On-Camera Coach. Reed Karin M.

client. My role was to facilitate the discussion among global thought leaders on the panel. I was largely scripted, which helped me to come across as more knowledgeable than I truly was. What amazed me, though, was the panic many of those brilliant panelists felt just because they were going to be speaking on camera. I thought: I should be the one who is nervous. You know what the heck you're talking about. I don't. But I had spent more than two decades both in front of and behind a camera. Without that familiarity, those cameras represented a seismic shift in the environment.

      In fact, I thought one of my first gigs as a webcast host was going to be my last. The topic of the show that day was incredibly technical, so my client had brought in an expert with strong credentials and deep domain knowledge. What she lacked, though, was experience communicating through a camera.

      I noticed that she looked a little “moist” as we were getting mic'd up, but I had no idea how nervous she really was. In short order, though, it was revealed. I read the introduction of our guest and tossed it over to her for her 30-minute presentation. However, instead of taking the baton and running with it, she simply said, “I can't do this,” and attempted to take the mic off her lapel.

      Thankfully, this was only the rehearsal. I somehow managed to find the right words to calm her down and convince her to try again. Her performance during the actual show wasn't stellar, but it was much better than no performance at all. (A big shout-out to our makeup artist on that day, who managed to keep the flop sweat mopped up during quick breaks.)

      It all boils down to this: there's an assumption that if you can speak to a live audience, you can speak, convincingly and effectively, to a camera lens. And too often, that assumption is proven false, and at the worst possible time.

      Unless you have experience performing on camera or are one of those rare people who just takes to it like Tiger Woods to golf, you will want and need some strategies, some guidance to perform at your best.

      Perhaps if I had tested out some techniques for answering stock pageant questions (“Bring about world peace, feed the hungry.” yadda, yadda, yadda), my most embarrassing moment of all time might have been my biggest triumph. (Okay, maybe not biggest triumph, but certainly not a complete and utter failure to perform.)

      A Camera Changes Everything

      It may seem odd that the mere presence of a camera can cause such a disruption in the environment and recalibrate the way we act, think, and feel. Often, the change manifests physiologically. As soon as you are told “you're on,” your body may send a jolt of adrenaline through you, similar to the one you receive when you stop short in traffic. Your palms may sweat, your knees may knock, and a giant lump may temporarily block your throat.

      Why? Allow me to offer four reasons why the camera changes everything.

      No Immediate Feedback

      When you're giving a presentation to a live audience, you're constantly surveying the room. Maybe you see someone nodding along. Maybe you see someone nodding off. You adjust your delivery based on what you see reflected back to you by your audience.

      But when you're talking on camera, that lens isn't giving you any indication of whether your message is resonating or even being heard at all. You crave feedback, but the camera doesn't offer anything in return. Basically, it feels like your words are being sucked into a big black hole. That uncertainly can undercut your confidence and cause you to seek out reassurance from any source available.

      CASE STUDY

      

THE PEOPLE PLEASER

      Barbara was not a confident on-camera presenter, and yet she knew it was a skill she needed to hone in order to reach her global team.

      When Barbara spoke in person, she was known for her warmth, dry sense of humor, and passion for the role her team played in the enterprise. She loved her coworkers, and the feeling was mutual. However, her on-camera persona was a total mismatch with her off-camera self.

      Barbara's biggest problem was what I call “People Pleaser Syndrome.” Any time she appeared on camera, Barbara's eyes would dart around the studio, desperately seeking out that human interaction and validation for her performance and message. She would try to lock eyes with coworkers who had accompanied her to the shoot and were standing off camera. She would make eye contact with members of the crew. But she rarely looked directly into the camera.

      Barbara's urgency to connect with and receive feedback from the people in the room severed any connection she might have had with the real audience: the people watching her performance on the other side of the lens.

      Did you ever have a conversation at a cocktail party with someone who is constantly looking around the room for someone “better” to talk to? It makes you feel like you are not valued, right? That's the effect Barbara unwittingly gave her audience by not focusing on them. The “People Pleaser” turned people off.

      Your Own Worst Critic

      Do you remember when you first heard your voice on your voice mail or answering machine greeting? You probably thought, “I don't sound like that!”

      Chances are, what you heard was exactly how your voice sounds – you just didn't like it.

      The idea of having to listen to yourself or watch yourself on video can be a painful prospect for many. This is true even for those who do it for a living. When I meet the editors of any of my on-camera jobs, I always offer my sympathy because I know they've had to spend hours upon hours watching and listening to all of my many takes. That's enough to make me nauseous.

      I always express my appreciation and admiration for those who take my on-camera performance workshops, because I consider it an act of courage. They are stepping outside of their comfort zones and subjecting themselves to criticism – the sharpest of which comes from within.

      Analyzing baseline and post-training performances is an important part of any of my classes, yet it is always met with a cringe. The performers always notice things about themselves that no one else does.

      For example, everyone in the class might be applauding your flawless delivery, but you may be totally fixated and irritated by the way your left eyebrow turns slightly downward. While the entire audience is mesmerized by your powerful presentation, you are thinking about how soon you can get in to see the brow lady. A camera lens can sometimes feel like a microscope, but in this case, it usually makes imperfections only we can see loom large.

      Recorded for Posterity

      Most on-camera performances will or at least can be recorded, and the shelf life of that video, good or bad, will likely be longer than you want it to be. And if your video is going to be hanging out on YouTube for who knows how long, you want it to be perfect.

      That desire for perfection usually serves as the biggest barrier to performance success. We get incredibly self-conscious, which leads to a tremendous amount of pressure and stress.

      For my classes, participants have the option of creating a video asset, which they can use beyond training. It's a valuable opportunity to make the training immediately applicable, but there is a downside.

      CASE STUDY

      

PURSUIT OF PERFECTION

      Rob was well ahead of his peers in terms of his comfort and confidence as a presenter, so when he heard he could create a video blog entry as part of the class, he was all for it.

      Rob prepared a script in advance of the training and decided to run through it on the first day as his baseline performance. It was a bit bumpy, but he attributed it to problems with his script. Undeterred, he wordsmithed it and practiced it at home before the final record on day two.

      When it was his turn to step in front of the camera, Rob felt optimistic and thought he would be able to nail it within one or two takes – a good thing because he was the last of his classmates to perform before their lunch break.

      His first run was pretty solid, but