Ever wonder what people’s story of you is?
Not the version you post online or the one people tell at events, but the real one. The version written in your daily choices, your mistakes, your small acts of kindness, the lessons you’ve learned, and the emotions you’ve felt.
Each of us is telling a story, whether we realize it or not. But somewhere along the way, we stopped being honest about what those stories actually are. We put up masks to impress our boss, hoping for a promotion. We present ourselves differently to attract someone we like. We manipulate or contort the truth in hopes of receiving what we desire.
PR has turned people into false gold, and biographies have become collections of credentials and praise, even when they’re true. We’ve forgotten that our lives aren’t meant to look perfect; they’re meant to teach and show the world our story.
Aristotle talked about three types of persuasion we can use when writing to an audience: Logos, Ethos, and Pathos. Logos appeals to logic and reason. Ethos appeals to credibility and trust. Pathos appeals to emotion and the human heart.
In our world today, most public relations and biographies lean heavily on Ethos. They build credibility, emphasize achievements, and showcase reputation. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that; but when credibility overshadows truth, we lose the emotional and logical balance that makes our story real.
That’s where Logos comes in. Logos grounds our story in truth. It keeps us honest with the facts, the logic, the reasoning, and the context behind what happened. It reminds us to ask questions like “What’s real?” and “What can be learned from this?”
For example, I recently presented twice at an innovation bootcamp and shared two products that would change a sector. One was with shower curtains, and the other was with country swing. Both received the judges’ choice and placed in the top five.
Now, that’s all true. But what I didn’t mention is that the bootcamp was a BYU class about innovation. The judges were the teacher and the students. I was apart of a team of 4 people. There were five teams in total. By default, we all placed in the top five.
If I stop there, it’s just a polished headline. But if I include the context, it becomes something more and shows the why and the what I learned. We were given one hour to come up with an idea, design a prototype, present a solution, and gather feedback. We brainstormed endlessly before landing on something as simple as a shower curtain.
That hour taught me that every idea is worth exploring. That creativity doesn’t require perfection, only effort. That curiosity and courage build the foundation for innovation. Since then, it has helped me to develop more products that are slowly changing the local are around me.
Logos isn’t just about providing the facts; it’s about showing the reasoning behind them. Why was this experience important to you? What did you learn or overcome? Those truths reveal far more about who you are than a polished résumé ever could.
Pathos, on the other hand, brings our story to life. It captures the emotion, the fear, the joy, the heartbreak, and the growth that define the human experience. It reminds us that we are not machines trying to prove credibility; we are people trying to be understood.
Back to that innovation class:
As the teacher ended the lecture, a prompt appeared on the board: “You have one hour to come up with a product idea, create a prototype, and pitch it to the class.” My team froze. We threw out ideas: software, car parts, everyday problems; but, nothing stuck. Fifteen minutes passed. Then someone said, “What about a shower curtain?”
I laughed. “A shower curtain? Really?”
But as we talked, we realized no one ever washes their shower curtain because it’s too hard to remove. That’s when we thought, what if the inner liner could zip off? Suddenly, something ordinary became something meaningful. We had a product idea.
That story may not win any awards, but it connects. It shows thought, effort, and humanity; that’s what Pathos does. It bridges the gap between fact and feeling. It’s what makes people care.
When all three are balanced, something powerful happens. The story becomes alive. It teaches, it inspires, and it resonates; not because it’s polished, but because it’s real. That’s the kind of story people remember, and more importantly, it’s the kind that changes them.
Today, we have more tools than ever to tell our stories: social media, AI, PR firms, marketing platforms, and personal branding systems. But these same tools can either build authenticity or destroy it. They can amplify truth or disguise it.
Imagine if we used them differently.
If PR wasn’t about managing perception but revealing intention.
If biographies weren’t collections of credentials but lessons in growth.
If our online presence wasn’t a highlight reel, but a timeline of becoming.
The next era of storytelling shouldn’t be about control. It should be about connection. Technology gives us the reach, but honesty gives us the impact. Our goal shouldn’t be to look perfect, but to be intentional and live a story worth telling, not curating.
At the end of the day, our stories are not meant to impress; they’re meant to express. The world doesn’t need another flawless biography or perfectly curated image; it needs people who are willing to live honestly. People who can say, “Here’s what I tried, here’s what I learned, and here’s how I grew.”
Because when we tell the truth about who we are, we give others permission to do the same. That’s the kind of storytelling that builds trust, not followers. That’s the kind of PR that builds people, not personas.
Make your story one worth reading.
