My Word Is My Bond”: Antiquated Ideal or Endangered Asset?

My word is my bond.”
How very quaint.

The sort of phrase that echoes off the timbered walls of old clubs in Mayfair or might have been scrawled with a fountain pen across parchment by a Victorian merchant in a frock coat just before boarding a steamer bound for Bombay.

Today, it’s more likely to raise eyebrows than affirm character. These days, contracts run to 120 pages of sub-clauses, indemnities, and Latin phrases only lawyers pretend to fully understand. Now, to trust a handshake is to risk a lawsuit. And giving your “word” might get you a polite nod and a background check.

So, is the notion of personal integrity—keeping one’s word—an outdated relic of a more innocent time? Is it simply a utopian ideal, suitable for novels and Sunday sermons but not for mergers, partnerships, or geopolitical trade deals?

Or—hear me out—is it more important than ever?

Let’s have a proper look.

Once Upon a Time in a Boardroom

When I was a very green, very nervous young professional (and still in possession of both knees that functioned), I worked with a CEO of formidable stature and very few words. He was known in business circles for sealing multimillion-dollar deals with nothing but a handshake and a two-sentence memorandum. That’s not romanticism; that’s historical fact. I saw it happen.

When I asked him about it once—naively, I’ll admit—he said simply:

"If a man breaks his word, no contract can save you. And if he keeps it, no contract is needed."

It was said without drama, no twinkle in the eye, no performative gravitas. Just bone-dry truth.

Of course, he wasn’t saying don’t have contracts. The legal document is still a necessity—much like insurance. But what he was saying, and I’ve come to agree with him profoundly, is that the real currency in business isn’t paper. It’s character. Contracts are backup. A person’s word is the primary asset.

A World Held Together by Trust

Now, let’s be absolutely clear: I am a lawyer by training. I have spent more of my life than I care to count drafting, reviewing, and revising contracts so dense they could sink a small dinghy. I know their value.

But let me say something that may come as a mild heresy in legal circles: a contract is only as good as the character of the people signing it.

If someone intends to deceive, delay, obfuscate, or renege, no document on earth will prevent them from doing so. It may offer recourse—but not prevention.

Society, business, and even international diplomacy rest not on fine print, but on trust. Trust that a supplier will deliver. Trust that an employee will honour their confidentiality clause. Trust that a government will abide by the treaty, even if politically inconvenient.

Remove that trust and you have chaos in a three-piece suit.

But Surely, We’re More Sophisticated Now?

Yes. And no.

Certainly, we are surrounded by mechanisms designed to “protect” against human error or ill-intent: audit trails, compliance departments, algorithmic due diligence, blockchain-secured agreements.

But ask any seasoned business leader about the most painful loss they’ve suffered. It rarely begins with “we didn’t encrypt the PDF.” More often it begins with “I trusted the wrong person.”

Modern sophistication, paradoxically, makes it easier to appear trustworthy without actually being so. You can automate charm. You can rehearse sincerity. You can buy reputation management and have AI generate glowing LinkedIn posts about ethical leadership.

But in the end, it still comes down to something ancient and analog: Will you do what you said you’d do?

What Is a Word Worth?

Quite a lot, it turns out.

In practical terms, a person’s word saves time, preserves reputation, builds networks, and turns one-off interactions into long-term relationships.

Let’s consider the alternatives:

• If I don’t trust your word, I must invest time and energy verifying everything you say.

• I need lawyers present in every meeting.

• I must plan for your failure or betrayal at every turn.

• I must protect myself from you.

This is expensive. It’s exhausting. And it corrodes what might have been a productive and collaborative venture.

A single failure to honour your word might cost years of goodwill. And if done on a public stage—especially in the age of screenshots and viral outrage—it can destroy a career.

Let me remind you, the world isn’t as big as it used to be. Boardrooms talk. Investors share. The silent signal passed between professionals, “Watch yourself with him,” is damning and invisible.

And here’s the kicker: You won’t know you’ve lost trust until it’s gone.

