We’ve just established that perfection is a bit of a con. That smoothness and polish can feel synthetic, that flaws, handled well, make things real. That was true of design. It’s true of parenting. And it’s true of conversation.
So let’s apply the same logic to how we talk to each other. Especially when we disagree.
Because somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten how to argue.
Not the red-faced, festive episode of EastEnders kind. Not the long, finger-pointy online threads ending in a half-hearted “do better.” I mean real disagreement. The sort where two people actually try to figure something out, not just dig trenches and hold the line.
Everyone talks about “civil discourse” now, as if etiquette is the issue. But most of that still sounds performative. What I miss are arguments with friction and humility. Ones where both sides know they might walk away changed. Where doubt isn’t seen as a weakness but a sign you’re still listening.
We’re a long way from that now.
Many years ago, I was in the school debating society, travelling around Kent in numerous competitions, even appearing at Westminster School and later representing the University of York up at Durham, where, amusingly, my debating partner was supposed to be Jonathan Isaby, a well-known Conservative voice. However, he mysteriously never showed up until the competition was over. But the principle was simple: listen, engage, persuade. Not demolish. Not deflect. Just make your case, and be ready to refine it when someone made a better one.
Somewhere along the way, we swapped that for something else.
Now, we reward the ‘gotcha’ moment. Certainty is treated like strength. Doubt is weakness. If you admit you’re unsure (or worse, that you’ve changed your mind) it’s seen as a loss of face. We’re so busy performing our identities that we’ve lost the ability to revise our thinking. It’s tiring. And it’s stagnating us.
You see it in culture, in politics, in everyday conversations. People don’t talk to win understanding anymore, they talk to stay on brand.
I’ve done it too. I argued hard for Brexit. Believed in it. Spoke up for it. Framed it as independence, as a chance to reimagine things, to step away from bloated bureaucracy and do things differently. I meant it. I still think the instincts weren’t all wrong.
But the outcome? Messy. Fragmented. Slower than promised. And ultimately, let’s be honest, not the reset we sold ourselves. The deals didn’t arrive. The country didn’t come together. The optimism curdled into something else. That was hard to admit. Still is. But it’s true.
And what’s the alternative? Digging in forever? Pretending clarity is betrayal?
I’m not interested in performative U-turns. But I am interested in being the sort of person who can say, “I’ve reconsidered”. And hearing someone else say it, without pouncing.
You can blame social media for this shift if you want. The outrage economy. And yes, that’s part of it. But it goes deeper. We’ve built entire identities around never backing down but it’s not brave, it’s brittle.
Changing your mind is not a flaw. It’s a feature. Same as in design. Same as in writing. Same as in life. You revise because you care. You argue because you want to know more, not because you just want to be right.
We don’t need more hot takes. We need cooler heads. Conversations that can hold heat without boiling over.
So next time you’re mid-argument (online, in a pub, at home) ask yourself: Am I here to win? Or am I here to learn something?
Because only one of those has a destination and frankly, I’d like to get somewhere.
I used AI to assist with this post. Specifically to help generate the excerpt, tags, image prompt, and to refine the structure and rhythm of the piece in my own tone of voice.
John Gibbard 