tiresomely repeated
.
â WILLIAM WHYTE
Salesmanship as a Virtue: Live with Tony Robbins
âAre you excited?â cries a young woman named Stacy as I hand her my registration forms. Her honeyed voice rises into one big exclamation point. I nod and smile as brightly as I can. Across the lobby of the Atlanta Convention Center, I hear people shrieking.
âWhatâs that noise?â I ask.
âTheyâre getting everyone pumped up to go inside!â Stacy enthuses. âThatâs part of the whole UPW experience.â She hands me a purple spiral binder and a laminated nametag to wear around my neck. UNLEASH THE POWER WITHIN, proclaims the binder in big block letters. Welcome to Tony Robbinsâs entry-level seminar.
Iâve paid $895 in exchange, according to the promotional materials, for learning how to be more energetic, gain momentum in my life, and conquer my fears. But the truth is that Iâm not here to unleash the powerwithin me (though Iâm always happy to pick up a few pointers); Iâm here because this seminar is the first stop on my journey to understand the Extrovert Ideal.
Iâve seen Tony Robbinsâs infomercialsâhe claims that thereâs always one airing at any given momentâand he strikes me as one of the more extroverted people on earth. But heâs not just any extrovert. Heâs the king of self-help, with a client roster that has includedPresident Clinton, Tiger Woods, Nelson Mandela, Margaret Thatcher, Princess Diana, Mikhail Gorbachev, Mother Teresa, Serena Williams, Donna Karanâand 50 million other people. And the self-help industry, into which hundreds of thousands of Americans pour their hearts, souls, andsome $11 billion a year, by definition reveals our conception of the ideal self, the one we aspire to become if only we follow the seven principles of this and the three laws of that. I want to know what this ideal self looks like.
Stacy asks if Iâve brought my meals with me. It seems a strange question: Who carries supper with them from New York City to Atlanta? She explains that Iâll want to refuel at my seat; for the next four days, Friday through Monday, weâll be working fifteen hours a day, 8:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m., with only one short afternoon break. Tony will be onstage
the entire time
and I wonât want to miss a moment.
I look around the lobby. Other people seem to have come preparedâtheyâre strolling toward the hall, cheerfully lugging grocery bags stuffed with PowerBars, bananas, and corn chips. I pick up a couple of bruised apples from the snack bar and make my way to the auditorium. Greeters wearing UPW T-shirts and ecstatic smiles line the entrance, springing up and down, fists pumping. You canât get inside without slapping them five. I know, because I try.
Inside the vast hall, a phalanx of dancers is warming up the crowd to the Billy Idol song âMony Mony,â amplified by a world-class sound system, magnified on giant Megatron screens flanking the stage. They move in sync like backup dancers in a Britney Spears video, but are dressed like middle managers. The lead performer is a fortysomething balding fellow wearing a white button-down shirt, conservative tie, rolled-up sleeves, and a great-to-meet-you smile. The message seems to be that we can all learn to be this exuberant when we get to work every morning.
Indeed, the dance moves are simple enough for us to imitate at ourseats: jump and clap twice; clap to the left; clap to the right. When the song changes to âGimme Some Lovinâ,â many in the audience climb atop their metal folding chairs, where they continue to whoop and clap. I stand somewhat peevishly with arms crossed until I decide that thereâs nothing to be done but join in and hop up and down along with my seatmates.
Eventually the moment weâve all been waiting for arrives: Tony Robbins bounds onstage. Already gigantic at six feet seven
.
â WILLIAM WHYTE
Salesmanship as a Virtue: Live with Tony Robbins
âAre you excited?â cries a young woman named Stacy as I hand her my registration forms. Her honeyed voice rises into one big exclamation point. I nod and smile as brightly as I can. Across the lobby of the Atlanta Convention Center, I hear people shrieking.
âWhatâs that noise?â I ask.
âTheyâre getting everyone pumped up to go inside!â Stacy enthuses. âThatâs part of the whole UPW experience.â She hands me a purple spiral binder and a laminated nametag to wear around my neck. UNLEASH THE POWER WITHIN, proclaims the binder in big block letters. Welcome to Tony Robbinsâs entry-level seminar.
Iâve paid $895 in exchange, according to the promotional materials, for learning how to be more energetic, gain momentum in my life, and conquer my fears. But the truth is that Iâm not here to unleash the powerwithin me (though Iâm always happy to pick up a few pointers); Iâm here because this seminar is the first stop on my journey to understand the Extrovert Ideal.
Iâve seen Tony Robbinsâs infomercialsâhe claims that thereâs always one airing at any given momentâand he strikes me as one of the more extroverted people on earth. But heâs not just any extrovert. Heâs the king of self-help, with a client roster that has includedPresident Clinton, Tiger Woods, Nelson Mandela, Margaret Thatcher, Princess Diana, Mikhail Gorbachev, Mother Teresa, Serena Williams, Donna Karanâand 50 million other people. And the self-help industry, into which hundreds of thousands of Americans pour their hearts, souls, andsome $11 billion a year, by definition reveals our conception of the ideal self, the one we aspire to become if only we follow the seven principles of this and the three laws of that. I want to know what this ideal self looks like.
Stacy asks if Iâve brought my meals with me. It seems a strange question: Who carries supper with them from New York City to Atlanta? She explains that Iâll want to refuel at my seat; for the next four days, Friday through Monday, weâll be working fifteen hours a day, 8:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m., with only one short afternoon break. Tony will be onstage
the entire time
and I wonât want to miss a moment.
I look around the lobby. Other people seem to have come preparedâtheyâre strolling toward the hall, cheerfully lugging grocery bags stuffed with PowerBars, bananas, and corn chips. I pick up a couple of bruised apples from the snack bar and make my way to the auditorium. Greeters wearing UPW T-shirts and ecstatic smiles line the entrance, springing up and down, fists pumping. You canât get inside without slapping them five. I know, because I try.
Inside the vast hall, a phalanx of dancers is warming up the crowd to the Billy Idol song âMony Mony,â amplified by a world-class sound system, magnified on giant Megatron screens flanking the stage. They move in sync like backup dancers in a Britney Spears video, but are dressed like middle managers. The lead performer is a fortysomething balding fellow wearing a white button-down shirt, conservative tie, rolled-up sleeves, and a great-to-meet-you smile. The message seems to be that we can all learn to be this exuberant when we get to work every morning.
Indeed, the dance moves are simple enough for us to imitate at ourseats: jump and clap twice; clap to the left; clap to the right. When the song changes to âGimme Some Lovinâ,â many in the audience climb atop their metal folding chairs, where they continue to whoop and clap. I stand somewhat peevishly with arms crossed until I decide that thereâs nothing to be done but join in and hop up and down along with my seatmates.
Eventually the moment weâve all been waiting for arrives: Tony Robbins bounds onstage. Already gigantic at six feet seven
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