Anatomy of an Apology
Didn't your momma teach ya to say you're sorry?
A client came to us who had been royally fucked, and not in a fun way.
It wasn’t their fault but the burden of responsibility would be on their shoulders for however long it took an investigation to disprove their liability. Until then, I had another job: crisis management, damage control, train wreck triage.
One particular advantage of mixing my former world of communications for corporations and government with my current world of fraud-busting is the unique knowledge of how and why statements are made the way they are, and how exactly those statements can come back to bite you in the ass.
I cracked open a fresh document and popped on my glasses. While the act of speaking or communicating seems simple in theory, it’s actually one of our most underdeveloped skills for its power. And for me, always trying to strengthen that ability, there’s nothing quite like crafting words with a tangible purpose—to soothe, placate, or mend relationships. It’s about the most fun I can have without psychedelics.
And apologizing is a delicate, challenging balance. Fun!
No one respects a dismissive attitude. Don’t be blasé. Overcompensating won’t salvage anything, and a lack of authenticity is just as damning as the behaviour that created the problem. In advertising, assume your audience is obtuse. In apologizing, assume your audience knows all and is gnawing at the gates of their enclosure to shove the receipts down your slick, wet throat.
I now interact with public statements in two ways. I assist in constructing them for those who desire and deserve to get it right, and I meticulously deconstruct the ones made by those whose desires are a little less, shall we say, honest.
Deconstructing to Construct
Words, meet actions and consequences!
Alright, picture this. There’s an advertising firm, “Copy Paste Creative,” and they’re caught underpaying employees and failing to meet labour laws. Their CEO issues a public apology acknowledging the “oversight,” promising full restitution, and announcing immediate wage increases and third-party audits.
Contrast this with another company, "Half-Baked Ideas LLC,” issuing a vague statement that basically says, “Oops, we regret any confusion regarding our employee compensation policies.” They offer no specific actions or accountability.
The following year, more bad press for both, and investigators take an interest. They peruse LinkedIn and Glassdoor reviews, discovering a pattern of complaints. They analyze company filings to check if promised wage increases actually occurred.
This can go several ways. You could discover it was exactly how it sounded.
Or—
You could discover that Copy Paste Creative paid incredible lip service, but continued to not pay their employees. They employed a crisis management team who gave their recommendations, wrote their communications, and dropped off during the post-mortem where commitments made during crisis response were supposed to be fulfilled. With everyone seemingly appeased, and all quiet, including employees more interested in job security than rocking the boat, they simply didn’t execute on their word.
And Half-Baked Ideas LLC actually did regret the confusion re: compensation and rectified it, including full restitution and near-immediate wage changes. With no crisis team, only their own creative team of designers and writers who doubled as their comms team, they made a shit, half-baked (hardy har) statement out of fear of letting the silence sit. But the moment they could put financial resources behind the issue and do some restructuring, they did.
And because the pendulum usually has to swing, and balance usually has to be restored, all was eventually revealed.
Sometimes, charisma matters.
Ok, here’s a pretty classic one. A tech CEO issues a video apology for a data breach. The comms team and their emergency consultants forget to ask if he has any improv experience, and seem to forget his mostly uninspired, monotonous tone. So, they let him read from a script, emotionlessly.
His eyes track back and forth, left to right. He forgets to emphasize where the writers have used italics, because, well, we’re not sure that’s in his vocal range. It inspires no confidence. Everyone’s kind of put off by the whole thing, and so, it creates more questions.
They’re a remote office, so he appears in his own “home.” Background analysis of the recognizable penthouse in Big-City, USA, shows this is not his home, but a staged space rented for the video. The script is then compared to a competing company’s apology issued three years earlier by the same PR firm for similar reasons—recycled language. A deep dive into the breach shows the company ignored warnings from security researchers for years.
An audience already skeptical of corporate sincerity dismisses the whole goddamn thing. It’s performative and meaningless, and they feel that public disappointment as their stocks drop.
High-risk? High-fuck-around-and-find-out-reward.
A cosmetics brand is accused of cultural appropriation in a marketing campaign. They issue an apology crafted by a PR firm, emphasizing that their “intentions were misunderstood.”
You’re an OSINT-er who also loves a makeup tutorial, and you’re bored one day. Breach data, eyeliner, email leaks, oo la la. Emails posted on some snark Reddit from a clearly disgruntled and anonymous former employee show that executives were made aware of this potential issue back during the pitch stage of campaign planning, months earlier, when there were two other options on the table. There were traceable, digital discussions between executives and an apprehensive marketing firm of how the campaign could spark controversy—free PR.
A timeline analysis reveals a drop in sales in the previous two quarters, suggesting there was financial motive to move forward with something riskier. A high-risk, high-reward approach that led to no reward.
So, yes, their intentions had been misunderstood. Just not the way they wanted us to believe.
How many ways can you botch a breach?
Imagine you’re the CEO of a financial institution that’s invested millions in cybersecurity solutions from "SuperSecurePlus," a leading provider. One day, SuperSecurePlus suffers a major data breach, exposing sensitive client information.
Their initial response? A written statement emailed to clients: "We experienced a minor security issue that has been resolved. No further action is required."
This immediately raises red flags for you. If they’re sending a statement, there’s cause, which means there’s no way this email isn’t downplaying the issue. Not one specific is offered about what caused the breach or how it was resolved. There’s no acknowledgment of your concerns as a client.
So, you hire your own security researchers to investigate and make a few discoveries—smaller things, like a high turnover rate with key security roles at SuperSecurePlus. And a much bigger thing, leaked documents on a public forum from a previous breach you can find no disclosure of.
You terminate your contract and publicly state you will no longer be using their services.
Now!
Had they contacted all clients, directly explained the breach in detail, took accountability, outlined the exact measures taken to secure systems, sent tailored statements to major clients and booked calls, addressed specific concerns, and hey, maybe offered an extension of service at no cost while promising regular security updates? Different story, right?
The examples are truly endless. Public statements and apologies are polygons—they can be picked up and analyzed from an endless number of angles.
While sincerity matters, and I do mean that, statements are no longer judged solely on surface sincerity—they’re scrutinized for consistency, verifiability, and cultural awareness. Every word, action, and context surrounding an apology can be dissected by a digitally-savvy public or a particularly ornery researcher with a desire to tackle corporate corruption, demanding a higher standard of transparency and accountability.
Apologizing is hard. How many times have you said the wrong thing, made a mistake that hurt someone, worse yet, chose to do something you knew would hurt someone, and in every part of yourself wanted to make it right? You processed your reasons, defined your ways forward, and seemingly found really great words to present them with a bow on? And yet, it fell flat—or it created your next personal war, who knows.
It happens. When you’re inside something, it’s hard to have perspective, and it’s easy to do all the things I outlined above: dismiss, overcompensate, favour flowery language over raw authenticity.
You don’t need to do all that. You need to sincerely turn around and say, “I fucked up, and here’s how I’m going to fix it.” And you need to mean those things as you say them. If you don’t, we’ll find out.
And if all else fails, just call me. I love standing in a storm with a clipboard.