Let’s Talk About Elizabeth Holmes’ Fake Voice. (Then Let’s Talk About Yours.)
by Casey Erin Clark, written with Julie Fogh
Let’s talk about fake voices.
Let’s begin by talking about the latest woman’s voice that the media finds fascinating — that of fallen wunderkind tech founder Elizabeth Holmes of Theranos. Even amidst the myriad (bonkers!) details of her rise and fall, Elizabeth Holmes is known (and endlessly discussed) for her extremely deep voice. If you haven’t heard it before, it’s particularly striking emanating from a young, blonde white woman.
Now let’s talk about another fake voice — yours.
Shocked?
First of all, let’s establish what we mean by a “fake voice” — or at least, what most of the conversation around Elizabeth Holmes’ voice suggests. The popular definition seems to be “a practiced, purposeful adaptation to one’s real voice.” Her extremely deep voice strikes most people as not real.
Now let’s establish what we mean by a “real voice”. Do you mean the sound you use when you talk to your friends — is that your real voice? What about the sound you use when you see a puppy on the street — is that real? What about the sound you use with your coworkers or your boss? Was Elizabeth Holmes’ real voice her drunk or tired voice, as seems to be the assertion from witnesses? Is it yours?
Maybe you think you sound the same in all these scenarios. As professional voice coaches, we can tell you unequivocally that you do not.
Your voice is one big, messy bundle of anatomy, emotions, thoughts, and habits. Everything that makes you YOU makes your voice your voice. We’ve outlined a bit of how we think about this in the accompanying graphic, but for now, let’s dive into the social aspect of vocal development.
Every interaction you’ve ever had in your life has gone into shaping your voice: every new friend you made, every new city you moved to, every new job, every new romantic partner, every new boss or teacher . . . and particularly, every time you were praised or criticized for how you communicated, whether it was outright or — as is most often the case — subtle.
Every observation you’ve ever made of other people communicating has gone into shaping your voice. The stories we see in the media (both fictional and non-fictional) — what leaders look and sound like, who is attractive and who is not, what is rewarded and what is punished, who is weak, who is shrill, who is annoying, who is sexy, who is fascinating, and who recedes into the background — influence our voices and how we communicate, both consciously and subconsciously.
This also applies to what we observe in our social groups — and particularly at work. Who is getting promoted? How are people evaluated? Who gets heard and who doesn’t?
Our voices are incredibly adaptive and responsive.
We’re starting to have a more robust cultural discussion about how we see people and how we judge them based on their appearance, and about the environment and biases that create and support those judgements. Platform shoes, expensive suits, spin class, instagram filters, Spanx, hair dye . . . we adapt our appearance all the time to signal status, to show we belong, to stand out and/or fit in, and if we don’t, we have a pretty good idea what the consequences of not adapting are.
What is still rarely acknowledged is that the way that someone sounds is just as evocative, observable, and weighed against societal standards of what “works” as the way that person looks.
Just like the choices we make about our appearance, the shifts we make in our voice and communication styles — whether we’re fully aware of them or not — are social adaptations intended to help us to fit in, to stand out, to be taken seriously, to be seen as competent, intelligent, sexy, exciting, non-threatening, or successful.
You’ve spent your entire life adapting both consciously and subconsciously to be a successful communicator — to create, maintain, or regain status in different environments. Have you ever noticed how you pick up your friends’ catchphrases? We are constantly building and dissolving communication micro-societies throughout our lives. The habits we pick up in one arena don’t always serve us well in another.
What we find pleasing is based on a pretty narrow set of preferences, but very often is not something we can consciously pinpoint. It’s usually a vague impression. This is the core of unconscious bias. Maybe you never have to articulate it until someone asks you to examine your impressions about someone. “I don’t know why, I just find her annoying.”
We’ve written before about the unique challenges of communicating as a woman. There is no question that women receive more scrutiny and criticism of their voices than men do, and that people of color of both sexes receive more scrutiny and criticism of their voices than white people do. We believe that this is because after many years of halting progress toward a more diverse society, a more diverse media landscape, and a deeper understanding of our unconscious biases, the world still sees white men as the “norm” and everyone else as outside the norm.
