Thanks to my job, I’ve sat through more galas, fundraisers and banquets than I can count, and with them, more standing ovations than anyone should have to endure.

With the awards season now upon us, from the Emmys to the Golden Globes to the Oscars, it’s hard to ignore how the same ritual plays out on Hollywood’s biggest stages: no matter who’s speaking or how forgettable the remarks, the room stands up.

Every time.

Once, a standing ovation meant something. It was spontaneous and uncontrollable.

Today, it’s a reflex. We give them out as if they’re a routine part of the program.

Instead of genuine amazement, it’s about not wanting to be the lone holdout stuck in your chair. 

You see it everywhere: in hotel ballrooms, at political rallies, and in stadiums. But nowhere is it more absurd than in Hollywood.

The standing O used to be saved for legends. Now, nearly every actor, singer or director who steps on stage to accept a statue seems to get one.

Most of these speeches are fine, safe and predictable, but instantly forgettable.

Then the camera pans to celebrities rising, many with visible reluctance, because that’s what’s expected. The room follows, clapping not from inspiration, but obligation. 

At this year’s Emmys, it was no different. 

Hannah Einbinder used her moment to drop a four-letter word against ICE in her acceptance and called for a “Free Palestine,” all in service of being “bold.”

Later, Stephen Colbert returned to claim his award and got more than applause: chants.

His speech? Fine.

Memorable? Not so much.

The audience rose not for rhetoric but for resistance, chanting his name like a rally, as if defying “cancellation” counted as a great speech.

To be clear, I’m not anti-applause. But that kind of applause doesn’t honor the speaker; it just cheapens the gesture. 

Good speeches should get recognition. Great ones should be remembered and passed down.

Every so often, I’ve seen that happen, like the time I heard Yeonmi Park speak.

A North Korean defector, she fled her homeland as a teenager. What followed was a yearlong journey, escaping into China and eventually Mongolia, only to face abuse and exploitation at the hands of the very people who were supposed to help her.

She told her story with raw honesty. No pretense or self-congratulation. Just truth and courage.

The standing ovation that followed wasn’t social choreography.

Another time, I had the chance to hear Eva Mozes Kor. 

She survived Auschwitz, where she and her twin sister were experimented on daily by Josef Mengele.

Yet, the focus of her speech wasn’t revenge. It was about forgiveness. Not because the Nazis deserved it, but because she refused to let hatred own her future. She chose to forgive because she wanted to be free.

The ovation that followed was as real as the silence that came before it.

Those moments deserve ovations. But most remarks don’t. 

Award show speeches generally don’t: most show gratitude to the Academy or nominating body, and a nod to social justice or some petty grievance about America.

They’re designed to get applause, and they usually do.

But they’re not life-changing or historic. 

Yet still, when they end, someone always starts the standing ovation chain reaction. 

Not every speech contains a “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall” moment. Not every speaker channels the weight of “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”

That’s okay.

Most speakers give solid speeches. But we used to know the difference between good and great, between applause and reverence.

Now, standing ovations have become participation trophies. And just like those, they’ve become meaningless.

When everyone gets one, no one really does. The truly powerful moments get buried beneath the noise of the merely average. 

So, the next time you’re at a gala or awards ceremony or political fundraiser, and someone finishes a routine speech, take a second and ask yourself: Was I really moved, or am I just following the crowd? 

Clap. Be gracious. But sit tight. 

Not everything deserves a standing ovation, and the speeches that do shouldn’t have to share the spotlight with the speeches that don’t. 

Because when applause becomes automatic, appreciation disappears.

Jacob Lane is a Republican strategist based in Virginia. His work has appeared in the Wall Street Journal, the Chicago Tribune and The Hill.

Image: Free image, Pixabay license.