The many ways we introduce ourselves

For those of you who don’t know me, I am Michelle’s husband, Barack.

The first time I heard this, I smiled.

Not because it was clever. But because it was unexpected.

Here was someone the world knew by power and position, choosing to introduce himself through a relationship.

And just like that, the room softened.

It reminded me that introductions aren’t really about who we are.

They’re about how we want the other person to place us.

Let me tell you a few stories.

The one-line introduction that changed the room

I once walked into a room full of senior leaders.

Big titles. Bigger egos.

When it was my turn, instead of the usual “27 years of experience, multiple startups…”, I said:

I tell stories for a living. Sometimes, they even make money.

There was laughter of the good kind.

No one asked for my résumé.

They asked, “What kind of stories?”

That one line didn’t explain me.

It invited a conversation.

Starting with a line from a film

My LinkedIn profile description begins with:

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.

It’s a line from the movie, Casablanca.

I don’t use it to sound clever. I use it as a quiet signal.

This won’t be a standard bio.

This won’t start with job titles.

And this might take a few seconds to land.

Some people scroll past, and some stop and smile.

Both reactions are perfectly fine.

Introductions, I’ve realised, are also filters.

A village story that’s meant only for laughter

I have a friend from Chengalpattu.

One story he tells repeatedly is about how he once drove his father’s Ambassador without ever having driven before and managed to park it neatly on a mound after losing control.

He switched off the ignition, got out, went home, and went to sleep.

The next morning, the entire town stood around the car, wondering who the genius was who parked it there.

No one knew for a long time.

There’s no insight in that story. It was just about laughter.

And that’s exactly where it belongs. It belongs among friends, not presentations.

Some stories don’t need meaning.

They need memory.

The overworked introduction

I once met someone who took five minutes to introduce himself.

Every role.

Every achievement.

Every company name was carefully dropped.

By the time he finished, no one remembered what he said. They only remembered that it felt long.

That’s when it struck me:

If your introduction feels like a defence, you’re already trying too hard.

The introduction that didn’t happen

At a small gathering, someone simply said, “Hi, I’m Ravi.”

And then he listened.

By the end of the evening, everyone remembered him.

Not for what he said at the start, but for how present he was.

Sometimes, the most powerful introduction is the one you delay.

Where this leaves me

These days, I don’t obsess over introductions.

I just ask myself one question before opening my mouth:

Am I trying to impress, or am I trying to connect?

Different answers lead to very different beginnings.

And that’s usually where the real story starts.