The Case Against Small Talk

A norm that does not work for everybody.

Small talk is a prevalent part of adult life. Anything we attend with other adults is glazed with small talk. Parties, courses, conferences, lunch at work, it’s everywhere. As long as we’re not good friends, drunk or working to reach a shared goal, small talk is the norm of the day.

Why does this strange institution of small talk exist? Some people do indeed find it enjoyable, but many consider it a necessary evil. Necessary, because small talk is all about “breaking the ice”. It’s about showing good intentions. Which in itself is rather strange.

Since we humans allegedly don’t expect others to have good intentions by default, we have to make some remarks on the weather or ask about the day in order to signal our harmlessness.

Signaling harmlessness through small talk is a “social skill”. There are some pretty concrete things you can do to be good at small talk. For example:

— Focus on the other person. Notice things about them and ask questions.

— Don’t ask too many questions. Try to keep it 50/50 with regard to how much you talk and the other person talks.

— Share things about yourself, but do so with an intention to find common ground, not seek approval.

— Keep eye contact, smile, nod occasionally.

And so on and so forth. This often produces conversations such as this one, where questions of how the weekend was are followed up by some innocent remarks about a visit from a sister, backyard fixing and dogs.

While there is nothing wrong with these kinds of conversations for people who like them, I think the people who deem small talk a “necessary evil” often genuinely don’t like these conversations. They feel superficial, artificial and stressing. Why? Because we’re really just following rules. The same kind of rules I outlined above.

I won’t question people who say they connect over small talk. If that is their experience, good for them. But many of us don’t. In the book Quiet, Susan Cain writes about an experiment of pairwise conversations recorded between introverted and extroverted people. She writes (pp. 238–239):

The introverts and extroverts participated about equally, giving the lie to the idea that introverts talk less. But the introvert pairs tended to focus on one or two serious subjects of conversation, while the extrovert pairs chose lighter-hearted and wider-ranging topics.

Often the introverts discussed problems or conflicts in their lives: school, work, friendship, and so on. Perhaps because of their fondness for “problem talk”, they tended to adopt the role of an adviser, taking turns counseling each other on the problem at hand. The extroverts, by contrast, were more likely to offer casual information about themselves that established commonality with the other person. ‘You have a new dog? That’s great. A friend of mine has an amazing tank of saltwater fish’.

Her whole book is about how introverts and extroverts flourish on different premises. In this example, she shows that they have different conversational preferences.

Cain also notes that highly sensitive people seemed to prefer deep conversation prior to small talk. Completely at odds with the idea that you have to “break the ice” before you can dive. I suspect the trait of monotropism, that is, the tendency to focus attention on a small number of interests at any time, also leads to a preference for other types of conversations. So might various forms of neurodivergence.

And yet: Since we seem to have agreed that small talk is the norm of the day, having a preference for other types of conversation is often ruled out as “lack of social skill”.

What if we had the same approach to other preferences? If preferring the beach over mountains signaled a lack of character. Preferring comedy over thrillers was a sign of moral deficiency. Liking pastel colors over grey tones illustrated integrity issues. If we needed to “teach” these people to tolerate and pretend in the dominance of what they didn’t prefer.

Personally, I manage small talk, but I often find it stressfully akin to a math exam, where the goal is to follow the rules to achieve the correct outcome. I enjoy quirky people who break all the rules and overshare, allow for long silences or ask me personal questions. That is when I tend to feel comfortable and connected.

And maybe this text should end here. I like this, you like that, and that’s okay. But I don’t think so.

The problem is that liking different kinds of conversations is actually not deemed okay. The norm of small talk labels you “unskilled” if you do not participate.

Breaking the norm is not without risk. If I, instead of opening up with “how was your weekend?” ask “did you dream anything interesting last night?”, this is not considered a small talk question. It’s too intense, too personal, too off. On days with lots of excess energy and self-esteem, I might be able to make it work (which would make me an eccentric), but on most days, I won’t manage.

Because once you go against the social norms, it’s on you to make it work. You have to be the rebel, the fighter, the risk-taker.

We can change this. The norm of small talk is not necessary. It is just an expectation we have, and it does not work for everybody. Perhaps it is time we come up with a better norm; something more inclusive, preferably something that actually allows all of us to connect.