How to Get Better AI Results | I'm Not Bossy, I'm Helpful

How I Get AI to Stop Handing Me Mediocre

One of my favorite bosses had a line that stuck with me "I'm not bossy, I'm helpful."

She'd say it with a smile while handing you a list, a deadline, and a crystal clear picture of what the finished product should look like. And you know what? Her projects came in on time and looking fabulous. Every single one.

She was a get-it-done gal. So am I. And it turns out she was also, without ever knowing it, the best AI prompter I've ever met.

The Kitchen Sink Prompt

Picture it. It's 9 p.m., there's a presentation due tomorrow, and someone opens AI with the enthusiasm of a kid on the first day of summer. Into the chat box goes everything. The talking points. The brand colors. The audience. Last quarter's stats. A spreadsheet, dragged in for good measure. And then, at the very bottom, three hopeful little words.

"Make it nice."

Enter. Lean in. Wait for the magic.

What comes back looks like a church bulletin designed by committee. Clip art. Four fonts, having an argument. A gradient nobody ordered. And the verdict is swift: AI just isn't that good.

Here's what I want you to know. That's human nature, and every one of us has done it. When we're excited, we want to pour it all out at once. Meanwhile, that poor tool was just handed nine jobs, a spreadsheet, and a vibe, then asked to read our minds on all of them. So it did what any overwhelmed new hire would do. It panicked politely and served up beige.

Nobody Stages a House Before It Has Walls

You'd never send the stager, the photographer, the painter, and the movers into a house on the same morning. Somebody would end up in the listing photos holding a paint roller.

There's an order to it. The bones come first. Then you make it beautiful.

AI works the same way, so I always build in two rounds. Words first. Pretty second.

Round One: The Bones

Before I think about a single font, I noodle on what I want to say. I build my outline with Claude the way I'd talk it through with a friend over coffee. What am I covering? In what order? What's the one thing I want people still thinking about on the drive home?

Sometimes that takes ten minutes. Sometimes it takes an afternoon and a second latte. Either way, I don't even whisper the word "design" until the message is locked.

And here's the gift nobody mentions: once the bones are solid, you can move the furniture around all day long without accidentally knocking out a load-bearing wall.

Round Two: Call In the Stager

Now I take that outline to Claude Design, and I channel my old boss.

My brand standards are already uploaded, but I spell it out anyway, the way you'd brief a stager on a three million dollar listing. White background. My brand colors as accents only, a whisper of forest green and never a shout. Clean lines. White space so generous you could host a cocktail party in it. Luxe. In fact, I tell it the deck should look like it belongs in Architectural Digest.

Those two words do a remarkable amount of work. Architectural Digest is an entire mood: editorial, airy, confident, and quietly expensive. AI knows exactly what that looks like, so I don't have to describe every margin like I'm reading off a recipe card.

I ask for graphics that actually match what each slide is about, because nobody needs a stock photo of two strangers shaking hands on a slide about absorption rates. And I tell it, plainly, that mediocre is off the table. This needs to be upscale.

Will AI be offended? It will not. It will try harder.

Last, I tell it who's going to be in the room. A boardroom of luxury brokers and a classroom of brand new licensees are two very different dinner parties, and the design should know which one it's dressing for.

The Prompt, Ready to Borrow

Here's the shape of what I use. Swap in your details and make it yours. I'll never tell.

Using my uploaded brand standards, design this presentation with a white background and my brand colors as accents only. Keep it clean with generous white space. It should feel luxe and editorial, like Architectural Digest. Use graphics that reflect the content on each slide. Nothing cluttered, no generic stock imagery, nothing that feels average. I'm presenting to [your audience], and I want them to leave feeling [the outcome you want].

Read it back. It sounds like something you'd hand a designer you adore and trust completely. Specific, clear, a little opinionated. My old boss would approve.

Numbers Need Bones, Too

Building something from data? Same two rounds. Get your numbers clean and organized first, then decide what story they're telling. Once you know the punchline, ask for the visual and name the kind you want.

"Make me a chart" gets you a chart. Technically. "Show how days on market shifted in my farm area over the last six months as a clean line chart, with my green as the only accent" gets you something you'd proudly slide across the table.

Don't Tear Down the House Over the Powder Room

When the first version comes back close, resist that regenerate button. Starting over because one slide feels off is like repainting the whole house because you didn't love the powder room.

Polish it room by room instead. Give slide four space to breathe. Trim slide seven to a single line. Swap that icon for something with a little more architecture to it. There's usually more working than you think.

So Go Be Helpful

Be clear about what you want to say. Then be gloriously specific about how you want it to look, who it's for, and how high the bar sits.

Call it bossy if you like. I call it helpful. I learned that from the best, and it hasn't let me down yet.