Picture this: You’re standing inside Facebook’s headquarters in Silicon Valley. Security to your left. Communications guy to your right. And you’re about to get a private tour of the most powerful social media empire on earth. (Side note: This was 2013, when Facebook was the platform to be on).
The communications guy looks you straight in the eye. “Were you outside Mark’s house last night?” Your heart slams against your ribs. Your face burns red-hot. Your voice shoots up three octaves as you stammer, “No… I have no idea where he lives”. And even though you’re telling the absolute truth, you sound guilty as hell.
That’s what happened to me during my Zucker Up adventure – a 12-day quest from Melbourne to Silicon Valley to try to make Mark Zuckerberg laugh with my best five minutes of Facebook jokes.
Mission: Make Mark Zuckerberg laugh
Through my journey as a stand-up comedian, I discovered that creativity connects us and laughter transcends everything, building bridges between complete strangers. So I thought: if I can use creativity and humour to connect with anyone in the world, who would it be? I set my sights on Mark Zuckerberg – the founder of the platform responsible for years of procrastination and my misguided belief that everybody cared about my daily breakfast. Let’s just say I turned way too many meals into serious photo shoots.
My mission, which I called “Zucker Up”, was wildly unrealistic: travel more than 16,000 kilometres from Melbourne to Dallas, to New York City, and then to Silicon Valley to make him laugh. I knew I couldn’t just rock up like a regular tech fan. I had to stand out. So I created a giant Facebook Like costume; the first of its kind. Made entirely from neoprene (wetsuit material) to withstand winter weather on the streets of NYC, the costume was huge, heavy, and needed its own suitcase. It covered my entire body. When I wore it, the only body parts you could see were my head, hands, and lower legs. Sounds like a dream, right? I mean, who doesn’t want to dress up as a giant thumb in a foreign country?
The journey was everything I had hoped for. I stopped at the Dallas Digital Summit, where I met Apple’s co-founder Steve Wozniak, who enthusiastically recorded a video wishing me good luck for the quest. I met Founder and CEO of Zuckerberg Media, Randi Zuckerberg (Mark’s sister), and I met Susan Bennett, the original voice of Siri on the iPhone. For a social media geek like I was back in 2013, it was absolutely incredible.
I performed stand-up comedy sets detailing my quest at three different clubs across New York City, I hit Times Square for video vox pops asking people if Mark would like my outfit, and I documented every step online. I picked up plenty of supporters along the way.
Then, on Day 10, I arrived at Facebook’s headquarters. When I saw the famous Like sign, I pulled up and froze. Suddenly, I wasn’t this bold, confident social media comedian. I was one woman. Alone. In a rental car. Panicking. I drove into the car park and freaked out. What am I doing? Am I even allowed to be here? Is this private property?
So I did what any millennial would do in a moment of existential crisis: I picked up my phone and checked in on Facebook, saying ‘I HAVE ARRIVED!’ – not revealing any of the dread and panic I was actually feeling.
I took a few deep breaths and came up with a plan: put on the giant Like costume. Ask someone where Mark’s office is. Trust that Californians really are as friendly as everyone says. I popped open the boot… stared down at my costume… and I froze again. I can’t do this. They’re going to hate me. What if I get sued for copyright infringement? The fear was overwhelming, so I got back in the car and sat in the driver’s seat for 30 minutes, having an internal meltdown. It was the most fear I had ever felt. But because I had been promoting this non-stop for weeks across Facebook, I had no option but to move ahead. Terrified, and with trembling hands, I pulled the costume out of my boot, took a big deep breath, and finally shoved it over my head.
The magic of embodied confidence
That’s when the magic started. Staff began waving, laughing, and asking for photos. I was told my picture made it onto Facebook’s intranet. I kept asking, “Is Mark here?” but nobody answered directly. One lovely person suggested I come back the next morning between 8 am and 9 am when everyone would be arriving for work. So the next morning, I stood in front of the Like sign for close to an hour, and I snapped my all-time favourite photo: dressed as a giant Like, next to the giant Like sign. Children on school buses cheered. Cars honked. People took photos. In that costume, I felt powerful, confident, unmistakably me… And then someone approached.
The moment everything changed
“I’m the comms guy. What’s going on?” I launched excitedly into my story, detailing my quest from Melbourne, my goal to make Mark laugh, my love of Facebook, and my niche of writing and performing social media comedy. “Look, Mark’s away on vacation”, he began. “And we have a really good relationship with the Menlo Park police, and they’ve said that a giant Like is a distraction to the people driving past, so…” And with Californian politeness, he suggested I wrap it up. “Can I at least have a tour?” I pleaded.
He hesitated. “We don’t normally do this… but you’ve come all this way. So, OK. But no photos. And leave your costume in the car.” I very happily placed the costume back in the boot and walked inside. I signed in on a tablet (super fancy and flashy in 2013) and security handed me a visitor’s pass. For a moment, I was flying… OMG, this is the best thing in the world! I’ve made it inside Facebook’s headquarters! Then the communications guy got a call. He turned away for a moment. Then he turned back and looked me straight in the eye. “Were you outside Mark’s house last night?”
The incongruence disaster
What happened next was a masterclass in how your body can betray you – even when you’re telling the truth. Within moments, security plucked the pass out of my hand and I was completely thrown off balance. I froze. My whole body shifted. My face got red-hot. My voice went up three octaves and became shaky and defensive. My breathing got shallow. Adrenaline flooded my system. “No… I have no idea where he lives.”
And even though I was telling the absolute truth, every single physiological response screamed “suspicious behaviour”. I wasn’t congruent, I wasn’t grounded, and I wasn’t standing in my power. Within minutes I was escorted off the property. Security accompanied me to my car and watched as I drove away.
The devastating truth about influence
Because I wasn’t anchored in my own power, I looked guilty. When you’re incongruent – when your words say one thing but your body says another – it’s palpable. People feel it. They sense the disconnect. And in high-stakes moments, that disconnect reads as deception, even when you’re telling the absolute truth. I was escorted out of Facebook’s headquarters not because of evidence of wrongdoing but because of my body, my voice, and my energy. If I’d stayed calm, grounded, and connected to my message, the whole interaction could have been different.
The silent language we all speak
That Facebook experience taught me something crucial: Before you say a single word, your body has already told the room a story. How you enter. How you hold your shoulders. The tilt of your head. The sparkle (or lack thereof ) in your eyes. The tempo of your breath. The shape of your smile. The way you gesture. You might be saying you’re confident, but we see it (or don’t see it) before you even open your mouth to say a single word.
Edited extract from The Little Book of Influence: 8 Keys to Transformative Communication by Jordana Borensztajn.