The Snow Was Real, and So Was the Pressure: A Story About Showing Up on the Global Stage

“Take your hand out of your pocket,” she said.

Not loudly. Not unkindly. Just firm enough to cut through the static of countdowns and low studio chatter.

We were in a television studio—a very particular kind of studio. Not a sleek, temperature-controlled box in New York or London, but a translucent tent pitched high on the rooftop of Davos. Through the plastic panel behind the cameras, real snow fell over pine trees. No backdrop. No green screen. Just the raw, high-altitude winter of the Swiss Alps pressing in from the outside.

The only thing separating the studio guests from the snow was some fresh, sharp, high-altitude air. You could feel it in your lungs. The studio had heaters, yes, but they were no match for the mountain cold seeping through seams and zippered walls. And yet, protocol is protocol: no jackets on camera. This is international television. You dress smart. Which means: suit, tie, thin shirt. No scarf. No gloves. No down coat.

And then the waiting begins.

You’re mic’d up. You sit still, hands in your lap or maybe—if you forget—in your pockets. Your earpiece crackles with the producer’s voice:
“Live in 30 seconds.”
Then:
“15.”
You suddenly feel the drip of your nose. It might be the cold. It might be nerves. Either way, it’s happening.

You glance sideways. Should you ask for a tissue? Would that ruin the shot? Will someone rush over and blot you gently like they do for anchors? Or will the camera catch you mid-swipe—a global business leader reduced to a snotty three-year-old?

That’s the moment I watched a Chinese CEO—one of the most powerful in his sector—look toward his wife for help. And that’s when she quietly pointed at his pocket and said, “Take your hand out.”

The interview went fine. His English was not fluent, but he was composed, brave, thoughtful. Born in a small rural town in China, educated in local schools, he had built an empire through precision, loyalty, and the quiet efficiency that defines Chinese leadership. But when he walked off-camera, the first thing his wife said was:
“You looked nervous. Hands in pockets make you look unsure.”

She wasn’t wrong. In a Western setting, appearances are read differently. Confidence is visible, verbal, and often—unlike in China—performed.

That moment has stayed with me for years, because it captures the essence of what it takes to present yourself on a global stage.

It’s not just about English. It’s not even just about media training.

To show up internationally—at Davos, on TV, in a room with investors, or on a panel in Brussels—you need to prepare for a different rhythm. A different language not of words, but of impressions.

You need to know:

• How to dress smartly when the climate isn’t in your favor.
  (And still look confident with a runny nose.)

• How to start small talk in a culture where silence can read as disinterest.
  (Even when you're thinking deeply and carefully, as Chinese leaders are trained to do.)

• How to position your value—not just your product—in terms a global audience will understand.
  (Because they’re not just listening to what you say, but how you show up.)

In China, leaders are taught to let their actions speak. 君子讷于言而敏于行—a gentleman is slow to speak, quick to act. In many ways, that restraint is admirable. But on the international stage, where storytelling is currency and presence is half the negotiation, silence can be misread. It’s not just a mismatch of communication—it’s a collision of worldviews.

And that’s where cross-cultural coaching becomes essential—not just for image polishing, but for strategic success.