There’s a video of one of my early corporate shows in Vienna that I keep on my laptop. Not because it’s good — it’s terrible. I keep it because there’s a specific moment, about eleven minutes in, that perfectly captures a mistake I made for the better part of a year.
I needed someone from the audience to hold a sealed envelope. Simple enough. All they had to do was stand up, take the envelope, and hold it until I asked for it back. A ten-second commitment that would be over before they had time to feel uncomfortable.
Here’s what I said: “Would anyone mind helping me out with this? I just need someone to hold this envelope. Would that be okay? Would you mind? Is that alright?”
Four questions. Four requests for permission. And every single one of them communicated the same thing to the audience: I’m not sure I deserve your help. I’m not sure you want to participate. I’m not sure this is going to work. Please don’t reject me.
The audience hesitated. Not because they didn’t want to help — audiences almost always want to help. They hesitated because my language told them there was a reason to hesitate. If the performer is uncertain about whether this is a good idea, why should the audience feel confident about it?
Someone eventually raised their hand. I thanked them profusely. The moment passed. But the energy in the room had dipped, and it took me two full minutes to get it back.
The Superman Problem
Ken Weber’s Maximum Entertainment has this concept that hit me like a brick when I first read it. Weber uses the analogy of Superman to describe how a performer should carry themselves on stage. Superman doesn’t hem and haw. Superman doesn’t ask permission. Superman doesn’t apologize for being extraordinary.
But here’s the part that really stuck: Weber points out that asking “Is that fair?” after establishing the conditions of an effect sets up an unnecessary challenge. You’re inviting the audience to evaluate whether you’ve given yourself an advantage. You’re opening a door to skepticism that doesn’t need to be opened. You’re volunteering for scrutiny that nobody was going to apply.
Dariel Fitzkee’s Showmanship for Magicians makes a parallel point about confidence and command. The entire book argues that the performer’s primary job is to sell themselves, and that everything about your presence — your posture, your language, your energy — either reinforces or undermines the audience’s confidence in you. Asking permission falls squarely in the “undermines” category.
The principle isn’t complicated. Confident invitation assumes compliance. Asking permission assumes resistance. And the audience, whether they realize it or not, takes their cues from you.
The Language of Uncertainty
Once I became aware of this pattern, I started hearing it everywhere. Not just in my own performances, but in other performers’ shows, in conference presentations, in workshops and lectures. The language of permission-seeking is epidemic:
“Would you mind helping me with something?” “Is it okay if I use your phone for a moment?” “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” “Would it be alright if you came up here?” “Can I borrow that for just a second?”
Every one of these phrases contains the same embedded message: what I’m about to do might be an imposition, and I want you to know that I know that, and I’m sorry in advance. It’s not politeness. It’s surrender. The performer is giving the audience member a free exit before anything has even happened.
Compare those with confident invitations:
“I need someone with a strong sense of intuition — you, sir, you look like the right person. Come on up.” “Hand me your phone for a moment. You’re going to want to see this.” “Think of any word. Don’t tell me. Just hold it in your mind.” “Take this envelope. Hold it up high so everyone can see it.”
The difference isn’t just tonal. It’s structural. The first set of phrases asks a question that requires an answer. The second set makes a statement that assumes action. The first invites deliberation. The second creates momentum.
What Changed for Me
The shift happened gradually, not all at once. I started noticing the difference during my keynote speaking work before I applied it to magic.
In the consulting world, I’d learned that when you present a recommendation to a client, you don’t say “Would you like to try this approach?” You say “Here’s what we’re going to do next.” The framing assumes forward motion. The client can push back if they want, but the default is progress. This is basic consulting craft — you lead with confidence because confidence creates trust.
It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize the same principle applied to performance. The audience is your client. They’ve hired you — or at least, they’ve shown up. They want you to succeed. They’re ready to participate. All you have to do is lead them.
The first time I deliberately replaced a permission request with a confident invitation was at a private event in Graz. I needed someone to think of a number for a mentalism piece. My old script would have been: “Would anyone like to help me with a quick experiment?”
Instead, I made eye contact with a woman in the second row, smiled, and said: “I need your help with something. Think of any two-digit number. Don’t say it out loud. Got one? Perfect.”
Three things happened. First, she immediately complied. No hesitation, no negotiation, no evaluating whether she wanted to participate. The confident instruction bypassed the decision-making process entirely. Second, the rest of the audience leaned in. Somebody had been chosen. Something was happening. Third — and this was the surprising part — she seemed to enjoy it more. Being selected with confidence felt like being recognized, not conscripted. There’s a warmth to “I need your help” that “would you mind” can never achieve.
