Benjamin Franklin, then serving as clerk of the Pennsylvania General Assembly in the 1730s, had a problem. While he asked his fellow legislators to choose him for another term, one of them publicly opposed him and tarnished his reputation. Although Franklin won reelection, he was furious. Yet he observed that his opponent was “a gentleman of fortune and education” who might one day hold great power. Franklin needed to turn an enemy into an ally.
He didn’t host a dinner. He didn’t offer a favor. Instead, Franklin asked for one.
Franklin’s reputation as a book collector positioned him as a man with cultivated literary taste. When he heard the man owned a rare book, Franklin wrote him a letter saying he’d heard about this “very scarce and curious book” and would very much like to read it. Could he borrow it for a few days?
The book arrived immediately. Franklin returned it a week later with a warm thank-you note. When the legislature reconvened, the man who’d been his adversary walked over and spoke to him for the first time. Not just civilly — warmly. “He ever after manifested a readiness to serve me on all occasions, so that we became great friends,” Franklin said of the exchange. “And our friendship continued to his death.”
Franklin reflected on the encounter in his autobiography: “He that has once done you a kindness will be more ready to do you another, than he whom you yourself have obliged.”
In other words: to build rapport, don’t do a favor — ask for one.
This runs completely contrary to how we think relationships work. We assume doing favors for people makes them like us. Franklin discovered something far stranger: when someone does you a favor, they like you more.
The science at play
Psychologists call this phenomenon the Ben Franklin Effect, and they’ve spent decades proving Franklin right.
In 1969, researchers Jon Jecker and David Landy ran an experiment with 74 student volunteers in an academic contest for cash prizes. Jecker approached some winners privately and asked if they’d return the money because he had been funding the study out of his own pocket and was running short. A different group received no such request. A third group was approached by a secretary asking them to return the money to the psychology department.
When the subjects were later asked to rate how much they liked the researcher, the group that had given money back to help Jecker personally rated him highest. The group that had been asked for nothing rated him in the middle. The group that had returned money to the department rated him lowest. Doing Jecker a favor made them like him more, not resent losing the money.
The explanation lies in cognitive dissonance, a concept developed by Leon Festinger, one of the most influential social psychologists of the 20th century. In 1957, while at Stanford University, he published A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, which described the mental discomfort we feel when our actions and beliefs don’t align. When we hold two contradictory thoughts at once, our minds scramble to resolve the tension.
In 2010, UCLA researchers Johanna Jarcho, Elliot Berkman, and Matthew Lieberman conducted the first MRI study of cognitive dissonance in action. They found that rationalization happens in seconds, without conscious deliberation. The brain actively works to resolve the uncomfortable tension, reframing the situation to restore psychological harmony.
Here’s how it plays out with the Ben Franklin Effect: You dislike someone but then do them a favor. Your brain has a problem. Why would you help someone you dislike? That makes no sense. Your brain takes the easier route, adjusting your feelings to match your actions. You decide you must like them after all.
You genuinely start to feel warmer toward the person. You notice positive qualities you’d overlooked. According to the UCLA researchers, “though attitude change may appear like disingenuous rationalization from the outside, the processes driving it may in fact be engaged quite quickly, and without the individual’s explicit intention.”
The effect translates across cultures. In 2015, Japanese psychologist Yu Niiya confirmed Franklin’s observation in an experiment with both Japanese and American participants. When people were asked directly for help completing a project solving puzzles, they increased their liking of the person who asked — in both cultures. But when participants helped others without being asked, they did not end up liking the people they helped more. The personal, direct request was crucial. Yu attributed the Ben Franklin effect to a form of reciprocity, in which the person being asked for a favor senses a desire for a friendly relationship and returns the feeling.
The effect in everyday life
The Ben Franklin effect inverts conventional wisdom about relationship building. We spend enormous energy trying to impress people, prove our worth, and demonstrate our value. We try to make ourselves indispensable.
But Franklin showed that vulnerability can be more powerful than competence.
Think of it as emotional intelligence. When you ask someone for help, you signal trust and create an opportunity for them to feel useful and generous. Once they’ve helped, their brain justifies why they did it. The easiest answer is that they like you.
Research published in the Journal of Consumer Research found that asking customers for favors — requesting they recommend a business to other potential customers, for example — builds stronger rapport than offering discounts.
Companies are using this technique to drive engagement with their customers. In 2012, Lay’s launched its “Do Us a Flavor” campaign, asking customers to suggest new potato chip flavors. The company received nearly 4 million submissions. The winning flavor, Cheesy Garlic Bread, went into production, and sales spiked. Lay’s didn’t just gain customer insights. It gained customer investment. When people help create something, they care about whether it succeeds.
It also works in new relationships. Asking a neighbor to recommend a plumber or lend you a ladder can build connection faster than hosting an elaborate dinner party. The small favor creates a bond. The neighbor has invested in you, however minimally, and that investment makes you more significant to them.
It even works in conflict. Linda McFarland, an executive assistant with decades of experience, wrote about how she found herself butting heads with a fellow EA who made scheduling meetings an uphill battle. After reading Franklin’s autobiography, she changed her approach. Instead of treating the colleague as an adversary, she started asking for small favors, such as requesting input on problems. The dynamic shifted completely. What began as an adversarial relationship became collaborative, and the two remain in touch years later.
The boundaries matter
The Ben Franklin effect has limits, and understanding why it worked for Franklin helps clarify them.
The choice of favor matters. Since Franklin’s fellow legislator was a book collector, Franklin asked for a book, not a pair of socks. His request signaled shared interests and genuine respect.
The favor must also be reasonable. Yu Niiya’s research emphasized that requests should never feel like a burden. Asking to borrow a book works differently from asking someone to co-sign a loan.
The favor must also be genuinely received. Franklin read the book, returned it promptly, and wrote a sincere thank-you note. He gave the man evidence that the favor was meaningful to him.
The deeper lesson
The Ben Franklin effect reveals something fundamental about human nature: we don’t just act on our feelings. Our feelings follow our actions. We think we help people because we like them. But the causation often runs the other way: we like people because we’ve helped them.
It means relationships aren’t just about what others do for us. They’re about what we do for others, and how our minds make sense of those choices. The people most invested in your success might not be those you’ve impressed, but those you’ve allowed to help you.
Franklin understood something most of us learn too late: sometimes the fastest way to make a friend is to stop trying so hard to be liked and start giving someone else a reason to like you, by letting them in.