Don’t ask “how are you?”

I should probably have titled this “Don’t ask me how are you?”. A few people have asked why I take issue with such a simple, common question. It’s not hard, right? It’s short, it’s polite, and it helps avoid diving into something boring right away. At first glance, it seems fine: it’s three words in every language I speak—Italian, English, French, and German. But on second thought, I have more than a few reservations.

There are several well-known reasons why I think it’s not a great question:

• It’s too vague. At any given moment, I can’t pinpoint a neatly defined emotional state that fits into an answer. I often feel a mix of emotions—some inexplicable, some conflicting.
• It’s the king of clichés. It’s the first question taught in any language class, largely because each language has easy-to-learn responses: “Good,” “Fine,” “Very well.” In German: “Super,” “Prima,” “Gut. Und du?” The French takes it a step further—you can literally reply with the same question, just change your intonation.
• It’s misleadingly open-ended. It assumes the person is ready to give us a “previously, on the last episodes of my life…” kind of recap—which is often not the case.
• It’s worse in messaging apps. Though we call them instant messaging, they’re rarely instant. I might reply two days later, a week, or never. What’s the point of asking “how are you” if it lands out of sync with the moment? I personally think it might even be a trigger for ghosting, especially when there’s no prior relationship to support the conversation.

But the real reason I think it’s a bad question is this: we often use it when we’re not truly interested in—or ready for—a real connection. It’s painful to recognize all the times I’ve used it myself, when I wasn’t prepared (or willing) to engage meaningfully with another human being.

I say “how are you” because I don’t take the time to think of something better. It’s so easy to toss out those three words and leave the burden of the response to the other. “How are you” simulates interest—but anyone can answer it with anything. I could ask my baker or my partner; it makes no difference. And if it fits everyone, does it really mean anything to anyone?

So I ask myself: why don’t I make more effort? Why don’t you ask me how I’m really doing? What am I reading? How’s my ear problem? Have I met anyone interesting recently? Ask me something—anything—that shows you’re curious about me. Not something you’d say to the plumber just to avoid awkward silence.

Verbal conversation is one of the primary ways we create human connection. We want to be noticed. We want to be known. And we want others to seek that same connection with us. That’s a fundamental trait of our human nature.

Building meaningful relationships isn’t easy. It’s a lifelong (learning) effort. I’m not claiming to have analytical answers here. But people far more versed in social psychology have discovered a few things. Some questions—no matter who they’re asked to—lay the ground for the deeper kind of connection we’re craving. Some call them deep questions. Psychologist Nick Epley¹ describes them as questions that “prompted people to talk about their values or their beliefs or their experiences.”

These kinds of questions move beyond facts—the what—to the why: Why we feel a certain way. Why we act the way we do. Why we hold certain beliefs or values. They don’t ignore the “what,” but they never stop there.

The unpredictable outcomes of these questions has inspired some to compile lists tailored to different levels of intimacy. But, as Epley suggests, we don’t need to carry a cheat sheet. Deep questions share one key trait: they come from a genuine, open interest to know the other person. Like any life skill, it takes practice to recognize them and to know when to ask them.

Does this apply to messaging apps? I’d say yes—partly. The problem isn’t the question, but the context. Of course, text chats can’t replace face-to-face conversations. Still, we can do better as users of these omnipresent tools. We can stop asking a question that’s even more awkward in a seemingly instantaneous context².

I’m so convinced that “how are you” rarely leads to a meaningful exchange that I’d love to open a dating app, find a person willing to go out, and eventually ask them: When was the last time you cried in front of another person?