Michelle: Alright, Mark, I have a theory. The most destructive weapon in the modern office isn't a passive-aggressive email or the ‘reply all’ button. It's a single, poorly-designed PowerPoint slide. Agree or disagree? Mark: Oh, I one hundred percent agree. I’ve seen slides that could be classified as a crime against humanity. We’re talking font sizes so small you need a microscope, pie charts that look like a kaleidoscope exploded, and so many bullet points the slide is literally sagging. Michelle: It’s a universal pain, isn’t it? And that's the exact problem Garr Reynolds set out to solve in his classic book, Presentation Zen: Simple Ideas on Presentation Design and Delivery. Mark: Presentation Zen. I like the sound of that. It implies a certain peace and tranquility that is the exact opposite of every quarterly budget meeting I’ve ever attended. Michelle: Exactly. And what's fascinating is that Reynolds isn't your typical business guru. He's an American professor of management living and working in Japan, a long-time student of Zen arts, and also a jazz musician. That unique blend of Eastern philosophy and Western communication is the key to his whole approach. Mark: Okay, that’s an interesting mix. A jazz-playing Zen master of PowerPoint. I'm intrigued. So where does he even begin to tackle this monster? Michelle: He begins on a train. Specifically, a Japanese bullet train, where he has this "aha" moment that perfectly captures the core problem we all face.

Michelle: So, picture this. Reynolds is on the Shinkansen, the bullet train, heading to Osaka. He’s just bought himself a bento box for the journey. Mark: Ah, the bento box. A masterpiece of food organization. Everything in its right place. A little container for the rice, a spot for the pickled ginger, a perfect compartment for the fish. It’s a work of art. Michelle: Precisely. It's beautiful, efficient, balanced, and everything serves a purpose. As he's admiring his bento, he looks over and sees a Japanese businessman next to him, looking completely frustrated. The man is flipping through a thick stack of printed PowerPoint slides. Mark: Oh no. I know that stack. The dreaded "slideument." It's not a presentation; it's a book that you're forced to read while someone talks at you. Michelle: You nailed it. And Reynolds describes these slides as the complete opposite of his bento box. They were crammed with text, bullet points, corporate logos on every corner, and terrible clip art. It was a chaotic mess. And in that moment, he realized the problem: our presentations look like that cluttered deck, when they should look like the bento box. Mark: That is a brilliant way to see it. My slides are usually more like a fast-food bag—everything just gets thrown in, and you have to rummage around to find the one soggy fry you were looking for. But what does a 'bento box' slide actually look like? Is it just… an empty slide with one word on it? Michelle: It can be, but it’s more about the philosophy behind it. In Zen aesthetics, there's a concept called Kanso, which means simplicity or the elimination of clutter. It’s not about being simplistic or dumbing things down; it’s about clarity. It’s about achieving the maximum effect with the minimum means. Mark: Maximum effect, minimum means. I like that. So, less is more. Michelle: Exactly. The book talks about the "signal-to-noise ratio." The 'signal' is your core message—the stuff that's relevant and helps the audience understand. The 'noise' is everything else: the unnecessary logos, the decorative borders, the 12 bullet points that you're just going to read aloud anyway. A good presentation has a very high signal-to-noise ratio. Mark: Right, you want to get rid of the static so people can hear the music. I've seen so many slides where the 'noise' is a giant, distracting corporate template. You know, the one with the swooshes and the gradients and the company logo taking up a quarter of the screen. Michelle: That’s a perfect example of noise. Reynolds famously contrasts the presentation styles of Steve Jobs with some of Bill Gates's older presentations. Jobs's slides were legendary for their simplicity. Often just one stunning, high-quality image, or a single word or number. The slide supported him; it didn't replace him. Mark: While the other style is what Reynolds calls 'Death by PowerPoint.' It’s where the slide is so dense that the audience has to choose between reading the slide or listening to the speaker. And we all know what happens. Michelle: They read the slide, tune you out completely, and then start checking their email. The cognitive load is just too high. You can't