A detective, a magician, a football scout, a script editor and a storytelling expert walk into a bar.

They might not describe themselves as researchers, but after speaking to all five, I’m convinced that’s exactly what they are.

The reason I spoke to them, and the reason I set up Uncommon Thread, is because research professionals don’t have a monopoly on research ideas.

Interviewing these people felt remarkably similar to attending an industry conference: we debated dealing with unreliable sources, picking the right metric, and testing ideas. The only difference is we didn’t call it research. 

So what did these outsiders teach me about my own profession?

Separate what you know from what you think

Detective superintendent Katherine Goodwin has worked on serious investigations all her career. It turns out they’re a lot messier than the ones on TV.

Evidence doesn’t conveniently arrive in order. Witnesses forget things. Some people lie. Others tell the truth as they remember it. All these are challenges that are familiar to researchers.

The first question detectives ask is deceptively simple: what do we actually know to be true? (This, incidentally, is a question researchers should ask a lot more.)

Next, Katherine develops hypotheses and eliminates them one by one, but she warns about getting overly attached and retrofitting the evidence to the story. Before long, one possible explanation becomes the only explanation.

Katherine argues that it’s fine to sit on the fence if it means extra time to stress-test. If it works in (literal) life or death situations, I am sure it works in research too.

Decide what good looks like before you measure it

Data is inescapable in modern football. Dr Danielle Prescott, who has spent more than a decade as a professional scout, relies on it to assess players from all over the world. But data alone can’t tell her what players to look for in the first place.

As Danielle says, looking for a “good centre-back” isn’t especially useful. Does the team need someone who passes the ball well? Someone dominant in the air? Someone who will sit deeper?

This is why she prefers looking for roles rather than positions. Only once she’s found the role does she set the metrics. 

Researchers often get this the wrong way round. Think of the 50-question tracker that gradually comes to define the brand KPIs, or the massive dataset that becomes the default source of consumer insight. Good research starts by defining the question and then choosing the metrics – not letting the available metrics dictate what you decide to ask.

Build learning into the work

When I asked magician Neil Kelso whether he tests his work, he replied: “I’m always testing it.”

A live audience will tell him whether his tricks are landing in real time. Facial expressions reveal if he is moving too quickly or slowly, or if the overall story makes sense. As he put it, he is testing “on the go”.

Compare that with the largely sequential nature of research: develop the campaign, then test it. Launch the product, then evaluate it. Run the programme, then measure the impact. While that separation is sometimes necessary, we have become too comfortable with the idea that doing and learning are two different stages.

More research should work like magic: not by constantly asking people more questions, but by paying closer attention to what really happens, and adapting while there is still a chance to change it.

Feedback means helping others find the answer

As a script editor, Lucy V. Hay’s job is more than correcting somebody else’s work. She pushes writers to make their ideas better.

According to Lucy, there is one thing a script editor should never say: “I would write it like this.” It’s fine to suggest alternatives, but the aim is always to help the writer find their own solution.

It struck me that researchers can’t avoid editing either: questionnaires, reports, proposals, discussion guides. The list goes on.

Lucy’s watch out is that feedback can easily become prescription. It’s better to guide people to an answer rather than simply stating a personal view.

She also has another bit of advice: sometimes the honest response is “no notes”. She sees writers become so accustomed to feedback that they lose the ability to recognise when the work is finished.

Remember this: feedback shouldn’t be given just to prove that a process has happened.

Design the output around the audience

When I spoke to John Yorke, he explained how stories adapt to the environments in which they are consumed.

For instance, five-act plays were shaped partly by the need for audience breaks. Then indoor lighting arrived, and Shakespeare’s plays became more symmetrical because each act had become the length of a candle. Podcasts – adapted to smartphones – are simply the latest iteration.

But if stories change so drastically, why don’t our research outputs?

We spend weeks making sure the research is rigorous before putting it into the same 50-slide deck we always use, regardless of whether the audience has the time to read it.

After all, format isn’t simply how we present insights. It influences the insights we present. It affects what people notice, remember and act on.

Sometimes a one-page note will be more useful than a 50-slide deck. Sometimes the best format is a short video or workshop.

All I know is that if theatre could adapt because somebody needed to replace a candle, research outputs can probably adapt too.

Research by another name

I started these conversations to see what researchers could steal from other professions. I’ve come away thinking there is a wider lesson: our definition of a researcher is too narrow.

A detective calls it investigation, and a football scout calls it recruitment – but they are doing exactly what we do: making sense of incomplete information to inform better decision making.

If that’s true, perhaps the next breakthrough method won’t come from another researcher. Will we see it? Or are we looking in the wrong places? 

Sam Salama is insights lead at the Metropolitan Police Service and an MRS board member