Talking about the weather is good for us. Starting a conversation about the weather may provide some cues as to how, or if, you should continue with the conversation.
Perhaps you&#39;ll say, &quot;It&#39;s a scorcher out there, isn&#39;t it?&quot; and the other person will reply with a comment about climate change or something witty that sends your heart aflutter. Or they may put their head down and grumble something inaudible and leave in silence.

Talking about the weather

The weather affects so many decisions we make each day: what to wear, where to eat lunch, how to travel. We have these things in common, and we can talk about them if we try.
We need to reach out to people we don&#39;t know as it connects us in a world that seems to want to keep us apart.

Finding a human connection

<div><label for="dateToggle">Sun 19 Feb 2017 20.26 EST</label></div>Last modified on Wed 14 Feb 2018 12.02 ESTIt’s one of the most maligned conversation starters in the English-speaking world, and yet not only is it consequential, it’s good for us. I’m talking about the weather. Again. Yes, I am an unapologetic lift talker and mostly that involves kicking off a conversation about the weather. Especially when we’re in the middle of a heatwave and <a href="http://www.gizmodo.com.au/2017/02/gigantic-bats-are-dying-upside-down-making-australias-heatwavelook-like-a-horror-movie/" data-link-name="in body link" dir="ltr">flying foxes are falling from the sky</a>, or it’s <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/jan/23/new-zealand-weather-bomb-summer-snow-flooding" data-link-name="in body link" dir="ltr">snowing in summer</a>, or there’s a terrifying thunderstorm going on. And all that seems to be happening more often, these days. One of the small benefits of starting off a conversation about the weather is that the person’s response may provide cues as to how – or whether – you should proceed beyond that. <figure><img src="https://i.guim.co.uk/img/uploads/2017/10/06/Bridie-Jabour,-L.png?width=173&amp;quality=85&amp;auto=format&amp;fit=max&amp;s=fbaa92f0d3c81322069672397de856b6" alt="Bridie Jabour" width="80" height="80"><figcaption dir="auto">Australia's heatwave: some like it hot – but not this hot
Bridie Jabour
Read more</figcaption></figure>Perhaps you’ll say, “It’s a scorcher out there, isn’t it?” and your fellow lift dweller replies with a comment on climate change. Well there you go, you may very well have a kindred spirit on hand. If, on the other hand, they put their head down and grumble something about a Chinese hoax, you could make the decision to shut up and continue your journey in silence. Or you could casually utter your most convincing fact about climate change in an effort to convert them. Imagine getting into the lift on your way to lunch and then getting out with one less climate denier in the world. Seems unlikely, sure, but you never know what killer fact is that denier’s tipping point. Or say you make a banal comment about the temperature outside, and the respondent comes up with a witty riposte that sends your heart aflutter. It could be love! Or friendship! Or, at the very least, it could see you leave the lift with a smile on your face that wasn’t there when you entered. And that’s why I persist in talking about the weather. More important than converting or making assumptions about people’s political inclinations, or trying to find love in a lift or on an aeroplane or train (my other favourite spots for weather talk), is the simple joy of talking to a stranger. We know that talking to strangers is good for us: it has been shown to<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/26/opinion/sunday/hello-stranger.html?_r=1" data-link-name="in body link" dir="ltr"> improve our mood, make our commute seem shorter</a>, and – if it’s your neighbours you’re chatting up about the unseasonable rain – <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/08/social-cohesion-heart-attack-prevention/378694/?single_page=true" data-link-name="in body link" dir="ltr">it may even reduce your chance of having a heart attack</a>. The reason to go in on the weather is simply because, mostly, talking about the weather is a safe topic. Even still, sensitivity is required. If somebody doesn’t want to talk, that’s fine. The eye contact alone may have been enough to make you both <a href="http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0956797611427921" data-link-name="in body link" dir="ltr">feel a little more socially connected</a>. Now more than ever, we need to reach out to people we don’t know; to find human connection in a world that seems intent on keeping us apart – on creating <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/media/2017/jan/08/eli-pariser-activist-whose-filter-bubble-warnings-presaged-trump-and-brexit" data-link-name="in body link" dir="ltr">echo chambers in which we only talk to people who agree with us</a>. At a time when some of us simply cannot understand how another could support Donald Trump, or vote leave, or think Pauline Hanson’s politics are sophisticated, we need to talk to people about the weather.<figure><img src="https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/9365105b20ad4a6ad1083bac5ecfc68983512f9f/604_775_5108_3065/5108.jpg?width=460&amp;quality=85&amp;auto=format&amp;fit=max&amp;s=b82ee70ed91dedd8c1c5c826e9289af3" alt="" width="140" height="84"><figcaption dir="auto">Sunny or stoical? Your weather tweets depend on your coordinates
Read more</figcaption></figure>Oscar Wilde said “conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.” but at a time when one half of the population literally cannot imagine how the other half thinks, weather talk may be conversation’s last refuge. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere else. It’s enough to have a conversation about the humidity if the alternative is no conversation at all. The weather is a force that we cannot control but that affects so many decisions we make each day: what to wear, how to travel to work, whether to eat lunch in the park or at our desk, to pack an umbrella or a jacket – just think about how dressing inappropriately for the weather can ruin an occasion or even a whole day. We have these things in common, and we can talk about them politely if we try. What easier way to remind us of our shared humanity? <div data-print-layout="hide">Topics</div>

