Supercommunicators: How to Unlock the Secret Language of Connection

by Charles Duhigg

Questions that asked about everyday experiences or uncontroversial opinions—such as “How did you celebrate last Halloween?” or “What is the best gift you ever received?”—tended to yield answers that were reliably unemotional. In contrast, questions that pushed people to describe their beliefs, values, or meaningful experiences tended to result in emotional replies, even if the questions themselves didn’t seem all that emotional. These kinds of questions were powerful because they often prompted people to reveal vulnerabilities. When someone asks “What do you value most in a friendship?” (question sixteen), it might not seem particularly emotionally probing, but it frequently draws unexpectedly revealing replies about past incidents of hurt or betrayal, or expressions of love for friends, or other anxieties or pleasures. Such questions make ever-deepening follow-ups (“What did you say after he broke up with you?”) easy to ask.

What’s more, vulnerability can mean different things in different settings. For instance, scientists have found a troubling double standard within some workplaces: When men express emotions like anger or impatience, it is commonly viewed as a sign of self-confidence, even good leadership. When a man cries at work, it is evidence of how much he cares. But when women express emotions such as anger or sadness, “they are more likely to suffer negative social and professional consequences,” found one study from 2016. “Women incur social and economic penalties for expressing masculine-typed emotions…. At the same time, when women express female-typed emotions, they are judged as overly emotional and lacking emotional control, which ultimately undermines women’s competence and professional legitimacy.” These kinds of unequal standards can make some displays of vulnerability feel unsafe.[*2]

Put another way, if you want to have a successful conversation with someone, you don’t have to ask them about their worst memories or how they prepare for telephone calls. You just have to ask them to describe how they feel about their life—rather than the facts of their life—and then ask lots of follow-ups. Questions about facts (“Where do you live?” “What college did you attend?”) are often conversational dead-ends. They don’t draw out values or experiences. They don’t invite vulnerability. However, those same inquiries, recast slightly (“What do you like about where you live?” “What was your favorite part of college?”), invite others to share their preferences, beliefs, and values, and to describe experiences that caused them to grow or change.

This is how to ask emotional questions in the real world: Ask someone how they feel about something, and then follow up with questions that reveal how you feel. It’s the same framework for emotional connection described before, but in a slightly different guise: If we ask questions that push people to think and talk about their values, beliefs, and experiences, and then reciprocate with emotions of our own, we can’t help but listen to one another.

From the wealthiest financiers to the most distant online strangers, “we all crave real connections,” Epley said. We all want to have meaningful conversations.

“The key to intuiting another’s feelings is in the ability to read nonverbal channels: tone of voice, gesture, facial expressions and the like.”

They couldn’t have their characters announce what they were feeling, because that was unrealistic and made for terrible television, and they couldn’t have them show what they were feeling, because, by design, they were supposed to be bad at showing their emotions. So the writers tried juxtaposing the physicists with other, more emotionally nimble characters to establish contrasts. They created Katie, a jaded neighbor who is fresh from a breakup and whose bitter pessimism highlights the main characters’

From infancy, even before we learn to speak, we absorb how to infer people’s emotions from their behaviors: Their body language, vocal inflections, glances and grimaces, sighs and laughs. As we grow older, however, this capacity can atrophy. We start to pay increasing attention to what people say rather than what they do, to the point where we can fail to notice nonlinguistic clues. Spoken language is so information rich, so easy to rely upon, that it lulls us into ignoring hints that someone might be, say, upset—crossed arms, creased brow, downcast eyes—and instead focus on their words when they say, It’s nothing. I feel fine.

These individuals,” the Yale researchers wrote in the journal Imagination, Cognition and Personality in 1990, “are aware of their own feelings and those of others. They are open to positive and negative aspects of internal experience, are able to label them, and when appropriate, communicate them…. The emotionally intelligent person is often a pleasure to be around and leaves others feeling better. The emotionally intelligent person, however, does not mindlessly seek pleasure, but rather attends to emotion in the path toward growth.”

NASA needed people who could control their feelings, were sensitive to others’ emotions, and could connect with colleagues, even when tensions were running high and they were stuck in a small can hundreds of miles above the earth.

