Likeability Expert: Stop Doing This, It’s Why People Quietly Avoid You! | Vanessa Van Edwards

Vanessa Van Edwards, your book argues connection is getting more awkward and less satisfying. Why is this the moment for a book about conversation?

Because conversation is career insurance. We want to work with, date, and be around people who make us feel connected. As technology changes everything, people who can really converse will have an advantage—and I worry younger generations may learn more interaction from tech than from humans.

So what changes if I get better at this, beyond nicer dinner-party chat?

Conversation gets you toward a promotion, a partner, and friends who refill you. Leaders can focus so hard on the idea or business that they forget the human part. Social health needs reps, like a gym. This is learned.

How do I know I need those reps?

I’m a recovering awkward person. If plans drain you before they start, you rehearse your next line, or leave thinking, “That was not me,” something is off. Entering to impress turns conversation into performance. Enter to discover instead.

You tested openers with speed-networkers. What bombed?

“How are you?” and “What do you do?” put us on autopilot and create factual dead ends. Ask the best part of someone’s day, whether they’re building anything exciting, or what they have ahead. Don’t force cheerfulness—ugh, toxic positivity kills a vibe. We want emotion and story; facts stop an exchange, stories give you somewhere to go.

Why not just ask the big, meaningful question right away?

Level one is orientation: social facts, but with more life. “What’s your story?” can put an introvert on the spot. Think treasure hunt, not interrogation. Ask about a passion project, something they’re learning, or what they enjoy beyond work. Conversation now competes with the feed, so use a little conversational confetti: the strangest, most surprising, or biggest thing. Genuine intrigue gets the phone down.

Some listeners are thinking, “I’m introverted, tired, and this sounds like work.”

Trying costs energy, but shallow, predictable chat costs energy too. You can choose the hard thing where you wait to get home to Netflix, or gently break the script and maybe learn something joyful. At work, communication friction creates withholding and silos. Try a contained ritual: once a week, everyone shares one good thing or win. You don’t need deep intimacy with every colleague; warm, frictionless level one often helps most.

Then level two moves into what drives someone?

Yes: goals, values, motivations, worries. I know I’m there when I understand what gets someone moving and what keeps them awake. Dream-building means giving room for a private ambition or concern. Ask what they want to learn or their biggest goal right now. Let them think, offer something of your own, and accept that questions are bids. Maybe it’s not your person, or not their day.

What if I don’t care about the answer yet? Authenticity matters.

You may not care yet—you just met them. But a random conversation can produce a friend, a business pivot, or advice that changes something. Curiosity is not pretending you feel profound attachment. And don’t answer “What do you do?” with resume soup: give the clear what, who you help, then a memorable how.

You also had mechanics for people thinking, “Fuck, that’s me—I talk too much.”

A normal turn is about fifteen to thirty seconds; by forty-five, you’re nearing monologue territory. Watch for the open fish: their mouth opens because they want a turn. Notice whether they light up and lean in, or look away and wait. Overtalking often comes from insecurity or fear of silence. Use assertive curiosity—what, how, why, when—and make room. Some people are entertainers and want questions; appreciators prefer you bring something interesting.

And level three is vulnerability and identity?

Reserve it for important, safe relationships. Level three is your self-narrative, the story that explains your life. Oversharing in an interview can create vulnerability regret. With trust, though, conversation can help someone revise how they frame hardship. I look for contamination versus redemption: “Life keeps happening to me,” versus, “That was awful, but I learned who not to choose.” Questions about luck, fate, or the title of someone’s memoir reveal hints.

I like the luck question, but if someone says they’re not lucky, I’d want to know what happened before telling them to be grateful.

Exactly. Don’t correct them. Ask what shaped that, whether they ever felt fortunate before, and listen. These narratives are fluid, not personality tests: ambitious heroes can burn out; contented pragmatists value stability; helpers struggle to receive care; disruptors challenge rules; unlucky strugglers feel stuck. Don’t flatten people. Tune your questions to the narrative they’re living.

If I’m trapped in a bad party chat, how do I leave without making it weird?

Use a future cue, then warmth or action: ask about their weekend, wish it well, say you enjoyed meeting them, and state that you’re getting coffee, greeting the host, or heading out. Use an exit voice and step back. Don’t linger in, “Well… this has been good.”

Your definition of aura and rizz was basically: the person you want to move closer to.

Yes—someone you want to sit beside, hear, work with, play with. Be easy to talk to and signal liking clearly: “You always make me laugh.” Charisma is warmth plus competence: can I trust you and rely on you? Relax your shoulders, breathe, speak on the out-breath at the calmer edge of your range, and make eye contact at the greeting and your key point. Then follow what makes both of you light up.

So we don’t need to be the most impressive person in the room?

Please, no. At a fancy party full of absurd accomplishments, I said I was recovering from awkwardness and helped smart, awkward people. The room exhaled. Being interested is kinder, less stressful, and more magnetic than trying to be fascinating. Prepare clear answers with a little story, then follow the actual moment—or leave if it isn’t good.

Who is this book for?

Anyone dreading networking, a team call, a boss conversation, or a first date. We’re lonely, conversing less, and forgetting how joyful a real exchange can be. A plan can make a mediocre date more fun—and a good person feel less far away.

Your final question asks what you sacrificed for success and wish you could recover.

I moved nearer my family because I gave up too much friendship and family time in the hustle. Austin brought real growth, but having tiny children far from my mum and sister was lonely. I wish I’d found more of a village then. I’m here now, though—my sister is literally at my house with my kids.

Only if it’s good, I’ll come round. Thank you, Vanessa. This is a brilliant, needed book: human conversation is a skill we can practice, not something we should let quietly disappear.