Remember Jared?
Of course you do. Who could forget the affable but dangerously hefty student who ate his way out of an excess 240 pounds by dining at Subway?
And what about those pesky kidney thieves?
We've all heard some variation of this urban legend—usually involving a man who accepts a drink from an attractive woman in a hotel lounge and then wakes up in an ice-filled bathtub with a scar on his back.
When we hear these stories, we always arrive at the same question: Who could know that they would catch on?
Why did Jared's story send Subway's sales skyward? And why do we keep hearing about the underground organ market?
We usually assume that their persistence is simply an unpredictable quirk of our culture.
At least that's what I thought. Until I picked up a copy of Made to Stick, a book that explains what makes a message memorable.
It turns out that stickiness is a phenomenon that you can understand.
And if you learn the following six principles, you won't just determine which ideas will become sticky—you'll create sticky messages of your own.
Simple
Maybe it's because we live in an increasingly complex society. Or maybe it's that "simple" doubles as a dis.
But for some reason, we're constantly compelled to complicate things.
More reasons! Further justification! Bigger words!
And none of it sticks.
These complex messages lead to what's called "decision paralysis." Complexity kills action. You have to give people a sure thing, or they won't absorb anything.
To be truly heard, then, you have to cut your message to its core.
Don't dumb it down—just focus on its essence.
Especially on the web, where your core meaning has to be front row center to keep visitors from vacating.
Unexpected
Whether we're driving down a familiar road or snoring through an unproductive meeting, we all tend to turn on our inner autopilot.
And we leave it on—until something jolts us into taking notice.
To switch off the autopilot, you have to call people's common sense into question.
But the surprise can't be pointless.
There's no shortage of ways to shock people. But if your idea is meaninglessly unexpected—if it has no tact—your audience will forget it just as quickly as they took notice.
A great example is President Kennedy's 1961 speech in which he promised to put a man on the moon within a decade.
Certainly no one expected this kind of bravado. But the surprise meant something. It tapped into America's aspirations—along with its fears of Russia's head start in space.
His message was both simple and meaningfully unexpected. And sticky enough to accomplish the impossible.
Concrete
When you need to get the word out, abstraction is your enemy.
Like children learning how to subtract, your audience needs a concrete handle that lets them grip what you're saying.
But unfortunately, the more we know about something, the more likely we are to think about it in abstract terms. Abstraction, it seems, is a sign of expertise.
This creates the "curse of knowledge." When we know something, we can't imagine what it's like not to know it. And that makes us terrible communicators.
Think about JFK's sticky speech again. His message was profound, but he phrased it in concrete terms.
He didn't say, "We want to our space program to excel." He used rock-solid words: man, moon and decade.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to unpack his goal. There was zero uncertainty—no abstraction.
And that's why it stuck.
Credible
Once you've jolted people into receiving a simple, concrete message, you need to give them a reason to believe it.
If you have the means, you can easily do this with an expert or celebrity endorsement.
But what if you don't have Oprah on speed dial?
Well, there are simple ways to lend credence to what you're conveying—without stalking Stephen Hawking.
Depending on your subject, you could use an anti-authority, like the anti-smoking commercials that featured Pam Laffin, a smoker who later died of emphysema at 31.
She wasn't a celebrity—or a scientist. But no one questioned her authority on the dangers of smoking.
Even the simple inclusion of relatable details can give a concept instant credibility.
When people pass along urban legends, for instance, they usually include a local detail that makes the story seem real: They found his severed arm in a ditch along Highway 403.
Because when people relate to part of what you're saying, the rest becomes just as sticky.
Emotional
We often assume that if we want to get our point across, we need to give rational reasons to cling to it.
Not so, claims Made to Stick.
When people think rationally, they argue and debate. They judge your message and look for reasons to disagree with it.
But if you appeal to people's emotions, you avoid internal arguments and connect on a level that wants to believe.
Take the slogan "Don't mess with Texas." It started in the 80s as an anti-litter campaign. And nothing before it had worked.
Its audience comprised pickup-driving, country-music-loving rebels. Any plea for reason or respect was destined for deaf ears.
But "Don't Mess with Texas" dug deeper than that. It appealed to Texan pride.
It hit people in their hearts instead of their heads. And that's where it stuck, becoming the most successful campaign of its kind in history.
I've never even seen Texas. But I sure know better than to mess with it.
Stories
When you have an idea to convey, being direct is your best bet. Right?
Actually, it turns out that telling a story—one with your message embedded—is far more effective.
Think of any recent presentations you've seen.
Most presenters follow a simple, direct framework: They tell you what they're going to tell you. Then they tell you. Then they tell you what they just told you. It's straight out of a textbook.
The message may be direct. But it's also lifeless. Those concise, carefully constructed bullet points just don't draw you in.
Now think of the presenters who simply told a likable story that included their idea.
Was it the most professional approach? Probably not. Did it waste your time? You might have thought so.
But studies show you're far more likely to remember a story—and the message it conveys—than a precise but unengaging outline.
When people hear a story, they actively construct mental models in their minds. They experience and empathize with the events. And they live the message.
So the next time you want a room full of executives to remember your idea, hide it in a story—one that's simple and unexpected, with no abstractions.
And include details they can relate to emotionally rather than rationally.
Because as with Velcro, the more hooks that take hold, the stronger your message will stick.