LAUGHING AT WHAT’S NOT FUNNY Laughter might seem like a strange place to look for emotional intelligence, but, in fact, it’s an example of a basic truth of emotional communication: What’s important is not just hearing another person’s feelings but showing that we have heard them. Laughter is one way of proving that we hear how someone feels.

We laugh, in other words, to show someone that we want to connect with them—and our companions laugh back to demonstrate they want to connect with us, as well. This is the same kind of reciprocity that powers the Fast Friends Procedure. It’s an example of emotional contagion. And so it follows that we exhibit emotional intelligence not just by hearing another person’s feelings, but by showing we have heard them. Laughter, and other nonlinguistic expressions such as gasps and sighs, or smiles and frowns, are embodiments of the matching principle, which says that we communicate by aligning our behaviors until our brains become entrained.

When we laugh together, it’s

not just the laughter that’s important. It’s similar intensities—the evidence of a desire to connect—that is critical. If someone gives a half-hearted chuckle while we are doubled over with laughter, we’re likely to sense their tepid enthusiasm and see it as a hint we’re not aligned, “a signal of dominance/submission or acceptance/rejection,” as Provine wrote. If we chuckle only slightly at someone’s joke, while they laugh uproariously, we’ll both see it as a sign that we’re not in sync—or, worse, that one of us is trying too hard, or the other is not trying hard enough.

whenever we encounter another person, and it functions by pushing us to pay attention to their “mood,” or what psychologists refer to as valence, and their “energy,” or arousal.[*]

When we see someone and they exhibit an emotional behavior—like a laugh, a scowl, or a smile—the first thing we usually notice is their mood (is this person feeling positive or negative?) and their energy level (are they high energy or low energy?). For instance, if you encounter someone who is frowning (negative) and quiet (low energy), you might assume they’re sad or frustrated, but you won’t assume they pose a threat. Your brain won’t start issuing warnings to flee. However, if they are frowning (negative) and shouting and glaring (high energy) you’ll infer they’re angry or violent, and you’ll become wary. Your brain will generate a mild anxiety that prepares you to scurry away. All we need to make a prediction is to notice someone’s mood and energy. That’s enough to quickly evaluate what they are feeling.

One of the reasons supercommunicators are so talented at picking up on how others feel is because they have a habit of noticing the energy in others’ gestures, the volume of their voices, how fast they are speaking, their cadence and affect. They pay attention to whether someone’s posture indicates they are feeling

down, or if they are so excited they can barely contain it. Supercommunicators allow themselves to match that energy and mood, or at least acknowledge it, and thereby make it clear they want to align. They help us see and hear our feelings via their own bodies and voices. By matching our mood and energy, they make it obvious they are trying to connect.

Eventually, McGuire developed a checklist of things to watch for during interviews: How did candidates react to praise? What about skepticism? How did they describe rejection and loneliness? He would ask questions designed to assess their emotional expressiveness: When had they been happiest? Had they ever been depressed? He would pay close attention to their body language and facial expressions as they responded, note when their postures seemed to tense up or relax. Did it seem like they were inviting him in? Were they showing him they wanted to connect? Each time McGuire asked one of those questions, after the candidate had a chance to speak, McGuire would answer the same question himself—expressing happiness or regret, making sure to display his anger or joy or uncertainty. Then he would pay close attention to whether the candidates tried to match him. Did they smile back? Did they comfort him? “Virtually all astronaut selectees have strong cognitive bases,” he later wrote. “But it is a minority that have great awareness or sensitivity at a feeling level.”

The specific emotions a candidate displayed were less important than how they expressed them. Some were quick to show their passions; others were more sedate. What mattered most, though, was whether they paid attention to McGuire’s emotional displays and then matched his energy and mood. For some candidates, matching seemed like an instinct; for others, a learned skill. And for some, it didn’t happen at all. These distinctions helped McGuire differentiate between those who he suspected could easily bond emotionally with others, and those who, when stresses got high, were more likely to turn inward or become defensive or combative. “Long-term confinement in crowded quarters is generally less stressful for those whose sensitivity and empathy allow them to recognize human problems earlier and to engage them effectively,” he wrote to NASA command.

