You can tell a person has poor social skills if they use these 10 phrases in everyday conversation

Some people broadcast bad manners with volume. Others do it with tiny phrases that quietly drain a room.

I don’t say that to be judgy. I’ve used half of these lines myself—usually when I’m tired, insecure, or trying to move a conversation faster than it wants to go.

The truth is, poor social skills often show up as little shortcuts we take with language. Each shortcut saves us a second and costs us connection.

Here are ten everyday phrases that reliably signal “I haven’t learned the room yet,” plus what to say instead if you want more ease, respect, and actual rapport.

1. “Relax.” / “Calm down.”

Translation the listener hears: Your feelings are a problem I need you to stop having.

Why it backfires: If someone’s amped, telling them to relax adds a second emotion—defensiveness—on top of the first. You’ve now escalated the very thing you wanted to de-escalate, and you’ve signaled you’re uncomfortable with emotion.

Say this instead:

• “I’m hearing this is really important to you. What would help right now—time or a fix?”

• “I want to understand. Can you walk me through what landed wrong?”

Those lines validate and redirect. Validation isn’t agreement; it’s good steering.

2. “Actually…” (as a reflex opener)

Translation the listener hears: Prepare to be corrected.

Why it backfires: “Actually” is a conversational speed bump that announces a status play. Even when you’re factually right, leading with it trains people to brace when you speak.

Say this instead:

• “You might be right—one thing I’ve seen is…”

• “Quick addition: the menu changed this month.”

Notice the posture: additive, not adversarial. If you can deliver accuracy without ego-management fees, people will invite your precision.

3. “No offense, but…”

Translation the listener hears: I know this might sting, and I’m doing it anyway.

Why it backfires: “No offense” is a legal waiver for rudeness. It doesn’t cushion the blow; it telegraphs one. The adult version of honesty is specificity, not a flimsy disclaimer.

Say this instead:

• “Can I offer a candid thought?” (wait for yes) “…I found X confusing—maybe we tighten Y.”

• “I have a different take. Do you want it direct or gentle?”

Asking consent resets power and prevents drive-by critiques.

4. “You’re overreacting.”

Translation the listener hears: Your interpretation is wrong because it’s inconvenient for me.

Why it backfires: It judges someone’s intensity instead of exploring their information. Even if the reaction is bigger than the moment, there’s usually a history glitching in the background.

Say this instead:

• “I didn’t realize this hit a nerve. What part felt biggest?”

• “I may be missing context—tell me what this maps to.”

Curiosity makes space for data. Often the “over” in “overreacting” is past-tense pain you’re just now seeing.

5. “Like I said…” / “As I already mentioned…”

Translation the listener hears: You weren’t listening and now I’m keeping score.

Why it backfires: People miss things. They skim. They get interrupted. Re-stating with an I-told-you-so garnish punishes normal human bandwidth limits and makes you look petty.

Say this instead:

• “Sure—here’s the quick version again: A, B, C.”

• “Happy to recap: the key is…”

If repetition is a pattern, fix the system (clearer docs, follow-ups), not the person. Social grace scales.

6. “It is what it is.”

Translation the listener hears: I’m done thinking.

Why it backfires: Sometimes acceptance is wisdom. Often “it is what it is” is an escape hatch from responsibility, empathy, or creativity. It flattens the moment and advertises learned helplessness.

Say this instead:

• “Given the constraint, what’s our next best move?”

• “I don’t love it either. What part can we influence?”

Even a small lever changes the room from resignation to progress.

7. “Let me play devil’s advocate…”

Translation the listener hears: I want to argue without owning the argument.

Why it backfires: It frames your pushback as intellectual sport, which can trivialize real stakes. People then defend against the theater instead of engaging the idea.

Say this instead:

• “I have a concern about X—can I test it with you?”

• “What would make this fail? Here’s my worry…”

Own your take. You’ll get a cleaner conversation and less eye-roll.

Early in my career, I “devil’s advocated” a teammate’s proposal in a meeting because I thought sparring proved rigor. After, she told me, “I needed a collaborator, not a debate club.” It stung—and it taught me to voice concerns as shared problem-solving, not performance.

8. “No offense, but I’m just being honest.” / “I’m brutally honest.”

Translation the listener hears: I conflate bluntness with truth and I like the sound of my own courage.

Why it backfires: Honesty without tact is laziness dressed as virtue. “Brutal honesty” is often permission to skip empathy and precision—the two things that make honesty land.

Say this instead:

• “I want to be direct and kind: here’s what didn’t work for me…”

• “Honest take coming, and I’m open to being wrong: …”

Direct + kind beats brutal nine days out of seven.

