I have an aversion to pictures in which men — especially men — and women are standing, hands crossed in front of them, in the fig leaf position. They look so weak and vulnerable. The same thing happens when people are speaking to an audience, or simply standing in front of the room while someone else is speaking. Even if they really are strong and confident, you’d never guess it by looking at them.

The irony of the fig leaf position is that because people don’t know what to do with their hands, they feel more comfortable clutching them together, as if hanging on for dear life. But by doing that, they really look extremely uncomfortable.

Start paying attention when you watch TV or see pictures online or in the newspaper. You will rarely catch the president or any other savvy public figure standing in such a powerless position. They know that the only way to appear secure and in control is to let their hands dangle easily at their sides.

It takes some getting used to. Practice standing with your hands at your side while talking in the hallway with colleagues or riding in the elevator. Make yourself stand that way when getting your picture taken. The more you do it, the more natural it will seem — and the more comfortable and confident you’ll appear to the rest of the world.

I don’t even have to say her last name. If I just say “Tammy Faye,” you immediately see her — the heavy blush, bright red lipstick, and especially the eyelashes, the mascara-laden eyelashes.

The last time I saw Tammy Faye she looked very different. Weighing only 65 pounds and just days away from death, she appeared on “Larry King Live,” barely able to whisper about her fight against colon cancer. The make-up was still there, but it couldn’t hide that she was dying. “Are you in pain?” Larry asked. “All the time,” she answered.

“Entertainment Tonight” played it up big the next day, talking about how “brave” Tammy Faye was in the throes of cancer.

Was she brave — or just self-indulgent? Did Tammy Faye so need to be in the public eye that even in her emaciated, pitiful condition she had to appear on national television? What did it accomplish besides feeding the insatiable media hype machine? Wouldn’t those precious last hours have been better spent in private, with family and friends?

But who am I to judge how Tammy Faye chose to spend her final days? She lived in the public eye — through all the ups and downs of success, humiliation, and self-reinvention — and she died there too. You could argue that Larry King and the others used her. But Tammy Faye wanted to be there, needed to be there. And she hadn’t lost her sense of humor either. “What do you want to be remembered for?” King asked. “My eyelashes,” she quipped.

You would think someone with the title “VP of Communication” would know how to deliver a five minute presentation about her company. Instead, she gave what seemed like an endless “blah blah” that wasn’t illuminating, just irritating.

The scene was an association luncheon meeting. The sponsor of the meeting was given a chance to say a few words before the scheduled speaker took the stage. Ten minutes later, the people at my table were rolling their eyes at each other, wondering when she would stop talking so the real speaker could be introduced. I resisted the temptation to give the “cut” sign from my old TV days — forefinger across neck.

Her mistakes are common ones. I would guess that she spent little, if any time preparing. She focused on herself and what she wanted to say, not considering her audience and what WE would be interested in. You know the old radio station we’re all tuned into — WIIFM, what’s in it for me?

Instead of concentrating on one or two main points, she listed all the wonderful things about her company in a rambling, meaningless jumble. It’s a problem we all face in presentations: what do I leave out? I know you think it’s all important, but when you try to tell everything, the audience remembers nothing.

And finally, she committed one of the cardinal sins of presenting — she went beyond her allotted time. Not only does that offend the audience who came to hear the main program, but it’s also rude to the featured speaker who ends up having her time cut.

We all know good communication isn’t easy. But when your JOB is communicating, you have a responsibility to at least try to model the right way to do things.

Last week, my friend, Len Gutman, commented positively about a public apology US Airways issued to its flight attendants about a memo sent to them. The memo told female attendants to get out of the aisle if a Hindu Swami was boarding the plane. Angry workers protested, claiming prejudice toward women.

I agree that US Airways did the right thing. Instead of hiding from the media, their PR person did interviews apologizing. “We made a mistake,” said Elise Eberwein. “We could have sent a memo that was written much better.”

It’s tough enough for some people to admit mistakes to friends, family or colleagues. There’s no way you could get them to apologize to the world. Yes, it’s hard for us to admit we’re wrong, but usually it’s the smartest thing to do. As I tell my media training clients, the sooner you admit your mistake and apologize, the more quickly reporters lose interest and move on to new territory. When you stonewall, you turn what might have been a one or two day story into an ongoing saga.

Apologizing also lets you tell your side of the story, not to excuse yourself from blame, but to explain more about how it happened. I read a good example of that in the Arizona Republic today. A man committed murder after court errors and cracks in the system allowed him to escape from justice seven times for earlier crimes such as burglary and trespassing.

Much of the time, judges won’t comment to the media. This time one of the city judges who had encountered the criminal did. “When we make a mistake, we don’t try to hide it,” Judge Tom Brady said. He went on to say that his office is “horrified” at what happened and that clerk who made the mistake is “devastated.”

Then he explained more about what his court is up against: His caseload has increased 49 percent over the past four years, while his staff has gotten smaller. Maybe he helped educate the public a little bit about what’s happening to our judicial system.

Still, some people and organizations just can’t make themselves admit guilt. What if Bill Clinton had immediately come clean about Monica Lewinsky and said he was sorry for his transgression? What if Richard Nixon had admitted he knew about Watergate and asked forgiveness from the American people? History might have turned out very differently.