I’m still a fairly young chap, at least in the grand scheme of things, and have been too focused on a career to have really given relationships (that is, apersonal relationship) much thought. Which I suppose is counter-intuative given my obsession with customer relationships, interaction (in a business sense) and general behaviours. But I tell you this so that it comes as no surprise for you to hear that I am single – something that has recently prompted the busybodies in my head to change the “alert” bulb from Blue to Red (a Red Dwarf reference, for you young whippersnappers).
This introduction becomes relevant as we delve into my discovery of the toothpaste theory. Aptly named indeed:
There is a dreary background story as to why I leave brushing my teeth until I walk out of the door each morning, and it’s a dangerous game to play as the last thing on the agenda usually gets the least attention when in a rush. Nevertheless, the morning routine is non-negotiable!
My fresh, sparkling teeth are, however, unfortunately negated by windswept hair and bright red cheeks by the time I arrive at the tube. And as I step onto the train, despite my best efforts to de-Boris myself, they are also negated by my awkward duck and weave onto a carriage clearly not built for a man of my size. My entrance to the grandeur of public transport is topped off by the overriding sensation of having toothpaste on my cheek, more often than not, having just brushed my teeth and sprinted out of the door. A similar feeling to the “did I lock the door” quandary you’re faced with as your parking up at work.Though, this doesn’t usually bother me in the slightest, as most commuters are so transfixed on being the first off the train and up the escalators, that their mind could not even begin to contemplate deviating away from that task to notice a blotch on my cheek.
However, a distinctly average Wednesday morning arrived on my doorstep that soon became less average than most. I stepped on to the train and managed to secure a spot with headroom (a rare commodity for a 6″5′ man). Feeling proud, I glanced to my left, only to notice a quite beautiful young woman looking my way. She smiled warmly, maintaining eye contact for more than a passing glance – which is where it all went drastically wrong.
The sensation of toothpaste-on-cheek (no, not a Cumbrian village) suddenly burst to the forefront of my thoughts and caused meltdown. My pupils dilated, I almost felt a chill ripple down my spine and, as I scowled at the thought of being judged, I quickly turned to face the opposite direction. It was then I realised, glancing in the reflection of the tube door, that I was drastically wrong and had probably offended the lovely young lady too. The question is, therefore, what prompted that reaction? Well, the feeling of toothpaste perhaps, but more logically the conscious knowledge of having just brushed my teeth followed by a burst out of the door, thus the subsequent perceived likelihood of having remains dabbed on my cheek.
Just as Doc Brown suffered the indignity of a bathroom slip to invent the Flux Capacitor, I suffered the humiliation of being a rude, paranoid burke in order to rustle up my toothpaste theory – you’ll agree on the similarities in magnitude of said discoveries!
But thisintroduces a particular aspect of perception and judgement that we all too often get wrong.
The unfortunate misunderstanding above plays into my wider interpretation of what Daniel Kahnemann and Amos Tversky dubbed ”Anchoring”. Essentially, when you have a thought or belief prominent in your mind, your answers and actions will tend towards that thought. Kahnemann discussed this theory (in his book “Thinking, Fast and Slow”) by using a subtle primer embedded within a question to manipulate your answer to the following (more much relevant) question. A technique used more often that you would hope. Reading his findings allowed me to further apply his thoughts to a more generalised understanding of how our judgements are programmed by a prior instance.
For example, consider the questions (a) was Ghandi older or younger than 144 years old when he died? And, then, (b) how old was Ghandi when he died? Assuming you have little prior knowledge of Ghandi, the first question, while clearly absurd, will instinctively prompt the image of an ancient man when answering the second question, and you will tend to give a higher age than you may otherwise have done to the second question. To qualify and compound this theory, Kahnemann and Tversky undertook a simple study in California. They asked one set of students:
1) Is the tallest Redwood tree more or less than 1200 feet?
2) What is your best guess of the height of the tallest Redwood tree?
They then asked a second set of students the following:
1) Is the tallest Redwood tree more or less than 180 feet?
2) What is your best guess of the height of the tallest Redwood tree?
This tickled my curiosity, as the first set of students mean response was 844 feet, whilst the second set of students mean response was 282 feet. Thus, the “anchor” of the first question planted an image that instinctively manipulated their second response, in general of course.
The foundations of this theory is, therefore, that we all too often jump to conclusions – instinctively so. As Einstein put it “everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid”.