The “Is That Fair?” Trap
Let me talk about a specific phrase that I had to surgically remove from my vocabulary: “Is that fair?”
I used to say it constantly. After establishing the conditions of an effect — “You chose any card you wanted, I never touched it, the deck was shuffled by you” — I’d cap it off with “Is that fair?” I thought I was building credibility. I thought I was establishing that the conditions were above board.
What I was actually doing was inviting the audience to question the conditions. By asking “Is that fair?” I was implying that there was a reason it might not be fair. I was creating doubt where none existed. Worse, I was giving the audience a moment to shift from emotional engagement to analytical evaluation. “Hmm, is it fair? Let me think about that…”
That’s exactly the opposite of what you want. You want the audience emotionally invested, not intellectually interrogating your setup. “Is that fair?” pulls them out of the experience and into their heads. It’s a thinking prompt disguised as a bonding moment.
The fix was simple. I stopped asking. Instead of “Is that fair?” I replaced it with a statement: “You chose freely. Nobody influenced your decision.” Same information, delivered as fact rather than question. No invitation to disagree. No opening for analysis. Just a confident assertion that moves the performance forward.
The Fine Line
Now, there’s an important distinction between confidence and arrogance. Confident invitation is not bullying. It’s not forcing participation on unwilling people.
The difference is in the warmth. A confident invitation delivered with genuine warmth says “I’m excited about this and I know you’ll enjoy it.” A confident invitation delivered with cold authority says “You don’t get a choice.” One creates eagerness. The other creates resentment.
I think about it like hosting a dinner party. A good host doesn’t ask “Would you like to try the dessert I spent three hours making?” A good host puts the plate in front of you with a grin and says “Wait until you try this.”
There’s also a practical safety valve. If someone genuinely doesn’t want to participate — if they shake their head, if they say no — you pivot immediately. “No worries at all. What about you, sir? You look ready for this.” The confidence remains. The warmth remains. But the specific person is released without awkwardness. You assume compliance, and you handle the rare exception with grace.
The Spectrum of Invitation
I’ve come to think of audience interaction language on a spectrum from weakest to strongest:
At the weak end: “Would anyone like to volunteer?” Slightly better: “Would you mind helping me?” Middle ground: “Can I borrow you for a moment?” Stronger: “Come on up, I need your help with this.” Strongest: “You — perfect. Stand up for me. This is going to be interesting.”
The strongest version does three things simultaneously. It selects a specific person (removing the anxiety of volunteering). It assumes compliance (removing the decision). And it creates anticipation (“this is going to be interesting”). The audience member doesn’t have to decide whether to participate. They just have to stand up and let the experience happen.
I’ve found that the strongest invitations get the fastest compliance and the best energy from the room. People seem relieved when you make the decision for them. The anxiety of “should I volunteer or not?” is eliminated. They’ve been chosen, and being chosen feels like a compliment.
From Consultant to Performer
This is one of those areas where my consulting background actually gave me an advantage. In strategy work, I learned that the way you frame a recommendation determines whether it gets adopted. “We could try X” gets debated. “Here’s the plan” gets implemented. Same recommendation, different framing, wildly different outcomes.
On stage, the same dynamic applies. “Would you help me?” gets hesitation. “I need your help” gets action. “Is that fair?” gets analysis. “You chose freely” gets nods.
The words are instructions to the audience about how to feel, what to think, and whether to trust you. Every question gives the audience an opportunity to say no — not just to the request, but to the entire experience.
I don’t ask permission anymore. Not because I don’t respect the audience — I respect them enormously. But because the most respectful thing I can do is lead them into an experience with confidence. They came to be entertained, not consulted on whether entertainment should occur.
The Transformation in Practice
The practical change was straightforward. I went through every script I had and highlighted every question that asked for permission. Then I rewrote each one as a statement or a confident instruction.
“Would you mind shuffling these?” became “Shuffle these for me.” “Is it okay if I hold your hand?” became “Give me your hand for a moment.” “Would anyone like to think of a word?” became “Think of any word. First one that comes to mind.” “Do you mind coming up on stage?” became “Come join me up here. This will only take a minute.”
Each revision was minor on paper. But the cumulative effect on my performance energy was significant. I stopped asking the audience for permission to do my job, and I started doing my job. The audiences noticed. Not consciously — nobody ever said “I appreciate that you used confident invitations rather than permission-seeking language.” But the energy in the room shifted. Participation became faster. Transitions became smoother. The whole performance felt more assured.
Because when you stop asking whether you should be there, the audience stops wondering too.