effectively read one thing while listening to another. Professor John Sweller, a cognitive psychologist, is quoted in the book saying, "The use of the PowerPoint presentation has been a disaster. It should be ditched." Mark: Wow. Ditched entirely? That's a bold claim. Michelle: Well, he means the conventional use of it should be ditched. There's a wonderful little story in the book that illustrates this principle of reduction perfectly. A man named Vijay opens a fish store and puts up a sign that says, "We Sell Fresh Fish Here." Mark: Seems reasonable. Clear. Informative. Michelle: But then his father comes by and says, "Why does it say 'We'? It's obvious you're the one selling it." So he removes 'We'. The sign now says 'Fresh Fish Sold Here.' Then his brother says, "'Here'? Of course it's here, the store is right here." So he removes 'Here'. 'Fresh Fish Sold.' His sister points out, "Why say 'Sold'? It's a store, that's what you do." So now it just says 'Fresh Fish.' Mark: I see where this is going. Michelle: Finally, a neighbor walks by, sniffs the air, and says, "Why does the sign say 'Fresh'? Anyone can smell these fish are fresh from a block away." So Vijay takes down the sign entirely. The message is communicated perfectly without a single word. Mark: That’s fantastic. You remove everything that isn't absolutely essential until only the core message remains. Okay, I'm sold on the philosophy. Simplicity. Clarity. Bento boxes, not fast-food bags. But here’s the practical problem: the moment I open PowerPoint or Keynote, the software itself pushes me towards clutter. It gives me a title box and a bullet point box. How do you even start to create something different? Michelle: That is the million-dollar question. And Reynolds’s answer is one of the most radical and powerful ideas in the book. You don't start with the software. You don't even start with the computer.

Michelle: You start with something much more low-tech: a pen and paper. Or a whiteboard. You have to plan your presentation in the analog world first. Mark: Wait, really? Get away from the computer? That feels... inefficient. My whole workflow is built around starting with an outline in the app. Michelle: That's what most of us do, and that's the trap. The software is a tool for execution and design, not for brainstorming and ideation. When you're in the software, you start thinking in terms of slides, templates, and bullet points. When you're with a pen and paper, you think in terms of ideas, flow, and story. Mark: Okay, but does anyone actually do this in the real world? Especially in a high-stakes, high-tech environment? Michelle: This is my favorite story from the book. Reynolds tells of a time he was working with a senior creative director at Apple. Yes, that Apple. He went to the director's office on the Apple campus to get input on a project, expecting to see some slick digital mockups on a giant Cinema Display. Mark: Of course. At Apple, the company that makes the iPad and the Mac, you'd expect everything to be digital. Michelle: But when he walked in, the giant monitor was turned off. Instead, stretching across the entire wall of the office was a long, continuous scroll of white paper. The creative director had sketched out the entire project flow—ideas, words, graphics—by hand. He then walked Reynolds through the story on the paper scroll, making notes and additions as he talked. Mark: On a paper scroll? At Apple? That’s incredible. It’s like finding out the chefs at a 3-star Michelin restaurant use an Easy-Bake Oven for their prep work. Michelle: Isn't it? But it proves the point. The most creative thinking happens when you're free from the constraints of the software. It allows you to see the big picture, the narrative arc. Steve Jobs himself called the computer a "bicycle for the mind." It's a tool to amplify your thinking, not to do the thinking for you. Mark: A bicycle for the mind. I love that. So, once you have your ideas on paper, how do you turn that brainstorm into a compelling story? It can't just be a random collection of thoughts. Michelle: This is where the preparation gets deeper. The book emphasizes the importance of storyboarding. You can use Post-it notes or just squares on a piece of paper to represent your slides. This lets you physically move ideas around, see the flow, and find the narrative. What's the beginning, the middle, the end? What's the inciting incident? What's the resolution? Mark: You’re talking about a presentation like it’s a movie. Michelle: Because the best ones are! They have structure. They have emotion. And they have messages that stick. The book references