The First Ten Seconds

Approach, Trust, and Walking Into the Unknown

October 2025. I’m heading home from a gig, and it was one of those gigs that reminds me why I love, and sometimes hate, walk-around magic. It was a small Bat Mitzvah luncheon. Intimate and the kind of event where you really get to connect with people instead of just bouncing from group to group. But the thing I keep thinking about on this drive home isn’t the tricks. It’s the approach.

The approach is one of the most deceptively difficult parts of walk-around. It’s also the reason a lot of magicians I know flat-out avoid it. They’ll tell you they don’t like approaching strangers. They don’t like risking a “no.” They don’t like reintroducing themselves over and over again. And I get that. On a busy night, you might introduce yourself over ten times. There’s something oddly exhausting about saying the same opening line again and again, even when you enjoy the work.

For me, the part I dislike most is reintroducing myself. Over and over. You don’t really get to carry momentum from one group to the next unless you achieve a domino effect. Every approach is a clean slate. And that’s exactly why it matters. The first group I approached tonight was… tough. At least on the surface.

I did my usual intro. I end it with a line I’ve come to rely on: “Do you mind if we have a little fun for a minute?” It works. It’s low pressure. It invites rather than challenges. Most groups respond with a “yes”. This group gave me silence. Just blank faces. In those moments, your brain starts running calculations at lightning speed. Did they hear me? Are they annoyed? Are they mid-conversation? Should I bail? That’s where a lot of performers panic, or worse, push.

I’ve learned to keep a Plan B ready. I said, “Okay… I’m sensing some skepticism.” That line almost always gets a laugh because it acknowledges the tension. This time, it cracked the door open just enough. A couple smiles appeared. Someone shifted their body toward me instead of away.

So I launched into a trick.

Just something solid and interactive and one that builds trust. And slowly, the group opened up. They leaned in. They laughed. They participated. By the end, they were fully with me. What made that group special wasn’t just that they warmed up. It’s that they became the domino. After that first interaction, the rest of the room felt easier. People had seen magic happening in their periphery. They’d seen laughter. They’d seen their friends reacting. Suddenly, I wasn’t a stranger interrupting conversations… I was the magician people were talking about and anticipating.

That’s the power of a good first approach.

Here’s the thing I keep reminding myself: the way a group looks when you walk up is almost never the way they actually are. Some of the warmest, most reactive groups I’ve ever performed for started with crossed arms and neutral expressions. And some of the groups that looked welcoming on the surface turned out to be distracted, disengaged, or checked out.

It’s not just about getting permission to perform. It’s about earning trust in the first ten seconds. Before a card is signed. Walk-around magic is unique because you don’t get a stage or an introduction. You have to create a buzz and an inviting atmosphere. And I think that’s where a lot of performers get tripped up. When you approach a group like you’re daring them to catch you, they rise to the challenge. When you approach like you’re asking them to share a moment, they soften. That distinction is subtle, but it changes everything.

I talk about this more in my lecture notes, but living it again tonight reminded me how fragile that first moment really is. One wrong tone and suddenly you’ve created resistance where there didn’t need to be any. The irony is that walk-around magic, when done well, is one of the most intimate forms of performance there is. You’re inches away. You’re making eye contact. But to get there, you have to cross that initial barrier with care.

And yes, it’s daunting. And sometimes all it takes is one small moment of trust to turn a room.

As I’m driving home, that’s the thought I’m sitting with. The approach isn’t just a hurdle to get through so you can “do the good stuff.” It is the good stuff. It’s where the performance actually begins. Every group is a gamble. But every gamble carries the possibility of connection.

And that’s what keeps me walking up to strangers, night after night.

’Til next week, keep driving!
Jason