Anyone outside this mythic norm of what’s considered “good” voice has likely learned to cultivate their voice to try to ease their way in the world: women, people of color, ESL speakers, trans people. Boots Riley made an incredible dark comedy (2018’s Sorry to Bother You) exploring this idea, sometimes called “code-switching.” In Riley’s film, the main character, a black man, puts on a “white voice” to sell people a product over the phone — and boy does it work. (Highly recommended, both as an exploration of this idea and a really entertaining film.)
This is the core of old-fashioned speech training: learn to put on your serious voice so people will take you seriously. It boils down to learning how to successfully imitate a wealthy, educated, middle-aged white man. (Rejecting that old model is part of why we started our company.)
There is a plethora of advice out there on how to be a better communicator. Many of those “tips and tricks” articles cite studies about how deep voices are seen as having more leadership potential, being more trustworthy, etc. (Hey, in Marvel’s Infinity War, even Star-Lord felt he needed to deepen his voice around the Mighty Thor.)
Many of the women we work with come to us having consciously or subconsciously lowered the natural tone of their voices — especially those who currently work or wish to work in male-dominated environments and industries. It’s a completely sensible, natural thing to do — adapt to fit in, to be accepted, to be taken seriously. Most of those women probably don’t sound very unusual to the people in their lives, either because the adaptation is slight or because it’s been with them for many years.
Beyond pitch and tone, another major theme of the constant criticism of women’s voices is vocal fry. While vocal fry is often caused by a lack of breath support (read more about that here if you’re curious), another major cause is speaking in a lower pitch than your vocal anatomy can fully support.
Here’s one of the more frustrating patterns we’ve observed over and over:
Criticism: You sound young, shallow, or girly.
Common Advice: Lower the tone of your voice.
Consequence: Lower your pitch past where your vocal cords can fully phonate, develop vocal fry, get criticized for having vocal fry and sounding young, shallow, and girly.
There is no winning this game — and once you see how these arbitrary and often contradictory “rules” are applied, you’ll begin to see it everywhere. Just take a cursory glance at the articles about the 2020 Presidential candidates.
Jordan Kisner wrote movingly about this for The Cut in 2016:
“For every wrong-voiced woman, the nominal problem is excess. The voice is too something — too loud, nasal, breathy, honking, squeaky, matronly, whispered. It reveals too much of some identity, it overflows its bounds. The excess in turn points to what’s lacking: softness, power, humor, intellect, sexiness, seriousness, coolness, warmth. The fact that these adjectives come in relatively inverse pairs isn’t a coincidence. We have some measure of control over the way we sound, but for women — and minorities — the margin of error can be vanishingly thin. It’s almost impossible to get it ‘right.’”
So . . . back to Elizabeth Holmes.
Her voice is unusual. It is extremely low in comparison to the majority of women. And again, by many accounts, others heard her use a higher-pitched sound when she was drunk or tired. A professor noted that when she was in college, her voice sounded higher-pitched and more like a “regular teenage girl”.
Say, for argument’s sake, that her “real voice” is higher-pitched than her public voice. What she is doing is merely an extreme version of what we all do every day of our lives: adapt to succeed. The discussions of Holmes’s voice reflect the extremity of her adaptation and of her current level of visibility, but the underlying trend is so ubiquitous we rarely see fit to mention it.
There is plenty of evidence that Elizabeth Holmes was a sophisticated phony who milked an already dysfunctional system and got caught. This is not about her actions, which are apparently criminal. We do not defend those. Perhaps she really did believe that she was on a deeply important, world-changing mission. She certainly managed to convince a lot of powerful, intelligent people along the way, and that very noticeable voice was part of her aura of competence and charisma. We notice that she appears to have engaged every tip and trick geared towards women for gaining gravitas, and . . . it worked, for awhile.
You have a natural voice underneath the habits you’ve developed over a lifetime. It has range and color and nuance of tone. It can do all kinds of things — fill a theater, create an intimate connection, and communicate your ideas with beautiful clarity. It comes from your whole body and utilizes space and breath and energy and ease.
The game of “how to be a good communicator” is rigged for anyone outside the mythic norm. It’s also not hackable, no matter how many tips and tricks you read and implement. You’ll never get it “right” for everyone. We have a range of choices and motivations in how we show up and lead, and the people who listen to us have a range of choices and motivations in how they hear us.
Our voices are incredibly complex, and the way we listen to people is too. It’s worthy of a deeper discussion than what’s “fake” and what’s “real”.
