View from the Street: Mastering the art of saying “I don’t know” in media interviews
Published
Aoife Hollywood
“I don’t know”- three words that can rattle even the most seasoned media performer. For many, this phrase signals weakness, failure, and loss of control. But used wisely, they can be the most powerful words in the room.
I learned this lesson early. Just months into my first job as a broadcast officer with the Scottish Conservatives, I found myself in the eye of a political storm. Liz Truss’s now-infamous mini budget had sent financial markets into freefall and provoked sharp international condemnation.
One Wednesday morning in September, walking to my office, I tuned into BBC Good Morning Scotland to hear an MSP (on an interview I’d arranged) live on air trying to navigate the wreckage. When asked about a major criticism, their response was blunt: “That’s the first I’ve ever heard of it. You’ve sprung that one on me.”
Honest? Yes. But it landed with a thud. The backlash was immediate.
This moment taught me something I’ve never forgotten: “I don’t know” in a media interview is never just a simple statement. It’s an art form – one that can humanise a speaker or shatter their credibility.
In today’s media world, saturated with spin, polished messages and slick soundbites, admitting uncertainty often feels like breaking the rules. Politicians, CEOs, and spokespeople treat media interviews like exams to ace by giving all the “right” answers.
But the irony is, audiences aren’t looking for perfection, they’re hungry for honesty and realness.
Research shows leaders who admit they don’t have all the answers earn more trust. That kind of openness doesn’t signal weakness, it shows confidence, self-awareness, and the type of clarity that can lead others through uncertainty.
Of course, the art lies in the delivery. Saying “I don’t know” isn’t a free pass to avoid responsibility. It’s a delicate tightrope. And it can really be only used once in an interview. Importantly, if it’s something you really should know, especially when the public expects it, those three words can come across as incompetence or detachment.
The tone is also important. A hesitant or irritated “I don’t know” can make headlines. Delivery matters.
The aforementioned MSP wasn’t dodging the question; they simply lacked information. But as an elected official defending something the public saw as indefensible, that absence felt less honest and more out of touch. It was their job to know.
Nowhere was this clearer than in Prince Andrew’s catastrophic 2019 BBC Newsnight interview, where repeated phrases like “I have no recollection” and “I don’t know” in response to serious allegations backfired spectacularly. Instead of humility, his uncertainty felt evasive, disconnected, and out of step with public expectations.
One moment burned into public memory was his reply to a photo showing him with Virginia Giuffre: “I don’t know if that’s my hand or not.” Instead of confronting the truth, it sounded like deflection. The public heard dodging, not honesty. And the fallout was swift: charities dropped him, public opinion turned, and within days, he stepped back from royal duties. It was a masterclass in how not to say: “I don’t know.”
Contrast that with one of the most powerful examples of “I don’t know” in political history: President John F. Kennedy’s response to the Bay of Pigs fiasco when he was under pressure to explain what went wrong. He acknowledged, “I am the responsible officer of the government,” and said, “I’ve said as much as I feel can be usefully said… I do not believe that such a discussion would benefit us during the present difficult situation.”
He didn’t bluff, ramble, or speculate. Instead, he showed what it means to say, I don’t know right now, but I accept full responsibility, and I’m focused on finding the answers.
That’s the crucial difference. A good “I don’t know” is never followed by a full stop; it’s an opening and it must be paired with purpose: I’ll look into it. I’ll come back to you. I’m committed to getting this right.
This honesty is not weakness. It’s strength in its most human form. It says: “I’m not pretending to have all the answers; I’m choosing to be genuine.” And in a time when so many leaders are scared to show vulnerability, that kind of honesty is rare – and vital.