Deceivers hijack our trust in precision by attaching specific numbers (e.g., "13.5% of customers") to their claims. This gives a "patina of rigor and understanding," making us less likely to question the source or validity of the information itself, even if the number is arbitrary.
Scammers don't persuade you to believe new things; they exploit your existing, deeply-held beliefs. The intensity of your commitment to an idea makes you vulnerable, as they gain trust simply by championing what you already hold true. This means everyone is a potential target.
The absurd plots and bad grammar in phishing emails are a feature, not a bug. They efficiently screen out discerning individuals, ensuring that scammers only waste their time interacting with the recipients most likely to fall for the con from the outset.
The market for financial forecasts is driven by a psychological need to reduce uncertainty, not a demand for accuracy. Pundits who offer confident, black-and-white predictions thrive because they soothe this anxiety. This is why the industry persists despite a terrible track record; it's selling a feeling, not a result.
In a crisis, the public knows no one has all the answers. Attempting to project absolute certainty backfires. A more effective strategy is "confident humility": transparently sharing information gaps and explaining that plans will evolve as new data emerges, which builds credibility.
We are cognitively wired with a "truth bias," causing us to automatically assume that what we see and hear is true. We only engage in skeptical checking later, if at all. Scammers exploit this default state, ensnaring us before our slower, more deliberate thinking can kick in.