elmer's branding students were the beneficiaries.

An hour and a half is a long time for me to pedal anything without dipping into my speaker notes. Oh, I had them, all right.

But at the last minute, I threw caution to the wind and went?commando.?No crutches. No safety net.

None.

Scary, yes. I did this because Ben Levy told me to. Would I jump off a fucking cliff if Ben Levy told me to? If last week was any indication, sure, why not?

Presenting without speaker notes or reading the slides is counter-intuitive AF, but according to Ben, it's the most common cause of failure and meeting malaise.

Ben Levy, for the uninitiated, is the mad fucking genius behind Stop Reading Slides, a book that basically says, “Hey, why don’t you try talking like a normal human being instead of sounding like a telemarketer hopped on trucker speed?”?

A wild, reckless suggestion, I reckoned. Until I did it.

Last week, via a 90-minute Zoom call with Tom Elmer’s branding students at West Chester University, I pulled the goalie.

No safety net. Full Monty.

I abandoned my notes. I trusted Ben implicitly. I looked straight into the little green camera at the top of my computer screen, another patented Ben Levy move, and winged it.

It actually fucking worked.

For slow learners like myself, let me break it down for you.

Reading the slides is for ass-clowns. Neophytes and troglodytes. Mouth-breathers.

I took a presentation coach and thirty bucks to make me a true believer. But now I'd like to request something from my friends and colleagues.

Don't read Ben's book or sign up for his seminar. You'll be fine. Someone has to be on the other end of the Bell curve, stammering, ummin' and awin', and putting the audience into a stupor.

It might as well be you.

Forget I ever mentioned his name.

I need all the competitive advantage I can get. As for the people who have already been coached by Ben—Droga5, Mischief, 72 & Sunny to name just a few from the who's who list—well, they got to him before me.

They’re fully indoctrinated.

The rest of you can remain in PowerPoint Purgatory.

Back to my training-wheel-free hero's journey.

Yes, I pulled on my big boy pants. Okay, physically, they were the same pants I’d been wearing all week but that's not the point here.

What happened when I jumped from the plane without my emergency chute was kind of incredible.

I noticed things. Faces. Reactions. A real connection.

Instead of reciting words like a hostage reading a ransom note, I actually told stories. Did I miss some parts? Maybe. Did anyone realize I missed some parts?

Hell no.

They were laughing. Nodding. Engaging. Asking good questions. My presentation felt a lot more like a conversation. And somewhere along the way, the wall of indifference evaporated.

A real talk about insights for three campaigns from my career unfolded with a refreshing absence of canned commentary.

We covered work from some of my favorite clients and brands.

1. 7-Eleven – The official sponsor of 2 AM regret.
2. Shiner Beers – The drink of choice for people who say "Bless your heart but really mean please don’t fucking move here, especially if you’re from L.A."
3. Land Rover – Because some people like feeling adventurous even when they’re stuck in traffic.

An AI demo from an old dude? WTF?

I roped the students into an AI demo with a relative softball of an assignment.

Advertise 24-oz PBRs on draught for $5.00. Yep, a simple retail offer. And make it a poster.

I started my demo by feeding MidJourney a prompt: Imagine a 25-foot tall mug of beer with a ladder resting against it and a man climbing up the ladder.?

Moments later, I had a decent visual.

Then, I promoted chat ChatGPT to generate some lines which I shortened, tweaked, and tailored the lines to my own satisfaction.

At this point, I could see the students’ expressions shifting from mild skepticism to moderate curiosity, which is, frankly, the highest praise I’ve ever received from a room full of Gen Zers being forced to listen to me.

Then, I put lines against the visual demonstrating that I was trying to let the visual do the heavy beer-lifting.

Elapsed time? About ten minutes.

The real magic, though? I didn't read a single slide. My inner Ben was flashing me two enthusiastic thumbs up the entire time.?

I let the students in on a little secret.

I don’t pretend to be an AI guru or some kind of Silicon Valley thought leader who wears Allbirds and believes in breaking things fast.?

I simply demonstrated that after decades of doing this, I'm still playing. Still learning. Still curious, and willing to collaborate with anyone, even a bookish robot who lacks a complete set of intuitive social skills.?

I then shifted gear into a less visually dynamic mode. I found an image of a 24-ounce beer and fed a prompt into ChatGPT, seen in the image.

Taking a long list, I mined AI's list of headline options and comped three versions to prove the idea.

I also left them all in on my top-secret, all-time favorite AI writing hack.?One that I won’t be sharing with you here. Sorry.

Some things are better left a mystery and shared in Zoom calls or during workshops and presentations like the one I gave in New York a couple of weeks ago.

The real thing I gained from the experience of presenting to Tom Elmer's Branding students at West Chester University was a genuine appreciation for what the right advice, no matter how counterintuitive, can do— even for a relatively seasoned presenter.

Ben Levy and his book, “Stop Reading Slides”— ripped off my training wheels and kicked my crutches out from under me.

It was an awesome ride. Thanks, Ben.

#theadvertisingsurvivalguide

Cameron Day is the Author of the Advertising Survival Guide trilogy, available through his LinkedIn signature. He's available to consult or perform workshops. But this article is about someone else's damned book.