Making Ideas Stick
Why some explanations stick and most fade, and how the SUCCESs checklist from Made to Stick makes ideas simple, concrete, and memorable.
Communication & Argumentation · Lesson 3
Why some explanations stick and most fade, and how the SUCCESs checklist from Made to Stick makes ideas simple, concrete, and memorable.
You can explain something perfectly and still watch it evaporate. The listener nods, agrees, walks away, and by evening keeps nothing. Clarity gets an idea understood in the moment; it does not get it remembered. Those are different problems, and most explanations solve only the first.
Stickiness is not a gift some ideas are born with. It is a set of features you can add on purpose: a single core point, a surprise that holds attention, a concrete image the mind can hold, and a reason to care. Learn the features and you stop leaving memory to luck.
Once you know something well, you can no longer imagine not knowing it. This is the curse of knowledge, and it is the reason experts explain badly. Your fluent vocabulary, your compressed shortcuts, the steps you no longer notice yourself taking — all of it is invisible to you and opaque to the listener. Sticky explanation begins by deliberately climbing back down to what the other person actually holds, and building up from there rather than out from your own expertise.
In Made to Stick (2007), Chip and Dan Heath distilled what durable ideas share into six features, spelled SUCCESs: Simple (find the single core, then say it plainly), Unexpected (open a gap in what the listener assumed so curiosity keeps them present), Concrete (use images and specifics a mind can picture, not abstractions), Credible (give a reason to believe — a vivid detail, a source, a test the listener can run), Emotional (make them care about something, usually a person rather than a statistic), and Stories (wrap the idea in a small narrative so it can be re-told). It is a checklist, not a recipe; few messages need all six, but a forgettable one usually fails several.
Of the six, concreteness does the heaviest lifting. "Improve customer service" evaporates; "answer every email before you leave for the day" stays. Abstraction is the native language of the expert and the enemy of memory. Whenever an explanation feels slippery, the fix is almost always to trade a category for an example — a named person, a specific number, a thing you could photograph.
A safety officer wants staff to remember one rule: report near-misses, not just accidents. The abstract version — "maintain proactive incident-reporting behaviour" — dies on contact. The sticky version keeps one core idea, adds a surprise and a concrete image: "Last month a pallet fell where someone had stood a minute earlier. No one was hurt, so no one reported it — and next time someone will be standing there. If it almost happened, tell us." Same rule, but now it is simple, unexpected, concrete, and carries a person you can picture.
Stickiness pursued for its own sake curdles into a gimmick. An explainer opens with a shocking statistic and a slick metaphor, the room lights up — and afterward everyone remembers the metaphor and no one remembers the point. The surprise did not serve a core message; it replaced it. Unexpectedness that does not deliver the idea is just noise that happens to be memorable. The test is not "was it striking?" but "did the striking part carry the thing I needed them to keep?"
Among the examples the Heaths discuss is the Texas anti-littering campaign "Don't Mess with Texas." Launched in 1986 by the Texas Department of Transportation and its Austin agency GSD&M, it faced a real problem: the people who littered most on Texas highways were young men who rolled their eyes at gentle "please don't litter" pleas. So the campaign did not ask nicely. It tied clean roadsides to Texan pride, enlisted Texas celebrities and athletes, and delivered a line that sounded less like a rule than a warning shot. State figures widely reported at the time credited it with a sharp drop in roadside litter over its first few years. Read through the SUCCESs lens, its power is legible: a simple core (Texans don't litter), an unexpected tone (defiant, not preachy), concrete imagery, credible local voices, and an emotional hook of identity. As with any single campaign, tidy before-and-after figures deserve caution — but as an illustration of matching a sticky message to a specific audience, it has earned its place.
Take an idea you keep having to re-explain. Write its plain core in a single sentence. Now run it through SUCCESs: replace one abstraction with a concrete example, add one surprise that serves the core (not one that distracts from it), and name the one person who would care. Read the before and after aloud. If the new version is more memorable and still true, keep it; if the surprise stole the show, cut it.
Think Like a Maester: Make the idea unforgettable, but never let the thing they remember be different from the thing that is true.
Understanding and remembering are different achievements, and clarity buys only the first. Ideas stick when you defeat the curse of knowledge and deliberately build in features memory rewards — the SUCCESs elements of simple, unexpected, concrete, credible, emotional, and story-shaped. Concreteness carries the most weight; abstraction is where explanations go to be forgotten. "Don't Mess with Texas" shows the whole toolkit tuned to one audience. The discipline is to make the memorable part be the true part, never a substitute for it.
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