
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. Your tone is the vehicle for that feeling.”
Several years ago, I was invited to a high-stakes corporate retreat in Lagos. The keynote speaker was a brilliant strategist, a man whose mind I deeply respected. He had spent months preparing a presentation that was supposed to redefine the company’s trajectory for the next decade. The content was flawless. The slides were immaculate. But within ten minutes of him taking the stage, I looked around the room and saw half the audience discreetly checking their phones, while the other half fought a losing battle against heavy eyelids.
What went wrong? It wasn’t his body language—he stood tall and confident. It wasn’t his words—they were meticulously chosen.
It was his TONE.
He delivered a visionary, future-altering strategy in the exact same flat, monotonous drone one might use to read a grocery list. There was no passion, no urgency, no variation. He had the right words, but he played them on the wrong instrument. That day, a multi-million Naira strategy died a quiet death, not because it lacked merit, but because it lacked music.
In our previous article, we explored the first of the Five Pillars of Public Speaking Mastery: LOOK (Authority & Presence). Today, we dive into the second, and perhaps the most emotionally resonant pillar: TONE (Influence & Connection).
“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. Your tone is the vehicle for that feeling.”

If your LOOK is the foundation of your authority, your TONE is the engine of your influence. Tone is not just about having a “good voice.” It is the strategic manipulation of volume, pitch, pace, and pauses to inject emotion and meaning into your words.
Research by Professor Albert Mehrabian indicates that while 55% of communication is visual, a staggering 38% is vocal. Only 7% is the actual words you use. When your tone contradicts your words—for example, saying “I am thrilled to be here” in a flat, bored voice—the audience will always believe the tone over the text.
To master the TONE pillar, you must learn to play your voice like an instrument. Here are the four critical elements you must control:
The master speaker varies their pace strategically. When sharing an exciting vision or a rapid sequence of events, speed up slightly to build momentum. When delivering a profound truth, a complex data point, or a critical call to action, slow down. Let the gravity of the words settle over the audience.
Instead, use volume dynamically. Raise your voice to project confidence, passion, and energy during key rallying points. But do not underestimate the power of dropping your volume. Leaning in and lowering your voice to a near-whisper forces the audience to lean in with you. It creates an atmosphere of intimacy, secrecy, and profound importance.
When you ask a question, your pitch should naturally rise at the end. When you make a definitive statement, your pitch should drop, signaling finality and authority. (Notice how news anchors drop their pitch at the end of a broadcast). Injecting melody into your voice keeps the audience’s brain engaged, as it constantly processes the changing auditory landscape.
The master speaker weaponizes the pause. A pause before a key statement builds unbearable anticipation. A pause after a profound statement allows the audience to absorb its impact. A pause after a joke allows the laughter to swell. Silence is the canvas upon which your words are painted. Do not be afraid of it; own it.
“The right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause.” — Mark Twain

Just as with body language, different generations respond to tone differently. Senior executives and older professionals often equate a measured, deep, and steady tone with competence and stability. They appreciate gravitas. Younger professionals (Gen Z and younger Millennials), however, are highly attuned to authenticity and conversational tones. They reject the “corporate broadcaster” voice as artificial.
The modern master speaker bridges this gap by adopting a tone of “elevated conversation.” You are not delivering a rigid lecture; you are having a passionate, authentic conversation with five hundred people at once.
To master the TONE pillar, you must break the habit of relying on words to convey emotion. Here is your practical task for this week:
If you can make “Mary Had a Little Lamb” sound terrifying, you have begun to master your tone.
Your voice is the most powerful tool you possess. It can soothe, it can terrify, it can bore, and it can inspire. When you align your LOOK with a masterful TONE, you become magnetic.
In our next article, we will explore the third pillar: FEEL, and how to inject genuine passion and authenticity into every presentation. Until then, remember: it is not just what you say, it is the music you play while saying it.

Akin Akingbogun is a renowned public speaker, trainer, and the visionary behind Eloquence Unfiltered, a transformative public speaking masterclass launching August 22, 2026, at the MUSON Centre, Lagos.

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.

You are somewhere between forty and fifty-five. You looked in the mirror recently and had a thought you immediately dismissed. Maybe you googled something at 2am that you would never say out loud. Maybe you bought something expensive and impractical and told everyone it was an investment. Or maybe you just feel — quietly, persistently — like the life you built was supposed to feel better than this by now.

Anton Chekhov was a Russian physician and playwright — a man trained in the discipline of diagnosis before he became one of the most precise storytellers in the history of world literature. That combination of sensibilities matters, because the principle he articulated in the late nineteenth century was not merely a rule of dramatic craft. It was an observation about the nature of significance itself. About what it means for something to be present. About the relationship between introduction and consequence.

There is a prison that has no concrete walls, no iron bars, no guards posted at the gate. Nobody built it for you. Nobody sentenced you to it. And yet, for many people, it is the place they spend the better part of their lives — circling its perimeter, brushing their fingers against its invisible boundaries, and quietly retreating each time they feel the edge of something that might require more of them than they believe they can give.

Picture a hand holding sand. The tighter the grip, the faster the grains escape between the fingers. Ease the grip — open the palm, allow the hand to become a vessel rather than a vice — and the sand stays. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of leadership, and one of the least learned: that control, pursued too aggressively, produces the very loss of control it was designed to prevent.

There is a version of ambition that builds. And there is a version of ambition that consumes. From a distance — and especially from inside it — they look almost identical. Both are energetic. Both are forward-moving. Both speak the language of vision and possibility. The difference only becomes visible later, usually at the point of fracture, when what was built begins to come apart under the weight of what was promised.

There is a particular kind of organisational absurdity that most people who have ever worked in a company will recognise immediately. It is the policy that was clearly designed by someone who has never had to implement it. The restructuring that looked elegant on a slide deck and chaotic on the ground. The customer-facing process that was overhauled by a committee that has not spoken to a customer in years. The directive that arrives from above, fully formed and non-negotiable, that causes the people closest to the work to exchange a look — the kind of look that says, without words: they have no idea what we actually do here.

We have built an entire mythology around exhaustion. In boardrooms and business culture — perhaps nowhere more so than in the high-pressure, always-on professional culture many of us inhabit — busyness has become a currency. To be tired is to be serious. To be overwhelmed is to be important. To be burning out, quietly, is somehow proof that you are fully committed.

There is a particular kind of failure that never makes the headlines. It does not arrive with a scandal, a public collapse, or a dramatic resignation. It builds slowly, almost imperceptibly, in the space between what a leader sees and what they choose to say. It lives in the meetings that end without the real conversation ever starting. It grows in the silence after a poor decision goes unchallenged, not because nobody noticed, but because everyone agreed — unspokenly — that it was simply easier not to say anything.

The boardroom at Crescent Capital Partners on Victoria Island smelled of leather and ambition — the kind that had been earned, aged, and perhaps left out a little too long. Emeka Osei-Bello, Managing Director and Group CEO, sat at the head of a long mahogany table, his charcoal suit immaculate, his posture the kind that says, I built this. He had, in many ways, done exactly that.

When you stay loyal to a version of yourself that no longer exists—the one who was hurt, the one who failed, the one who was overlooked—you are still choosing. You are choosing to let one moment in time define the whole arc of your life. And that choice costs more than it keeps.
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1 thought on “The Five Pillars of Public Speaking Mastery: Pillar 2 – TONE”
“Silence is the canvas upon which words are painted”….. I truly appreciate the richness I’ve experienced from this write-up.
Thanks omo Akin!