Opinions

You show someone at the club a trick, or a move, or perhaps just an idea you’ve been working on for weeks. You’ve been tinkering with it, getting hold of the necessary bits and bobs, and maybe you’ve even performed it in front of an audience and found that it works—the reactions are good.

And then someone says: “You know what? I’d do that completely differently. In my opinion, you should do this and that…” Perhaps at a regulars’ table, perhaps after a club evening, perhaps in a comment under a video. And although you actually know that your routine works, you’re totally behind your idea and think it’s brilliant, that one sentence gnaws at you and you start to have doubts.

Of course, this hasn’t left me unscathed either, so over the years I’ve had the opportunity to hear countless opinions from other magicians about my work. At some point, I started to look into the subject more closely and asked myself a simple question: What exactly is an opinion, anyway?

An opinion is a personal impression, shaped by one’s own experiences, preferences and limitations. That doesn’t make it worthless, but it doesn’t necessarily make it true or a fact either. Often, it says more about the person expressing it than about the subject they’re talking about. And yet we frequently treat opinions as if they were facts, as if someone were holding a map in their hand even though they’ve never been to the area themselves. For me, it’s important not to confuse an opinion with (constructive) criticism.

Mark Twain is credited with a quote that captures this perfectly: “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” This applies to the majority—and just as much to that one loud voice at the regulars’ table.

In our industry, this problem is particularly pronounced. There are many who love to talk loudly about magic, who have shelves full of tricks, who know every new release and have something to say about everything. But ask yourself honestly: how many of them regularly perform in front of a real audience? How many have not just bought a routine, but actually performed it a hundred times? Social media demos of shop tricks do not reflect the reality of the stage, and twenty years in the living room is a different experience from twenty years in front of people. Nevertheless, those who have never really stood in front of a real audience often presume to lecture others. In forums and at regulars’ tables, it is not the person who knows the most who is regarded as an authority, but the one who speaks most often and most loudly.

The question is: why do we listen to these voices anyway? I believe it has to do with insecurity, with the desire to be validated, and with a mechanism from social psychology that Robert Cialdini described as the principle of authority: We perceive someone as an expert as soon as they sound confident enough. Not because they are right, but because they sound as if they are right. In small communities, there is the added factor that people don’t want to rock the boat. So you nod, adopt the opinion, and only realise later that it has led you astray from your own path.

What eventually helped me was a simple thought: before I accept a piece of advice, I look at where it comes from. Has the person actually done what they’re talking about themselves? Successfully, repeatedly, and under real-world conditions? Or are they talking about something they’ve seen in a video, read in a book, or pieced together at the pub? What matters isn’t the volume, but the track record.

And then there’s another compass that’s more reliable than any colleague’s opinion: the audience. The only thing that matters is what works with the audience. That’s the only yardstick that counts. The people you’re performing for aren’t thinking about the regulars’ table, haven’t leafed through dealer catalogues, and haven’t read forum discussions about the right grip. They experience what you show them and react honestly. If a trick works, then it works—no matter what other colleagues think of it.

I’ve stopped listening to everyone because I’ve realised that most opinions aren’t maps, but mirrors of those who voice them. They reveal what the other person thinks, feels or fears. That can be interesting, sometimes even instructive. But it’s no reason to stray from my own path. A quote attributed to Coco Chanel, the sharpness of which I like: “I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t think of you at all.”

Not every opinion needs a response. Not every piece of advice has to be followed. Sometimes the best thing you can do is simply nod politely, carry on and do your own thing. Since I realised that, I’ve started listening to myself again—and that’s worth more than all the pub-talk advice in the world.