The third season of The White Lotus drew to a close this week, and with the end of the latest set of spoiled guests, simmering hostilities and the literally to-die-for scenery. Of course, throughout the season, all of this has been ruined by the emotional equivalent of an oil spill.
If you pay attention and look beyond the chaos, you’ll see what’s actually been going on – a masterclass in how not to communicate. What lies between the side eyes, secrets, off-putting sibling dynamics and slightly-too-long silences is a commentary on the state of modern communications, which reveals more than most playbooks ever will.
For starters, everyone is lying. Or dodging. Or saying something they technically mean, while hoping it’s interpreted in any way but that. It’s excruciating to watch, but unfortunately familiar. Vague corporate speak, unclear directives and “let’s circle back” culture aren’t just annoying, they’re dangerous.
If your audience must decipher what you mean, you risk having it decided for you. And that’s how you end up with headlines you don’t like and trending before your morning coffee.
If you’re wondering what this looks like in the real world, let’s throw it back to 2010 and BP’s mismanaged response to the Deepwater Horizon spill. The quote heard around the PR world: “The amount of oil and dispersant we are putting into it [the Gulf of Mexico] is tiny in relation to the total water volume”.
In this and other lines, BP didn’t lie, per se, but it failed to say what people needed to hear. No empathy, no accountability, just a sea of technical and tone-deaf phrasing that reeks of disassociation and was only triumphed by the then-CEO telling reporters he wanted his life back.
The lesson: Say it with your chest (or don’t say it at all).
The White Lotus has a plot (obviously), but in the same way New York City was a character in Sex and the City, tension (read tone), is the equivalent for this series. A subtle glance, fake nonchalance or a passive-aggressive compliment carries more weight than most of the dialogue.
Words matter, of course they do, but in communications, delivery and the emotional undercurrent is the message.
Outside the gates of The White Lotus, let’s reflect on Elon Musk’s Twitter takeover. Musk announced his arrival with memes and mass firings. His second act, an email that demanded working “long hours at high intensity”, called for employees to be “extremely hardcore” and insisted on a make-or-break decision ASAP. Naturally, this was a flop. The email read like a threat, hundreds of employees walked out and press depicted Musk as a reckless authoritarian.
You can say “we need to work hard” a thousand different ways, but if you say it like a villain preparing for world domination it doesn’t land well.
The lesson: Tone is everything.
In The White Lotus, every character is managing a personal brand. Some are puffing their chest, others are hiding. All of them though, are carefully curated and filled with the inescapable desire that nobody notices the cracks.
They are madly scrambling to control the narrative and be the protagonist of their clique – something that we, in communications, have the tools to manage. But this usually means moving swiftly, anticipating lines of inquiry and knowing when to speak and when silence is golden.
What’s this example – how about Prince Andrew’s Newsnight interview? What was a clear attempt to control the narrative and salvage a reputation, very quickly became the cautionary tale that’s wheeled out in ‘what not to do’ media training.
Prince Andrew seemed entirely unprepared, unwilling to participate honestly and some hybrid of arrogance and delusion. Not only did he fail to repair his personal brand, he took the monarchy for a ride at the same time.
The lesson: You don’t declare yourself the protagonist, you earn it.
The White Lotus may just seem like wealthy people behaving badly but it’s so much more. It’s the place where hidden meanings get lost, where silences are damning and where we’re constantly reminded of the fragility of reputation and relationships.
That’s not to say we can’t enjoy the drama, but heed the lessons of every episode, because reputational death rarely comes with a catchy theme song and a second season.
