If you overuse these 7 “intelligent” phrases, people actually see you as insecure

We all have a few “smart” phrases we whip out when we want to sound credible.

I’ve used them in boardrooms, brainstorms, and in the kitchen while trying to explain why the beurre blanc split.

The problem? When we lean on them too much, people don’t hear intelligence—they hear insecurity.

In hospitality I learned that guests feel the room before they taste the food.

Same with conversation: The delivery, the pauses, the presence—those matter more than the fancy garnish of words.

Here are seven phrases that backfire when you overuse them and what to say instead if you want to come across as confident, helpful, and real.

1) "To be honest..."

On the surface, “to be honest” sounds pure.

Underneath, it plants a seed: were you not being honest a second ago?

I used to sprinkle “honestly” everywhere when I led pre-service briefings.

“Honestly, the risotto is better if you let it rest.”

The team would nod, but the vibe said, Why the honesty disclaimer?

If you need a runway for candor, try “Here’s my take,” or “Let me be clear.”

Short, clean, and no side-eye.

Put honesty in the content, not the label.

Instead of “To be honest, I’m overwhelmed,” say “I’m at capacity today—can we reprioritize?”

Specific beats dramatic.

2) "Actually..."

“Actually” is the verbal equivalent of tapping someone’s hand with a ruler.

It can be fine in small doses.

But when you use it to correct people constantly—“Actually, quinoa is a seed,” “Actually, fasting works because…”—you start sounding like a trivia app with feelings.

In kitchens and in teams, accuracy matters but confidence is about protecting relationships while raising the bar.

Swap “actually” for a curious nudge: “Another way to look at it is,” “Can I add a detail?” or “Small tweak: Quinoa’s technically a seed.”

See the difference? You’re still precise, without flexing your ego vein.

Here’s a trick I stole from service training: Wait two beats before you correct anything.

Those two beats filter out the corrections that are more about your identity than about the outcome.

3) "According to the research..."

I love research—I read it for fun the way some people scroll food reels.

However, name-dropping “the research” without any specifics is like saying, “A chef once told me,” and then forgetting the recipe.

When you use this phrase to sound intelligent—especially in food, diet, or fitness conversations—people hear status signaling, not substance.

They also hear you avoiding skin in the game.

Confidence doesn’t hide behind “science;” it aligns evidence with lived experience and is willing to be wrong in public.

If you want a phrase that builds trust, try “Here’s what I’ve seen, and here’s what supports it...”

4) "As I mentioned earlier..."

Nothing says “I feel ignored” like “as I mentioned earlier.”

I get the impulse—you made a point and no one reacted.

You want to underline it—twice—but when you repeat it with a little indignation, it reads as defensive, not influential.

There’s a better way to re-surface ideas: Summarize, then advance.

Instead of “As I said earlier, we should test the plant-based add-on,” try “Quick recap: we have two paths—launch now or pilot a plant-based add-on. My vote’s still for the pilot because we get learning with low risk. What would make that a yes for you?”

Now, you’re steering.

If clarity really was the issue, include a visual or an example.

In the dining room, if a guest didn’t understand a tasting sequence, I didn’t repeat the words louder—I just laid the silverware where it would be used.

Communication that lands doesn’t need a highlighter.

5) "Let me play devil’s advocate."

Used sparingly, it’s a helpful hat to wear.

Overused, it’s a shield.

You’re not brave enough to own the critique, so you outsource it to “the devil.”

It can also drain momentum.

Right when a team is tasting momentum—like when we were designing a seasonal plant-forward menu and had the room buzzing—someone would jump in with, “Let me play devil’s advocate,” and we’d spend twenty minutes defending ideas that weren’t even on the line yet.

State your concern plainly and tie it to the goal (“Here’s my worry: this menu might be too chef-y for weekday lunch. How could we keep the flavor but simplify execution?”), or ask for a constraint-based test. “What’s the smallest experiment that proves this concept works?”

No devil, just responsibility.

6) "Does that make sense?"

I still catch myself doing this at the end of explanations—it’s not that the question is evil.

It’s that, on repeat, it telegraphs a need for approval—or an assumption the other person didn’t keep up.

When I was training new servers, I’d say, “So you’ll mark the next course here, then pivot to the left. Does that make sense?”

Heads would bob, but some folks were confused and didn’t want to admit it.

Two better prompts: “What’s missing?” (this invites gaps, not judgment) and “How would you explain it back?” (this checks understanding without making anyone wrong).

Sometimes the confident move is silence—let your point breathe.

If there’s confusion, they’ll say so; if there isn’t, your pause reads as poise, not panic.

In writing, the equivalent of “does that make sense?” is three paragraphs of throat-clearing before the point.

Cut it—start with the point, then give the why.

7) "With all due respect..."

Finally, the politeness formula that signals the opposite of what it says.

“With all due respect” often shows up right before a verbal slap.

It’s a decorative napkin on top of a hot pan—looks nice, still burns.

When used as a preface, it also reveals you don’t trust the relationship to hold the truth.

There’s a cleaner approach: Skip the incense and deliver the message with care and clarity, such as “I have a different view, and I might be wrong,” “Here’s the part I’m struggling to get behind,” or “I respect the work you’ve done. I’m concerned about the timeline.”

Notice how these alternatives keep dignity intact without pretending you’re about to say something gentle.

If the topic is sensitive—food and diet advice often is—add context.

Respect is tone plus intent plus follow-through.

The takeaway

Language is seasoning.

The right pinch lifts the dish; too much hides the ingredients and hints you don’t trust what’s underneath.

If you catch yourself overusing “intelligent” phrases, don’t beat yourself up.

It usually means you care—about being accepted, about being right, about being helpful.

Channel that care into clarity.

Swap the ego-polish for honest presence.

Share what you’ve tried in your own life, cite what’s solid when it’s relevant, and keep your words as clean as your mise en place.

People don’t remember the showy garnish.

They remember how you made them feel—and whether you helped them move one step closer to the life they’re trying to build.