Arguments don’t usually end with a bell and a referee raising someone’s hand. Most of the time, somebody just runs out of runway.
In my sixties, I’ve learned to listen for the tells—the specific phrases people reach for when their ideas have stopped carrying them and their ego takes the wheel.
If you hear these, it doesn’t mean you should gloat. It means the conversation is tipping from learning into winning. That’s when the heat goes up and the light goes down.
Here are the ten phrases that, in my experience, signal someone is losing the argument (sometimes it’s me—I’ve said half of these and regretted it on my walk home).
1. “You’re just…” (followed by a label)
“You’re just insecure.”
“You’re just lazy.”
“You’re just trying to be difficult.”
That “just” is a little scalpel that cuts a person down to a single insult. It’s not a rebuttal; it’s a label. When the facts get slippery, we reach for identities. Ad hominem is the argument’s emergency exit—fast, satisfying, and nowhere helpful.
What to do instead: trade labels for specifics. “When you changed the plan at 4 p.m., we missed the deadline.” If you hear the label aimed at you, you can sidestep the hook: “Describe the behavior you mean, not me as a person.”
2. “What about…?” (and then a detour)
“What about last year when you forgot?”
“What about the times I stayed late?”
“What about other countries—they’re worse.”
Classic whataboutism. Changing the subject feels like progress because words keep happening. But it’s a fog machine. If the current claim can’t stand, we pull in a new one and hope nobody notices the switch.
A better move is a railing: “We can talk about that next. First, let’s settle this point.” If you’re the one tempted to detour, park it. Jot it down. Return after you finish the street you’re on.
3. “Everyone knows…” / “It’s common sense.”
When evidence is thin, we rent it from the crowd. “Everyone knows” is the duct tape of shaky arguments—it looks like it holds things together, but tug once and the whole structure peels.
Truth doesn’t need a parade behind it. If something is really common sense, you can usually show it with one clear example. When you hear this phrase, ask gently, “Who is ‘everyone,’ and what are they basing that on?” Not as a trap—just to move from vibes to reasons.
4. “So you’re saying…”
“So you’re saying deadlines don’t matter?”
“So you’re saying we should never correct anyone.”
“So you’re saying money is evil.”
That’s the straw man walking onto the field. We exaggerate the other person’s point into something sillier because it’s easier to beat a scarecrow than a person. Sometimes we do it by accident; sometimes we’re just tired.
The antidote is repeat-back discipline: “I might be hearing you wrong. Are you saying X?” If they say yes, you’ve got the real claim. If they say no, let them fix it. Arguments go better when both people are arguing the same thing.
5. “You always…” / “You never…”
“Always” and “never” are courtroom words for people who ran out of timestamps. They feel powerful and righteous—and they’re almost always false. No one does anything always. (Even I don’t always misplace my glasses—just often.)
If you catch yourself using these absolutes, pause and swap: “Often,” “lately,” or “in this case.” Precision calms rooms. If someone hurls an “always” at you, ask for one recent example and start there. Specifics save relationships.
6. “I read somewhere…” / “Studies show…”
Evidence is good. Vague evidence is a red flag that the well is dry. “Somewhere” is not a source. “Studies show” is not a citation. I’ve used both when I remembered a headline but not the content. That isn’t reasoning; it’s borrowing a lab coat for your hunch.
Try this upgrade: “I don’t have the source handy; can we treat this as my impression and not a fact?” Humbling, yes, but honest. And if the other person waves at invisible research, you can say, “If you find it later, send it. For now, let’s work with what we can verify.”
7. “Calm down.” / “You’re too emotional.”
Tone-policing shows up when the content stings. It’s easier to critique volume than validity. And telling someone to calm down is like telling a smoke alarm to shush while you ignore the stove.
Better framing: “This matters, and I want to hear it. Could we slow the pace so I can track you?” If you’re hearing “calm down,” try naming your goal: “I’m not trying to win; I’m trying to be understood.” That can lower the temperature without dismissing the heat.
8. “Whatever.” / “This is stupid.”
When logic runs out of gas, contempt tries to hitch a ride. Eye rolls, dismissive one-liners, sarcastic “Okay, buddy”—these are conversation enders dressed as mic drops. They feel like victory in the moment and leave a hangover.