This framework offers lessons for the rest of us. It’s hard to tell exactly what someone is feeling, to know if they are angry or upset or frustrated or annoyed or some combination of all those emotions. The person, themself, might not know. So instead of trying to decipher specific emotions, pay attention to someone’s mood (Do they seem negative or positive?) and their energy level (Are they high energy or low energy?). Then, focus on matching those two attributes—or, if matching will only exacerbate tensions, show that you hear their emotions by

acknowledging how they feel. Make it obvious you are working to understand their emotions. And when you, yourself, are expressing your own emotions, notice how others are responding. Are they trying to align with your energy and mood? This technique is so powerful that, at some call service centers, operators are trained to match a caller’s volume and tone in order to help the customer feel heard. Software made by the company Cogito prompts operators, via pop-up windows on their screens, to speed up their speech or slow down, to put more energy into their voice or match the caller’s calm. (Companies that use the software told me it makes customer service calls go much better—as long, that is, as callers don’t know that a computer is telling the operator how to speak.) When we match or acknowledge another person’s mood and energy, we show them that we want to understand their emotional life. It’s a form of generosity that becomes empathy. It makes it easier to discuss How Do We Feel?

The writers had finally cracked the code: The characters could be bumbling and graceless and socially incompetent—and as long as they obviously tried to match one another’s mood and energy (or deliberately didn’t match), it would be clear when they were connecting or at odds. The audience would understand what they were feeling and could root for them, celebrate when they bonded, feel good when everything worked out in the end (including when—spoiler alert!—Leonard and Penny got married a few seasons later).

So how do we connect when our differences seem so unbridgeable?

So how do we achieve this kind of mutual understanding? The first step is recognizing that within each fight is not just one conflict, but, at a minimum, two: There’s the surface issue causing us to disagree with each other, and then the emotional conflict underneath. “Say you have a couple fighting with each other about having another kid,” Heen told me. “There’s the top-level conflict—you want another child, and I don’t—that seems, at first glance, to explain why they’re fighting. But there’s also a deeper emotional issue: I’m angry because you’re prioritizing a kid over my career or I’m scared another child will bankrupt us or I’m frustrated because you don’t seem to care what I want.” Those emotional conflicts are sometimes nebulous, difficult to pin down, but they’re also incredibly powerful—because they contain so much of the anger and disappointment driving this argument beyond the possibility of compromise. “And we know those emotions are there,” said Heen, “because whenever the couple fights, no matter how many sensible things they say, they never seem to get closer to a resolution.”

They stopped trying to understand why this conflict had emerged and, instead, started plotting revenge. And most of all, everyone wanted to win, to beat the other side, to feel vindicated.

And if you don’t acknowledge the emotions, then you’ll never understand why you’re fighting,” said Heen. “You’ll never know what this fight is actually about.”

“People love to pretend that they can become analytical robots,” Heen said. “But, of course, no one can do that. All that happens is your emotions leak out in other ways.” Or people might recognize their own emotions, but they are loath to reveal them. They think it will give the other side an advantage or will be viewed as a weakness. They worry about revealing a vulnerability that will be weaponized by their foes. Not to mention, when we’re fighting, we usually feel stressed, which isn’t a great environment for discussing our feelings.

Emotional intelligence comes from showing someone we have heard their emotions. But when we’re in a conflict or a fight, simply showing often isn’t enough. In those moments, everyone is skeptical and untrusting: Are they listening, or just preparing their rebuttal? Something more is needed, an extra step. To convince others we are genuinely listening during an argument, we must prove to them that we have heard them, prove we are working hard to understand, prove we want to see things from their perspective.

So if a listener wants to prove they’re listening, they need to demonstrate it after the speaker finishes talking. If we want to show someone we’re paying attention, we need to prove, once that person has stopped speaking, that we have absorbed what they said. And the best way to do that is by repeating, in our own words, what we just heard them say—and then asking if we got it right. It’s a fairly simple technique—prove you are listening by asking the speaker questions, reflecting back what you just heard, and then seeking confirmation you understand—but studies show it is the single most effective technique for proving to someone that we want to hear them. It’s a formula sometimes called looping for understanding.[*] The goal is not to repeat what someone has said verbatim, but rather to distill the other person’s thoughts in your own words, prove you are working hard to understand and see their perspective—and then repeat the process, again and again, until everyone is satisfied. Using techniques like looping “at the beginning of a conversation forestalls conflict escalation at the end,” one 2020 study found. People who engage in it are seen as “better teammates, advisors” and “more desirable partners for future collaboration.”