the SUCCESs framework from the book Made to Stick by the Heath brothers. Sticky ideas are Simple, Unexpected, Concrete, Credible, Emotional, and tell a Story. Mark: Give me an example of a sticky message. Michelle: The book gives a perfect one. A weak, non-sticky message would be something like a corporate mission statement: "Our mission is to become the international leader in the space industry through maximum team-centered innovation and strategically targeted aerospace initiatives." Mark: My eyes glazed over just hearing that. It’s corporate jargon soup. Michelle: Exactly. Now, compare that to John F. Kennedy's 1961 speech. He didn't say that. He said we will "...put a man on the moon and return him safely by the end of the decade." Mark: Wow. Simple. Unexpected. Incredibly concrete. You can see it. You can feel it. That’s a story. Michelle: That’s a story. And that’s the goal. Your presentation should have a core message that is just as clear and compelling. And to do that, you have to be ruthless. You have to constantly ask yourself the Japanese phrase Reynolds uses: dakara nani? Mark: What does that mean? Michelle: It means, "So what?" For every piece of data, every slide, every point you want to make, ask yourself, "So what? Why does this matter to the audience?" If you don't have a good answer, it gets cut. Mark: That’s a powerful filter. But what about all the details? The data, the charts, the stuff my boss insists has to be in there? If I make my slides super simple, where does all that information go? Michelle: Into a handout. This is another key practical tip. Your presentation has three parts: your slides, your spoken words (your notes), and your handout. The slides are the visual support—the bento box. Your talk is the story. And the handout is the detailed document people can take with them. You create a proper, well-designed document, not a "slideument." Mark: So you're not trying to make one thing do two jobs badly. The slides are for the live show, the handout is for the archive. That frees you up to actually connect with the audience instead of just narrating a document. Michelle: It frees you completely. It allows you to be present, to have a conversation. Which, as Reynolds points out, is the entire point.

Mark: You know, as we talk through this, it feels like the real 'Zen' in Presentation Zen isn't about becoming a graphic designer or learning some secret PowerPoint tricks. It's a fundamental mindset shift. Michelle: How so? Mark: You stop being a 'slide-filler' and you start being a 'story-teller' and, maybe more importantly, an 'editor.' The real work, the most important work, happens before you ever touch the software. It’s in the thinking, the planning on paper, the ruthless questioning of "So what?" Michelle: That's it exactly. You've hit the core of it. And Reynolds' big idea, tying it all together, is that a presentation is a moment of connection. It's not a data transfer. It's a performance. It's like his background in jazz. Mark: How does jazz connect to this? Michelle: Think about it. A great jazz performance requires immense preparation and technical skill. The musicians know their scales, their chords, their theory, inside and out. That’s the preparation phase—the analog planning, the storyboarding. But when they get on stage, they let go. They are fully present in the moment, listening to each other, responding, improvising. They connect with the music and with the audience. Mark: Ah, I see. The preparation gives them the freedom to be spontaneous and authentic. Michelle: Exactly. The slides are just the quiet rhythm section supporting your solo. Your job as the presenter is to connect, to share, to have a conversation. The simplicity and clarity of your visuals are what allow that connection to happen. They remove the noise so your message, your story, can shine through. Mark: It’s about being more human, not more polished. It’s a relief, honestly. The pressure to create some kind of perfect, data-packed deck is immense. This approach feels more achievable and, frankly, more effective. Michelle: It is. And it respects the audience. It values their time and their intelligence. So the one thing to try this week? If you have a meeting or a presentation coming up, plan it on a piece of paper first. Just one. Don't open PowerPoint. Just sketch out the story. See what happens. Mark: I'm going to do that. I'm going to trade my fast-food bag for a bento box. We'd love to hear how it goes for our listeners, too. Find us on social media and tell us if you escaped the PowerPoint prison. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.