Contempt is the corrosive agent in any relationship—work, family, or romance. If you hear yourself going there, take a breath break. “I’m too hot to be useful. Ten minutes?” If you hear it from the other side, you can choose your boundary: “I’m stepping away until we can talk without cheap shots.”
9. “Because I said so.” / “I’ve been doing this 20 years.”
Authority can inform; it can’t replace reasons. “Because I said so” works better on toddlers than teammates. “I have 20 years of experience” might be relevant—but experience is a library, not a trump card. What’s on the shelf?
If you truly have expertise, unpack it. “In similar projects, A led to B because of C; here’s why I think the same dynamic applies.” That respects time and brains. If someone plays the experience card without details, invite them: “Tell me what those twenty years taught you that fits here.”
10. “Let’s agree to disagree.” (used as an eject button)
There’s a noble version of this line when both sides understand each other and values genuinely diverge. But many people deploy it early, a parachute out of discomfort. Translation: “I don’t have an answer, and I don’t want to risk losing face.”
If you suspect it’s premature, try: “I’m willing to park it, but before we do—can you summarize my view, and I’ll summarize yours? If we can do that, ‘agree to disagree’ will actually mean something.” Often the exercise reveals you weren’t arguing the same point to begin with.
A tiny story from a park bench
Last summer I watched two guys in their thirties argue about whether the city should add bike lanes near the tennis courts. One said, “Everyone knows they slow traffic” (Phrase 3). The other shot back, “You’re just anti-cyclist” (Phrase 1). They spiraled into “What about the parking fiasco last year?” (Phrase 2) before landing on a sarcastic “Whatever” duet (Phrase 8).
An older woman who sells oranges by the gate stepped in with the gentlest question: “Which street are you each thinking of?” They named different blocks. Different facts. Different pain points. The air changed. They walked the path together to look. No winner declared—just two people arguing the same thing for the first time.
That’s the maneuver I wish I’d learned earlier: bring the argument back to ground level where humans live—streets, dates, actions—before ego builds a tower you both have to defend.
Why these phrases surface (and how to catch yourself)
When we feel cornered, we protect our identity. Arguments threaten identity by implying, “You might be wrong.” Our brains hate that. So they reach for shortcuts that shield “me” at the cost of “truth.”
You can’t remove the reflex, but you can delay its finger on the trigger. Here are a few questions I keep handy when I feel myself reaching for one of the ten:
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What problem are we actually trying to solve? (Clarity drains drama.)
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Can I state their point in a way they’d endorse? (If not, I’m building a straw man.)
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What’s one piece of evidence I can name precisely? (Not “studies”; a thing.)
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What would good look like here—in one sentence? (A decision, a plan, an apology?)
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Do I want to be right, or do I want the right outcome?
Even asking one slows the sprint toward ego-protection phrases.
How to respond when you hear these (without escalating)
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Name, don’t shame. “That feels like a label. Can we stick to behaviors?”
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Re-center the point. “Happy to discuss that next. For now, this claim.”
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Invite specificity. “Who is ‘everyone’? Which study? What did it show?”
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Offer a pause. “I’m getting heated. Two minutes and we try again?”
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Set a boundary. “If it turns contemptuous, I’m out. I want to solve, not score.”
Little scripts like these keep you in a posture you’re proud of later—something my older self cares about more than my younger self did.
The short version you can keep handy
“You’re just…,” “What about…,” “Everyone knows…,” “So you’re saying…,” “You always/never…,” “I read somewhere…,” “Calm down,” “Whatever,” “Because I said so/I’ve got 20 years,” and a premature “Agree to disagree”—these are the ten phrases that tell me someone’s losing the argument.
Not always because they’re wrong, but because their way of arguing has run out of gas.
If you catch yourself using one, take it as a kindness from your own mouth: you’ve reached the edge of your good case. Step back, find specifics, and try again. If you hear them from someone else, it’s your cue to lower the temperature, tighten the focus, or walk away with your dignity intact.
So, which of these do you tend to grab when the corner feels close—and what’s the one sentence you can swap in next time to keep the conversation useful?
