Ah, small talk. That peculiar social ritual where we pretend to care about things we definitely don’t care about. Whether it’s weather updates from someone standing right next to you or the obligatory “How was your weekend?” in the office kitchen, small talk feels like society’s default mode – a kind of conversational screensaver that kicks in when real topics crash.
Why Do We Do It?
Sociologists have puzzled over small talk for decades. Some say it’s about social cohesion – a way to signal that we’re non-threatening, approachable, and unlikely to throw a stapler in a meeting. Others argue it’s an instinctive form of social grooming, like chimps picking nits off each other but with fewer bugs and more forced smiles. Robin Dunbar, for instance, proposed that small talk is the modern equivalent of the friendly grooming our primate ancestors used to bond and maintain social alliances – a verbal stand-in for scratching each other’s backs.
But fundamentally, small talk serves as a social buffer. It’s a way to ease into more meaningful interactions without the social equivalent of walking in and shouting, “Let’s discuss our deepest existential fears!” It’s a conversational handshake, a low-stakes ritual that reassures everyone that we’re vaguely pleasant and not likely to shout about politics.
Why the Weather?
Of all the things we could chat about, why does the weather always come up first? One theory is that it’s neutral territory – something that affects everyone but doesn’t stir controversy. Talking about your chaotic love life with Brenda from HR might feel a bit too intimate, but grumbling about drizzle? Perfectly safe.
The weather is also reliably dull, which means it’s unlikely to derail into a heated debate. There’s no risk of someone launching into a passionate defence of drizzle or forming a pro-fog advocacy group. It’s just there – as innocuous as background music in a lift. Emile Durkheim might argue that this shared, predictable topic serves as a form of collective ritual – a small, everyday way of affirming our place in the social group without risking anything too personal.
The Neurodivergent Perspective
Of course, not everyone finds small talk quite so harmless. For some neurodivergent folks, it can feel more like a poorly scripted play where the lines don’t make sense and the plot is painfully predictable. Social cues that come naturally to others can feel forced or even pointless. “Why are we talking about the rain again? We can see the rain. It’s right there.”
But even for the neurotypical, small talk can feel like a chore – a bland, conversational starter pack you’re forced to carry around like emotional pocket lint. We do it because it’s expected, not because it’s especially rewarding.
That said, small talk can also be a blessing for those who are openly neurodivergent. Once people know you’re not wired for polite, empty chat, they often cut straight to the point – skipping the verbal fluff and getting right to the meat of the conversation. It’s a rare upside in a world built on weather updates and the dreaded “How’s it going?”
How to Survive It – For Everyone
Since avoiding small talk entirely is about as feasible as training pigeons to respect personal space, here are a few tricks to make it more tolerable:
- Pre-prepared Lines: Have a mental stash of generic replies. “Yeah, typical British weather!” works every time, even if the weather is currently doing something truly weird.
- Deflect with Questions: If someone says, “Nice day, isn’t it?” just ask, “Do you think it’ll last?” You’ve successfully shifted the burden of meaningless commentary back onto them.
- Embrace Absurdity: Next time someone brings up the rain, try responding with, “Yes, but have you considered how ducks must feel about it?” If they laugh, great. If not, they’ll probably think twice about bringing up precipitation next time.
- Acknowledge the Weirdness: Sometimes honesty works. “I never know what to say about the weather. Do you think we’re all just pretending to care?” You might just spark a genuinely interesting chat.
When Small Talk Goes Rogue
Sometimes, though, small talk gets weirdly intense. You might mention it’s windy, and suddenly Dave from accounts is giving you a passionate lecture on climate change. Or you casually note the sun’s out, and before you know it, Pam from reception is explaining her vitamin D deficiency in alarming detail.
The truth is, small talk often functions like a social Rorschach test – revealing far more about the person you’re speaking to than you ever wanted to know. Erving Goffman might describe these moments as “interaction breaches” – those awkward breaks in the social script that reveal the odd quirks lurking beneath our polished social masks.
So, Why Keep Doing It?
Because for all its awkwardness, small talk is like a public service. It keeps us engaged without demanding vulnerability. It’s a reminder that we’re all trying to navigate this bizarre social maze without knocking over too many metaphorical mannequins.
And who knows? Maybe one day, when you’re caught in a drizzle-related chat you can’t escape, someone might just turn around and say, “You know what? I hate small talk too.” And in that fleeting moment of honesty, you’ll realise that even the most pointless conversations can sometimes lead to something genuinely human.
AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.
As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.
AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.
For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in. Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.