9. “You always…” / “You never…”

Translation the listener hears: You are the problem, categorically.

Why it backfires: Absolutes make people litigate exceptions (“What about last Tuesday?”) instead of addressing the pattern. They also escalate identity threat, which fries listening.

Say this instead:

• “When X happens, I feel Y because Z. Could we try A next time?”

• “I’ve noticed a pattern: [two examples]. Can we reset how we do this?”

Concrete beats categorical. Two receipts are more persuasive than one sweeping accusation.

10. “I’m just joking—don’t be so sensitive.”

Translation the listener hears: I’m allowed to hit you, and you’re wrong for bruising.

Why it backfires: It reframes your miss as their flaw. Great humor is consent-based; it lands on shared ground. Using “jokes” to dodge accountability teaches people they’re not safe with you.

Say this instead:

• “Ah—missed the mark. Sorry. Won’t do that again.”

• “Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep it off-limits.”

A quick, clean repair builds more social capital than the original laugh ever could.

The pattern under all ten

Poor social skills aren’t a personality flaw; they’re often bandwidth shortcuts. We grab the fastest line to control a moment—dismiss, deflect, disclaim, dominate—because presence takes time. The fix isn’t a new personality; it’s better micro-moves:

• Validate before you steer.

• Ask before you advise.

• Own your stance.

• Trade absolutes for examples.

• Repair fast when you miss.

If you do those things, you can be a strong flavor—direct, funny, blunt, passionate—and still make rooms feel safe.How to upgrade your phrasing without sounding like a robot

A good reframe should feel like you, just calmer. Here’s a quick translation table you can memorize and deploy under pressure:

• “Relax.” → “I want to get this right. What would help—time or a fix?”

• “Actually…” → “Quick add:” / “One wrinkle:”

• “No offense, but…” → “Can I offer a candid thought?” (wait) “…here’s my read.”

• “You’re overreacting.” → “I didn’t realize this hit hard. What part is biggest?”

• “Like I said…” → “To recap quickly:”

• “It is what it is.” → “Given X, our next best move is Y.”

• “Devil’s advocate…” → “My concern is…”

• “I’m brutally honest.” → “I’ll be direct and kind:”

• “You always/never…” → “When X happens, I feel Y. Could we try Z?”

• “Just joking…” → “Missed. Sorry—won’t go there again.”

Practice one swap a week. You’ll feel cheesy the first two tries; then the lines become yours.

If you’re on the receiving end of these phrases

You don’t have to run—or lash back. Sometimes the person is rushed, nervous, or parroting what they heard modeled.

Four moves that preserve your dignity and might lift the conversation:

• Name the move, not the person. “When I hear ‘calm down,’ I shut down. Could you ask me what I need instead?”

• Offer a path. “If you’ve got feedback, I’m open—start with what worked so I can hear the rest.”

• Invite examples. “ ‘Always’ is a lot—can you give me two instances so I can fix the right thing?”

• Call time-out. “I want to get this right—let’s pause five and come back.”

If they can adapt, you’ve found shared ground. If they can’t, you have data about the relationship.

Why this matters (beyond “being nice”)

Language choices broadcast your social predictability. People don’t need you to be perfect; they need to know your next move won’t be a trap. The more predictable you are—validate, clarify, specify, repair—the more others will bring you complexity, creativity, and trust.

Two side effects no one tells you about:

1. Opportunities compound. Folks loop you in because you’re easy to think with.

2. Conflicts shrink. Fewer fights become identity wars when you’re skilled at staying on the topic.

I once watched a manager transform a tense meeting with two lines. An engineer felt steamrolled and snapped, “You never listen.” The old him would’ve fired back. Instead he said, “Two receipts would help me fix this. I don’t want you to feel unheard.” The engineer gave two examples; the team adjusted a ritual. Ten minutes later they were laughing. Same people, different phrases, new future.

A gentle challenge for the week

Pick your personal kryptonite from the list (mine was “actually”). For seven days:

• Notice when it rises to your lips.

• Swap in the better line.

• If you forget and blurt the old one, repair: “Let me rephrase that.”

That tiny loop—notice, swap, repair—is social strength training. After a month, people around you won’t be able to describe exactly what changed. They’ll just say, “Conversations feel easier with you.”

And you’ll know why: you stopped saving seconds at the expense of connection. You traded shortcuts for skill. You built a language that carries people, not just your point.

That’s what good social skills are in the end—a thousand small sentences that make others glad they chose to spend their minutes with you.