Among happy couples, however, the desire for control emerged quite differently. Rather than trying to control the other person, happy couples tended to focus, instead, on controlling themselves, their environment, and the conflict itself.

One advantage of focusing on these three things—controlling oneself, the environment, and the boundaries of the conflict—is that it allowed happy spouses to find things they could control together. They were still fighting. They still disagreed. But, when it came to control, they were on the same side of the table.

This explains why looping for understanding is so powerful: When you prove to someone you are listening, you are, in effect, giving them some control over the conversation. This is also why the matching principle is so effective: When we follow someone else’s lead and become

emotional when they are emotional, or practical when they have signaled a practical mindset, we are sharing control over how a dialogue flows.

“I don’t know what’s more insulting, your assumptions or your dismissiveness,”

“It’s hard to metabolize another person’s perspective in just one conversation,”

“You need friends who are different if you want to figure it out.”

A deep question asks about someone’s values, beliefs, judgments, or experiences—rather than just facts. Don’t ask “Where do you work?” Instead, draw out feelings or experiences:

A deep question asks people to talk about how they feel.

Asking a deep question should feel like sharing.

There are two benefits to looping: First, it helps us make sure we’re hearing others. Second, it demonstrates we want to hear.

This second benefit is important because it helps establish reciprocal vulnerability. Emotional reciprocity doesn’t come from simply describing our own feelings but, rather, providing “empathetic support.” Reciprocity is nuanced. If someone reveals they’ve gotten a cancer diagnosis, we shouldn’t reciprocate by talking about our own aches and pains. That’s not support—it’s an attempt to turn the spotlight on ourselves. But if we say, “I know how scary that is. Tell me what you’re feeling,” we show we empathize and are trying to understand.

The goal is showing that the aim of this conversation is not winning, but understanding. You don’t need to avoid disagreements or downplay your own opinions. You can offer thoughts, advocate for your beliefs, even make arguments and challenge each other—as long as your goal is to understand, and be understood, rather than to win.

We all possess numerous social identities—Democrat/Republican, Christian/Muslim, Black/white, self-made millionaire/working-class—that intersect in complicated ways: I’m a gay Hindu computer engineer from the South who votes libertarian. These identities nudge us and others to make assumptions. They can subtly cause us to “exaggerate the differences between groups” and overemphasize “the similarities of things in the same group,” as one researcher from the University of Manchester wrote in 2019. Our social identities push us unthinkingly to see people like us—what psychologists call our in-group—as more virtuous and intelligent, while those who are different—the out-group—as suspicious, unethical, and possibly threatening. Social identities help us relate to others, but they can also perpetuate stereotypes and prejudice.

On the math exam women seemed to work less efficiently. “They would double-check their answers more often and re-do calculations,” Steele said. They ran out of time “because they were multitasking, with part of their brains trying to answer the questions, and part thinking, I need to double-check, I need to be careful, because I know there’s this stereotype.”

To Steele, it seemed as if female test takers had been undermined simply by the knowledge that a damaging prejudice existed, even if they also knew it wasn’t true. As he later wrote, “on the basis of negative stereotypes of women’s math ability, simply taking a difficult math test puts a woman at risk of stigmatization, of being seen as limited at math because she is a woman.” The existence of this stereotype generated just enough anxiety and distraction to slow them down, which translated into lower scores.

It’s crucial, in a Who Are We? conversation, to remind ourselves that we all possess multiple identities: We are parents but also siblings; experts in some topics and novices in others; friends and coworkers and people who love dogs but hate to jog. We are all of these simultaneously, so no one stereotype describes us fully. We all contain multitudes that are just waiting to be expressed.

“We can make the bad voices in our head less powerful by remembering all the other voices in there, too.”