Because, clarity isn’t about being right. It’s about being understood.
Call it COK(Curse Of Knowledge). We forget what it’s like to not know. The more we know, the more disconnected we become from those who don’t. It’s not arrogance, it’s amnesia. We have all experienced it( as well have been on the giving end of it as well). Imagine the artist describing “negative space” while the buyer merely wonders why she painted only half the cat. Or the engineer explaining compression ratios to a customer who just wants his car not to sound like a pressure cooker. Or the startup founder who sprinkles “synergy, scalability, value proposition” into every sentence as if pitching to aliens fluent in PowerPoint.
We mistake articulation for understanding, and conviction for clarity. Clarity is not an IQ test—it’s empathy at work.
Here’s a story. In a small town near Coimbatore, a furniture merchant launched a collection called “Neo-Deco Timber Textures.” No one bought it—too fancy, too ambiguous. His competitor across the street just wrote on his hoarding: “Wood so good, your mother-in-law might compliment you.” Guess who sold out by Diwali?
Clarity lives where emotion meets simplicity. It doesn’t need perfect grammar or MBA vocabulary—it needs felt understanding.
The context in our heads often weighs more than the words on our slides. Maybe it’s time marketers, leaders, and communicators ask the golden question before hitting “send” or “publish”: “Can this be understood by my 10-year-old niece and my 70-year-old uncle—without a glossary?”
In workshops, we have seen brilliant strategists crafting pages of positioning statements colder than AI-processed legal contracts. But clarity doesn’t emerge from precision alone—it comes from perspective, context, and connection.
We assume others have access to the backstage of our thinking. They don’t.
We’re performing monologues and wondering why the audience won’t clap.
If they didn’t get it, you didn’t clarify—it’s still jargon in costume. Because, clarity is not conquest. It’s connection. Understanding is the new intelligence. So, don’t be right. Be read. Make sense. Not noise.
In the 1990s, a Stanford psychologist named Elizabeth Newton ran a brilliantly simple experiment. She divided people into “tappers” and “listeners.” Tappers were asked to tap out the rhythm of well-known songs like “Happy Birthday” on a table. Listeners had to guess the song.
Before starting, tappers predicted that listeners would guess correctly about 50% of the time.
The actual success rate? 2.5%.
Here’s why this is devastating: When you’re tapping, you hear the full song in your head—the melody, the harmony, the works. When you’re listening, you hear someone banging randomly on a table like a possessed woodpecker.
The tappers couldn’t un-hear the music in their heads. They couldn’t remember what it was like not to know.
This is the curse of knowledge (COK, and yes, the acronym is unfortunate). Once you know something, you can’t unknow it. You can’t remember what it felt like to be confused. You can’t access your own ignorance. And it’s killing your communication.
This is the curse that makes experts terrible teachers. The smarter you get, the worse you become at explaining things.
Why? Because you’ve automated so much knowledge that you’ve lost access to the steps.
Watch a master chef and they’ll say things like “cook until it looks right” or “add spices to taste.” Completely useless if you’re learning. They’ve internalized ten thousand micro-decisions that they no longer consciously make.
Or take our obsession with “common sense.” How many times have you heard “it’s just common sense” used to explain something?
Common sense is the most uncommon thing in the world. What’s “obvious” to you took years to become obvious. You just don’t remember the journey.
A Bangalore design studio I know has a brilliant rule: Every brief must be explainable to someone’s driver. Not because drivers aren’t smart—because they don’t share your context. If you can’t explain your strategy without using insider language, you don’t understand it well enough.
Strip away the COK, and what remains is truth.
This will sound hugely contradictory but the fact is that being right can make you wrong.
Here’s the tragic irony: You can be 100% correct and 100% ineffective at the same time.
An oncologist in Delhi sometime back talked about informing patients they have cancer. Early in his career, he’d dive straight into prognosis, treatment protocols, survival statistics. He was being completely accurate. Completely thorough.
Completely useless.
Because the patient heard “cancer” and their brain shut down. Everything after that was white noise.
Now? He starts differently. He sits. He makes eye contact. He says: “We found something. I’m going to explain what it is, what we’re going to do about it, and why I’m confident we can handle this together.”
Same information. Different sequence. Different framing. Infinitely different outcome.
Being right is easy. Being understood requires empathy. Clarity is meeting people where they are, not where you wish they were.
The most powerful communicators don’t tell you everything they know. They tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.
Jeff Bezos banned PowerPoint at Amazon. Instead: six-page memos, written in complete sentences, read silently at the start of meetings. Why? Because bullet points hide fuzzy thinking. Sentences expose it. If you can’t write it clearly, you haven’t thought it clearly.
Clarity isn’t about information volume. It’s about information architecture. Less is more. And it is a radical act.
Though this is not a state kept secret, not very many tell you this; that clarity is not about them. It is about you. Every time you clarify your thinking for someone else, you clarify it for yourself. The act of explaining reveals the gaps in your own understanding. The questions you can’t answer simply are the questions you don’t actually understand.
So that startup founder in Boston? The one who took 40 minutes to say “Amazon for Latin speakers”?
The investors didn’t need the explanation. He did.
Clarity isn’t charity. It’s construction. You’re not dumbing down. You’re building up—their understanding and your own.
The curse of knowledge isn’t knowing too much. It’s forgetting what it’s like not to know. The cure isn’t knowing less. It’s remembering more—about the person in front of you, the context they’re missing, the movie you’re playing that only exists in your head.
Lead with the “Why,” Not the “What”: People don’t buy what you do; they buy why you do it. Start with the problem you’re solving for them, the itch you’re scratching. The features (the “what”) are just proof. Context first, content second.
Strip away the curse. What remains is connection. And connection? That’s the whole point.
The pursuit of being right is a lonely, exhausting game of intellectual one-upmanship. It’s you, shouting into a mirror.
The pursuit of being understood is a generous, impactful act of leadership. It’s you, holding out a hand.
So, the next time you have a brilliant idea, don’t ask, “Is this factually impeccable?” Ask the far more provocative, far more powerful question:
“Is this impossible to misunderstand?”
Drop the mic. Build the bridge. Because, your genius is useless if it’s locked in the vault of your own mind.
Steve Jobs once said, “Simple can be harder than complex.” Apple’s marketing isn’t about specs — it’s about the feeling. The story. The clarity of why. That’s why millions queue up for a rectangle with a bitten apple on it. Thats Apple’s genius.
A brand that sells furniture with no words in its manuals — yet everyone gets it. That’s the ultimate clarity: understanding beyond language. What can we learn from the IKEA Manuals?
In leadership. In branding. In life. Being Understood Beats Being Right.
It’s not about proving you’re the smartest in the room — it’s about being the clearest.
The greatest communicators aren’t those who “win” arguments.
They’re the ones who help others see what they see.
Clarity is generosity — it’s the gift of making others feel smart.
That’s why great brands don’t lecture. They translate.
That’s why great leaders don’t declare. They connect.
Albert Einstein put it best: “If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.”