Do you have the gift of the gab? Use it responsibly

I saw Phil Rosenthal attempt to learn dancing in Buenos Aires, in an episode of Netflix’s Somebody Feed Phil. When he later spoke to his parents back in the US on a video call, his father gave him this advice: “Your dancing was a little klutzy. Maybe leave that alone and stick to what you’re good at: the gift of the gab.”

After I had finished laughing, I reflected that the same advice could be imparted to me. I am similarly challenged on the dance floor; similarly comfortable with wordplay.

Let’s reflect on this gift of the gab this week. What is it, and who has it? Some are born with it. Others hone it over a lifetime. It refers to the ability to weave words in ways that can enchant, convince, and compel. Wordsmiths have walked amongst us ever since humans started communicating. 

Phil has the gift, certainly. He’s a natural comic, and his travel show is full of snappy one-liners and sudden zingers. But the reason I watch it is a little different. I am interested because the wordplay is done with good heart; the banter is good-natured. That’s the point about the gift of the gab: it can be used responsibly to shape whole histories; or it can be used to pull the wool over many eyes and lead to reprehensible consequences.

The great power of words is undeniable. A well-timed turn of phrase can win wars, close sales, sway juries, or save relationships teetering on the brink. Winston Churchill famously galvanized a nation under siege with speeches that oozed resolve. Martin Luther King Jr. painted the dream of a better tomorrow with nothing but words—and forever etched his vision into our collective conscience. And then there’s Shakespeare, the undisputed master of gabbing—who made people fall in love, grieve tragic endings, and even chuckle at fools with little more than his quill and a glint in his literary eye.

Words move mountains.

But the power works both ways. A silver tongue can also be engaged in devilry. Snake oil can be sold as salvation. Words can save our souls; but they can also leave us clutching our broken hearts and empty wallets.

Politicians worldwide are perhaps the most notorious abusers of the power of the talk jock. For them, words are a high-stakes performance where truth is the casualty. They are there to persuade, not illuminate. Failure can be made to sound like progress, incompetence like strategy, and outright lies like hopeful visions. It’s all soundbites, used to pacify, deceive, and cloak.

Marketing is another obvious offender. When it comes to commerce, the gift of the gab is not just useful; it’s the currency. A clever slogan can turn a crappy product into a household name. Why make great products, many say, when you can just engage a word wiz to make your shoddy offering sound like the answer to all of life’s woes? These days even basic burgers are “artisanal”; shampoos are “cleansing experiences.” Your water bottle is now your “hydration wingman.” Toasters “elevate your yeasty delights.”

Verbal ninjas also come into their own in matters romantic. Gifted gabbers have wreaked much havoc in relationships. The world’s great romancers have long waxed lyrical about love, and wooed many a gullible partner with whispered entreaties and finely crafted promises. We are all susceptible. Well-worded compliments light up our day. Manipulative phrases string us along for years. Those who can turn apologies into artful guilt-avoidance, vows into poetic abstractions, commitments into lyrical caveats? Those are dangerous people. Language in the hands of someone charming but insincere is like a loaded weapon without a safety.

The problem isn’t the poetry itself—it’s the intention. A good wordsmith uses language to clarify, connect, and uplift. A manipulative one uses it to obscure, evade, and confuse. You never quite know where you stand—because everything sounds so beautiful, you forget to check if it makes sense. You can’t build a relationship on hot air. Love does not live in metaphors; it lives in actions. It lives in showing up and doing the hard work when the words run out.

If you can spin a tale, spin it well—but spin it true. If you can sell a dream, sell one that delivers. If you can charm, make sure your charm leaves people better off, not broken-hearted or broke. As Spiderman’s uncle (and every ethics professor) has often reminded us: with great power comes great responsibility.

The best sales pitch doesn’t need pyrotechnics. It needs honesty. If you’re genuinely solving a problem or courting a life mate, the words to describe that solution or commitment will come naturally. Good words sells possibility; ethical words draw the line at deception.

Words should be enjoyed. If you’re lucky enough to have the gift of the gab, don’t bury it in self-restraint. Wield it wisely, but also joyfully. Make people laugh with a clever quip. Inspire them with a rousing speech. Help them see possibilities where none existed before. But what we don’t need are more story spinners weaving untruths.

Have I overdone the rhetoric today? Or did I just pimp out the truth? You decide.

(Sunday Nation, 15 December 2024)

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