An Uncontrolled Social Experiment #3
“I understand what she’s getting at,” Declan said. Still calm, still looking directly at her. How could he be so calm, when he was forcing her blood to bubble with his idiocy?
“And no,” he continued, “I don’t think it’s lowering the standard. I think it’s adjusting the approach so that people actually have a chance of meeting it.”
Riley held his gaze. There was something deeply irritating about the fact that he wasn’t defensive.
That he wasn’t pushing back harder. That he was steady.
Riley had never seen the point in having jealousy, but in this instance, she could see how it would be useful.
Instead, it made her want to prove him wrong more.
“That would depend,” she said, “on whether the outcome remains consistent across different applications.”
“And I’d say it does,” he replied. “Just not always in the way you’re measuring it.”
Now he was saying that her methodology was inaccurate, too?
The host looked between them, smile fixed but eyes sharper, clearly weighing whether to interrupt again.
Riley was aware distantly that she had never felt the level of anger that she currently possessed in a professional conversation before.
She’d had irritating conversations with other researchers, sure, but the arguments were always been rational and professional. She had never experienced this.
“If the metrics aren’t consistent,” she said, “the results aren’t reliable.”
Declan exhaled softly, a quiet breath that almost resembled a laugh. “Or the metrics aren’t capturing the full picture.”
“That would suggest the methodology is flawed.”
He shrugged. “Or incomplete.”
“Which it is not.”
Riley could feel the muscles in her forehead tense and attempted to force them to relax. They would not. The host opened her mouth, then proceeded to double think it and closed it again. Smart. Declan leaned back slightly, studying her now in a way that was no longer subtle or unintentional.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
Riley didn’t hesitate, maybe he was wanting to clarify his incorrect assumptions. “You can.”
“How many people have actually used what you’re talking about?”
The question should not have made her falter, especially due to its predictability. Still, it shifted something in the precision of her focus. Of course he was going to attack her application, she had given him too much benefit of the doubt.
“My work has been evaluated in controlled environments where variables can be measured accurately.”
“Right,” he said. “So not in everyday life.”
“It is currently theoretical and has not yet been implemented at a larger scale.”
He seemed to pause with that new information. Riley could see his brain’s cogs churning from here. Not that he’d have much of a brain to churn through.
“But that’s what you’re arguing for, isn’t it?” he said. “That structure matters more than motivation. That if people had the right framework, they wouldn’t drop off.”
Riley tracked the phrasing as he spoke. She almost wanted to roll her eyes at the way he phrased it.
“In incredibly simplified terms, yes.”
“And that most people quit,” he continued, “not because they don’t have the perfect structure, but because they can’t stick to anything long enough for it to matter.”
She was sick of saying he was wrong in her head. Maybe she should work on her vocabulary every time he spoke. Incorrect. Misattributed. Simplified. Stupid. Riley felt the distinction settle into place, sharp and immediate.
“Or,” she said, the word arriving before she had fully constructed the rest of the sentence, “because the structure they’re given by their personal trainers is unsustainable, poorly designed, or misaligned with their behavioural patterns due to a lack of knowledge.”
There it was again, that look. Engagement.
No, worse than that. Enjoyment. She had just called him unknowledgeable, which was in her mind the most offensive thing she could call him.
He should be angry, not looking at her like he’s going out for ice cream or watching a comedy show.
Riley wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cut open his head and examine it for the obvious lack of logic or simply direct him to some reality TV show like Love Island.
Declan held her gaze for a fraction too long, grin holding in place with too much ease. Like he was sure of something that she wasn’t. Statistically unlikely.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s test it.”
Riley stilled. Test it. The phrase triggered her brain almost immediately.
Parameters assembled before she could stop them: comparison models, adherence tracking, environmental controls, behavioural baselines.
Stop it, it wouldn’t work. The experiment would be beyond logistically flawed, that it could almost be considered meaningless.
“You think people quit because the structure’s wrong,” he said. “I think they quit because they don’t stick to anything long enough. So—”
He leaned forward again, closer this time. He was close enough that she could almost feel his breath as he deeply exhaled. At least he had minty breath. It was nice to know that he had the brains to maintain his oral hygiene.
“I’ll take someone through my approach. You apply whatever structure you think works. Same conditions. Same starting point.”
Riley was already mapping it. It was not a test structure that had ecologically valid parameters.
The sample size was insufficient purely off the assumption that there was no way this man held more than a few clients with his personality, the variables were uncontrolled.
There would be no consistent way to measure progress or define progress.
There was no way she’d accept that proposal.
“I’m happy to prove you wrong.”
The statement pressed into the silence of the set with a voice of certainty and confidence. Riley’s focus narrowed further. Prove you wrong. The tone of his voice told her it was not just a hypothesis he was willing to test, if anything it sounded like a conclusion. He was clearly biased.
“And you would maintain consistency across the applications?” she asked. Her voice sounded steady, detached as though the rest of her had not already begun to fragment the proposal.
“Yeah.”