Why we crave a good speech

I’ve spent much of the past few weeks thinking about language. Partly because I’ve lately swapped contemporary writers for classical works, such as Tolstoy’s tomes, out of a craving for the idiosyncrasies modern language has long shed. It is also partly because of King Charles’s speeches on his recent state visit to the US, which were filled with references to historic events, quotations from Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare and the elegance of making a subtle dig covertly, under the guise of flattery.   

Language is constantly changing shape but now feels like an appropriate time to reflect on its latest evolution, because large language models are not only influencing the pool from which we pick our words, but also their syntax and sound.

In some ways, Donald Trump anticipated this shift long before artificial intelligence became mainstream. Once striking for its bluntness, repetition of favoured words and abruptly staccato syntax, his manner of speaking now feels oddly familiar. Stylistically, it blends with a broader media context of impatient news headlines and rushed content. The bluntness, recurring phrases and limited but forceful vocabulary also resemble the patterns through which AI systems communicate with us daily. Some of his favourite catchphrases, or ‘Trumpisms’ – such as “fake news”, “frankly” and, at the end of a sentence, “believe me” – have soaked into public discourse. 

When a good speech erupts from the political scene, therefore, we hasten to listen, as though finally quenching a long-endured thirst. When Mark Carney spoke at Davos this year, audiences clung to his words in a universal craving for something that sounds not only intelligent, but almost melodic in its pentameter and flow. Carney opened his speech with a quotation from Thucydides before later referencing Václav Havel, but no one accused him of pretension. Instead, such speeches feel almost radical in their elegance and careful composition.  

Similarly, King Charles’s recent addresses during his US state visit replaced direct, contemporary political criticisms with classical references. That the speech was so carefully crafted itself felt like a subtle rebuke to Trump, evidencing how the style and rhythm of a speech alone can be politically sharp.

For years, political communication has moved steadily towards a simplification that claims to be more democratic. Philosophical references, historical digressions and ornate rhetoric have been shelved, criticised as exclusionary or self-indulgent. But as public language becomes more synthetic, perhaps we are rediscovering an appetite for this complexity and cadence. What once sounded decadent now seems preciously human.   

In corporate communications too, language is becoming quicker and cleaner. As AI tools are now embedded across communications workflows, the risk is not simply that messaging becomes painfully dull, but that organisations begin to sound as though nobody genuinely thought through the words at all.

For a year seemed set to be defined by the reign of outsourced language, thoughtful speeches are becoming invaluable. That is because writing is not merely the presentation of thought, but part of the thinking process itself. In crafting a speech, ideas are forced into completion, refined and solidified. A good speech not only benefits audiences but brings clarity to the speaker themselves.  

As synthetic style becomes ubiquitous, the organisations and leaders who stand out will not necessarily be those who communicate most efficiently, but those who treat language as a full instrument through which personality, judgement and texture can be expressed. It has become almost irresistibly easy to flatten language of its kinks, snuffing out the full depth of the message we want to convey. In a noisy world, where language is often used as a blunt weapon, thoughtful language has never felt more important.