Chariiiiisma.
What journalist Adrienne Matei calls “that alluring, mysterious, stubbornly human trait that draws people to you.” What the kids call rizz—though that version goes beyond charm to game; it seems to have “smooth-talker” built in and whiffs of 90’s pickup artist cologne. What Dr. Amy Cuddy calls “presence,” and what’s often reduced in presidential campaign years to beer-shareability.
But this is a space to explore how to show up.
So I wanna talk about you and your charisma, not those other guys and their charisma—which sometimes feels like a euphemism for con artist and lord knows, we don’t need more shitty leadership masquerading as for-the-people.
As Adrienne Matei points out—introducing a term that lit me up when I read it:
“Charisma does not have to be self-serving. In Greek, charisma translates as a “gift.” Rather than keep that gift to exploit for themselves, some charismatic people disperse it. They hand it out at social events […] and use it to guide the energy of a shared occasion. I call these people vibe popes. Consider it a nondenominational title for those who unite people under the divine light of a good time.”
OK so THAT is a goal.
Uniting people under the divine light of a good time. Even under a terrible time (thinking of protests and vigils and solving high blood pressure crises around a table). It’s the uniting that matters, and the self-appointment inside that term “vibe pope” that is especially juicy to me. It’s mischief for the greater good.
And in a moment when everything feels like TOO MUCH, it’s an anchor, this vibe pope goal. My bet is that if you work on being a vibe pope offstage, you will have more charisma onstage the next time you have the chance to speak, and the dreams that you dare to dream really will come true. I also bet you’ll make the world better exactly right where you are in the meanwhile.
Adrienne specifies that “These folks are the guardians of the party’s communal energy. Their charisma is mature and thoughtful, not narcissistic.” Seeing me in the moments I thought no one was watching, she says, “They can subtly refine and recalibrate social dynamics by introducing strangers, tweaking the lights, or suggesting the next activity—all without stealing focus from the moment itself.”
What we’re really talking about is facilitation, a word that comes from the Latin for easy. Making things easier for folks. Conjuring more ease. This is speaking to my soul. First of all because, OMG I’m a vibe pope and now I know it! Second of all, she makes the point that it’s labor—often invisible labor—to build community and set other folks at ease and I feel that. And third of all, and here’s the big but, it is so worth it.
I can say from experience, being a vibe pope becomes an identity and a value system. “I’m the kind of person who takes care of those around me.” Which becomes a kind of reliable power I know how to access and wield. It’s what Priya Parker calls “generous authority.” It’s what I talk about in my book as the strength/warmth balance, or “I’ve got this, I’ve got you.” It’s, in practice, stuff like:
Making sure two people have the context they need to connect with each other
Making sure someone tentatively starting a story knows they really do have permission to take the floor
Making sure an outsider in the room feels welcome—which can be as simple as a hello or eye contact or asking if you can get them anything
Jumping in as a rogue moderator in a meeting if you can tell someone or something’s getting missed, even if/especially if you’re not officially in charge
Making sure to hold the first note “haaaa” of the happy birthday song so everyone finds it before we launch into the rest…
Vibe papacy is love and care out loud. It’s leadership with a lower case L.
And it’s something we can all get better at.
Here are my 3 tips for working on your charisma on the not-stage.
(Trusting that it will absolutely translate to the stage, and you’ll glow way more next time you’re in the spotlight.)
(Probably more than you could possibly glow if instead you told yourself “be more charismatic,” which sounds to me like a subtle shame bomb you’re lobbing at yourself in your own mind. And shame and permission never meet.)
They are:
Listen hard
Care out loud
Center mischief
Listening requires that we get out of our own way. I’m talking about the full body kind, where we’re picking up both the words and the unspoken—the body language of who’s talking as well as the additional info of who’s not talking. Plus whether a room feels warm or cold. Relaxed or stiff. Crackling with possibility or engaging in what I lovingly call “out-boringing each other.”
Can’t be a vibe pope without sensing the vibe.
But that requires that we cut through the fuzzy self-absorption of “what do they think of me?” that tends to block our best vibe-sensors. I always think about what Caroline McHugh refers to in her TED talk as a “spectacular disregard for being the center of attention.” Not because she’s unwilling to be seen but because she’s on to bigger things. From the stage of TED—from the stage! In front of millions!—she says:
“I’m not the center of your attention. You’re the center of mine.”
When we work on that kind of listening, we’re inevitably picking up profound shit from the room we’re in. The smells. The volume. Who’s uncomfortable. Who’s concerned and not sure how to ask for what they need. Who could use a hand on their back to feel a bit more like they belong there.
And we’re also already doing #2, too.
Caring out loud. This is about willing yourself to be emotionally available enough that people can read you. Caring about what you care about neither more nor less than you actually care about it—which takes practice! ‘Cuz god knows our culture has a gazillion unhelpful stories we’ve been picking up since birth about both the inconvenience of having emotions and about showing them authentically.
But caring out loud is also about caring for the people around you. Loving on them whether you know them or not, whether they seem to deserve your care or not, whether they’ll return it or not. It’s choosing, intentionally and crucially not all the time, to show up as love incarnate. (And then giving yourself downtime to neither radiate love nor be brave. I am deeply serious about this form of self-care in our more private moments.)
And finally, mischief. Always mischief. Here’s the thing: being charismatic is not the same as being polite. There’s a free-spiritedness and curiosity and intense weirdness about true charisma. About listening fiercely to what’s really happening in a room and then doing something about it.
I believe we will be seen and heard and loved to the extent we are willing to see and hear and love.
Try it. And report back, yes? We need you showing all the way up.
Here for you with my whole heart and extra sprinkles of mischief,
Samara
PS. If you can afford to throw in for those who can’t, I can keep offering these weekly love notes for FWEEEEE. Consider upgrading to all-access to support work that matters to you, and to spread the permission to those who could use a hand. You’re that hand ❤️
PPS. Last week, we had another wildly great gather. You can pop in and watch it here if you’re an all-access member of the community 💥
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