How to be The Perfect Pundit

First step: Don't do what I do

I started seriously studying psychology and communications while researching my first book, Risk: The Science and Politics of Fear. I continued in a similar vein with my second book, Future Babble, which looked at the record of large-scale, long-term forecasting — it’s really, really bad — and why people continue to consume it. But Future Babble specifically required me to figure out why certain forecasters were able to draw large audiences without any reasonable evidence that their forecasting is accurate — and in some cases despite a long record of spectacular forecasting failures.

About halfway through writing Future Babble, I realized that I had essentially created a model of The Perfect Pundit:

First, last, and always, be confident. As someone once wrote of a particular pundit, “he is often wrong but never in doubt.” Be that guy.

Second, choose a target market, the more tightly defined the better. It can be a political party or ideology. It can be a movement or a demographic. Know it. Nothing else matters.

Third, confirm your target market’s beliefs. Whatever they care about, they are right to care about it and right in what they believe about it. That doesn’t mean simply repeating what they are saying. That would be boring. You must find novel ways to express the same thoughts. And you can surprise your target market on peripheral or trivial matters. But on core beliefs, the customer is always right.

Fourth, think of yourself as a brand. Does Rolex occasionally release cheap watches? Does McDonald’s have a line of Michelin-starred restaurants? Does Apple sell running shoes? The key to a successful brand is consistency. Define your brand and never deviate.

Fifth, never admit error and never change your mind, at least not publicly. If the target market shifts its thinking, shift with it, but never acknowledge the shift. You know how, in job interviews, when people are asked to state some way in which they are flawed, they say things like, “I’m probably too hard-working and committed to my job”? That’s the only sort of admission The Perfect Pundit makes. Focus on some tiny error, for example, to lavishly demonstrate your intellectual honesty. But never, ever admit being wrong in any way that matters.

Sixth, turn all analyses into piles of reasons why you are right. Say “furthermore” and “moreover” often.

Seventh, if different perspectives or models will not add to the pile of reasons why you are right, do not consider them. Do not even acknowledge their existence. Never say “however” or “on the other hand.” Harry Truman once said he wanted to hear from a one-armed economist because he was sick of hearing “on the one hand, on the other hand.” The Perfect Pundit has one arm.

Eighth, think and speak binary only. Something will happen or it won’t. An idea is right or it is wrong. Strike words like “maybe” and “somewhat” from your vocabulary. Probability is for losers with tiny Twitter followings.

And finally, remember what Oliver Cromwell said: “I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible that you may be mistaken.” Remember that. And never, ever take that advice. Nobody followed Cromwell on Twitter.

It was back in 2009 or 2010 when I developed this model of The Perfect Pundit. It was little edgier then. Today, there are literally hundreds of people on social media who follow these rules religiously and have immense followings and large incomes as a result. They are also poisoning public discourse and making us collectively dumber, but that’s one of those “on the other hand” observations that it’s best to ignore. If being The Perfect Pundit is your goal.

When I realized what I had created with this model, I told my wife about it. She raised her eyebrow and wondered if maybe I should test it for a few years. See if it worked. And make, you know, some real money.

My wife has an MBA. She’s a little more mercenary than I am.

In any event, I never did try out my model. In fact, as the years went by, I found myself increasingly moving in the opposite direction. Some days, if you were to ask me if I exist, I’d have to think for a bit before saying, “probably…”

This likely explains why I do not not have an immense following on social media and the large income that goes with it. Happily, my wife has, with only occasional regret, accepted this character flaw.

It also explains this newsletter.

If you’ve been reading, I sincerely thank you. Time is the most precious commodity and it always touches me when people spend some of theirs reading what I write.

But let’s be honest, it’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? Jumping from one subject to something else completely unrelated. No consistent political or ideological view. Long essays about seemingly random stuff. Like Garfield. The president, not the cat.

I’m having great fun writing it, because it’s completely self-indulgent, but I don’t know how you put up with it.

And yet, you do. What odd people you are.

(Never criticize the customer. See Rule Three, above.)

So let me ask you odd people a favour: Tell me what you think. What works? What doesn’t? What would you like me to do?

There’s a podcast feature on Substack. I could interview historians. Interested? Who should I interview?

Other ideas? I’d love to hear from you.

And while I’m at it, I’ll also ask you for something truly absurd: Please consider sharing posts you like via email or social media. There's a “share” button on each. Word of mouth is everything in the newsletter business.

And please do consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Unlike the people with three million followers on Twitter making us collectively dumber, I don’t have a large income. The money raised here covers my research costs. Which mostly means buying long-forgotten used books. Get a paid subscription and I can pretty much guarantee you that the money you spend will make its way, via Abebooks, to a used bookstore somewhere in the world.

But again, my sincere thanks for reading. I don’t know why you bother but I’m touched you do.

(I once mentioned Harry Truman’s joke about a one-armed economist while giving a talk at a conference. Afterward, a man came up to me. He had one arm. He grinned and told me he was an economist. There have been moments in my life when I am prepared to think there is a vast and at least somewhat benevolent intelligence organizing our existence. That was one.)