BEACON #9

Opinions

You show someone in the club a routine, a move, or maybe just an idea you’ve been refining for weeks. You’ve tinkered, gathered materials, and perhaps even performed it in front of an audience—only to find that it works. The reactions are good.

And then someone says: “You know what? I’d do it completely differently. In my opinion, you should do this and that…” Maybe it’s at a regulars’ table, after a club evening, or in a comment under a video. And even though you know your routine works, you’re totally behind your idea and love it, that one sentence lingers in your mind and you start to doubt.

Of course, this hasn’t left me untouched either, so over the years I’ve had to listen to countless opinions from other magicians about my work. At some point, I started to delve deeper into the topic 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 also doesn’t necessarily make it true or a fact. Often, it reveals more about the person expressing it than about the subject they’re discussing. Yet we frequently treat opinions as if they were facts—as if someone were holding a map of a territory they’ve never even visited. For me, it’s important not to confuse an opinion with (constructive) criticism.

A quote attributed to Mark Twain 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.

This problem is particularly pronounced in our industry. There are many who love to talk loudly about magic, who have shelves full of tricks, who know every new release and have an opinion on everything. But ask yourself honestly: how many of them regularly perform in front of a real audience? How many haven’t just bought a routine but actually performed it a hundred times? Social media demos of dealer tricks don’t reflect stage reality, and twenty years in the living room are a different experience from twenty years in front of people. Yet those who have never truly stood before a real audience often feel entitled to lecture others. In forums and at gatherings, the authority isn’t the one who can do the most, but the one who talks the most and the loudest.

The question is: why do we still listen to these voices? I think it has to do with insecurity, with the desire for validation, 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’re right, but because they sound like they are. In small communities, there’s also the fear of rocking the boat. So we nod, adopt the opinion, and only later realize it has led us astray from our own path.

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

And then there’s a compass more reliable than any opinion from colleagues: the audience. What works with the audience is all that matters. That’s the only standard that counts. The people you perform for aren’t thinking about bar conversations, haven’t flipped through dealer catalogs, or read forum discussions about the right grip. They experience what you show them and react honestly. If a routine works, it works—no matter what other colleagues think.

I stopped listening to everyone because I realized that most opinions aren’t maps—they’re mirrors of those who voice them. They reveal what the other person thinks, feels, or fears. That can be interesting, even instructive at times. But it’s no reason to abandon my own path. A quote attributed to Coco Chanel that I like for its sharpness: “I don’t care what you think about me. I don’t think about you at all.”

Not every opinion requires a response. Not every piece of advice needs to be followed. Sometimes the best thing you can do is just nod politely, keep going, and stay true to your own path. Since I understood that, I listen to myself again—and that’s worth more than any barroom advice in the world.

Until next time,

Alexander