Contracts: The Paper Sword

Then, what of written contracts? Are they pointless? Not at all. But let’s be clear about what they are and are not.

Contracts don’t create trust. They merely document the terms once trust has been established.

They are the fire extinguisher in the corner—necessary in case of flames, but not the reason the building hasn’t burned down yet.

In corporate life, I’ve seen dozens of disputes where the signed contract was airtight, but still the resolution came down to the parties involved sitting across a table and deciding whether they were going to behave decently or not.

No clause can force civility. No waiver can conjure wisdom.

This is why character remains paramount.

The Thin Veneer of Verbal Houdinis

There is a breed of executive—and I use that word with caution—who prides themselves on technical honesty while behaving with spectacular moral bankruptcy.

You know the type:
“I said we’d deliver by May, but I didn’t guarantee it.”
“I never promised full disclosure, just material disclosure.”
“I said we’d revisit the issue, not that we’d change our mind.”

They weaponise ambiguity. They live in the loopholes. They dazzle with language but fail with integrity.

Eventually, they run out of willing dance partners. Eventually, their names become synonymous with the unspoken phrase: don’t trust them.

There are entire industries (and lawsuits) propped up on the efforts to enforce what a decent person would have honoured outright.

A Gentleman’s Agreement in a Machine Age

In the era of AI, smart contracts, and programmable logic that executes transactions without human intervention, you might think the “gentleman’s agreement” is as dead as the monocle.

But it’s not so: in a world of artificial intelligence, real human integrity becomes a competitive advantage.

Think of it this way:

• AI can mimic knowledge. But it can’t mean it.

• AI can draft a contract. But it can’t honour it.

• AI can respond with tact. But it can’t care.

So as the machines take over the operational and transactional layers, what remains rare and valuable is precisely that human trait of character. Trustworthiness is no longer assumed—it’s a brand. A reputation. A differentiator.

In an AI-heavy world, your word is your fingerprint.

When the Cost of Integrity Is High

Now, I’m not naive. There are times when keeping your word comes at a cost.

– You’ve promised a delivery date, and supply chain chaos has made that date impossible.
– You’ve assured a client of personal involvement, but health or crisis intervenes.
– You’ve pledged loyalty to a partner, but market dynamics make the partnership untenable.

Integrity doesn’t mean rigidity. Life is complex.

And here’s the difference: You communicate. You acknowledge. You take responsibility.

You pick up the phone, not to spin, but to explain.

You don’t hide behind silence or legalese. You stand in your word, even if you can’t fully honour it in the way you’d hoped. That is the mark of true professionalism. And—ironically—it builds even more trust.

I’ve been on the receiving end of such calls, and I can tell you: the person who fronts up and says, “I gave my word, and I am falling short—here’s what I’m doing to make it right,” earns more respect than the one who vanishes behind their lawyer.

A Final Word: Yours, Not Mine

Is the phrase, “my word is my bond” antiquated? Only if we let it be.

Only if we accept a world where legal protection matters more than ethical intention, where brand reputation trumps personal integrity, and where we’d rather be clever than consistent.

But I’m not ready to hand the world over to loopholes and liability clauses just yet.

I still believe that in the long run, being the person who keeps their word—who means what they say and does what they mean—is not just noble. It’s practical. It’s smart. It’s powerful.

And when your name is spoken in rooms you’re not in (and trust me, it will be), wouldn’t you rather it be followed by:

“You can trust them. If they said it, they’ll do it.” Rather than: “Better get it in writing—and have it checked twice.”

The lesson here, keep your contracts tight. But keep your word tighter.

Because, at the end of the day, your word isn’t just a promise.

It’s your brand. Your bond. Your legacy.

And if we lose that, all the paper in the world won’t save us.

Dr Lindsay R. Dodd is an Australian-born corporate strategist who has spent over five decades advising boards, CEOs, and business leaders across Asia, Europe, and the Pacific. Known for his sharp wit, pragmatic insights, and disdain for waffle, he still prefers a handshake—provided it’s followed by an excellent single malt.