When one half of the population literally cannot imagine how the other half thinks, small talk about the weather is an entrée to our shared humanity

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Communication

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Love & Relationships

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Teamwork

Last modified on Wed 14 Feb 2018 12.02 EST

I t’s one of the most maligned conversation starters in the English-speaking world, and yet not only is it consequential, it’s good for us. I’m talking about the weather. Again. Yes, I am an unapologetic lift talker and mostly that involves kicking off a conversation about the weather.

Especially when we’re in the middle of a heatwave and <a href="http://www.gizmodo.com.au/2017/02/gigantic-bats-are-dying-upside-down-making-australias-heatwavelook-like-a-horror-movie/">flying foxes are falling from the sky </a>, or it’s <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/jan/23/new-zealand-weather-bomb-summer-snow-flooding">snowing in summer </a>, or there’s a terrifying thunderstorm going on. And all that seems to be happening more often, these days.

One of the small benefits of starting off a conversation about the weather is that the person’s response may provide cues as to how – or whether – you should proceed beyond that.

Perhaps you’ll say, “It’s a scorcher out there, isn’t it?” and your fellow lift dweller replies with a comment on climate change. Well there you go, you may very well have a kindred spirit on hand. If, on the other hand, they put their head down and grumble something about a Chinese hoax, you could make the decision to shut up and continue your journey in silence. Or you could casually utter your most convincing fact about climate change in an effort to convert them. Imagine getting into the lift on your way to lunch and then getting out with one less climate denier in the world. Seems unlikely, sure, but you never know what killer fact is that denier’s tipping point.

Or say you make a banal comment about the temperature outside, and the respondent comes up with a witty riposte that sends your heart aflutter. It could be love! Or friendship! Or, at the very least, it could see you leave the lift with a smile on your face that wasn’t there when you entered.

And that’s why I persist in talking about the weather. More important than converting or making assumptions about people’s political inclinations, or trying to find love in a lift or on an aeroplane or train (my other favourite spots for weather talk), is the simple joy of talking to a stranger.

We know that talking to strangers is good for us: it has been shown to<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/26/opinion/sunday/hello-stranger.html?_r=1">improve our mood, make our commute seem shorter </a>, and – if it’s your neighbours you’re chatting up about the unseasonable rain – <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/08/social-cohesion-heart-attack-prevention/378694/?single_page=true">it may even reduce your chance of having a heart attack </a>. The reason to go in on the weather is simply because, mostly, talking about the weather is a safe topic. Even still, sensitivity is required. If somebody doesn’t want to talk, that’s fine. The eye contact alone may have been enough to make you both <a href="http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0956797611427921">feel a little more socially connected </a>.

Now more than ever, we need to reach out to people we don’t know; to find human connection in a world that seems intent on keeping us apart – on creating <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/media/2017/jan/08/eli-pariser-activist-whose-filter-bubble-warnings-presaged-trump-and-brexit">echo chambers in which we only talk to people who agree with us </a>. At a time when some of us simply cannot understand how another could support Donald Trump, or vote leave, or think Pauline Hanson’s politics are sophisticated, we need to talk to people about the weather.

Oscar Wilde said “conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.” but at a time when one half of the population literally cannot imagine how the other half thinks, weather talk may be conversation’s last refuge.

It doesn’t have to lead anywhere else. It’s enough to have a conversation about the humidity if the alternative is no conversation at all. The weather is a force that we cannot control but that affects so many decisions we make each day: what to wear, how to travel to work, whether to eat lunch in the park or at our desk, to pack an umbrella or a jacket – just think about how dressing inappropriately for the weather can ruin an occasion or even a whole day.

We have these things in common, and we can talk about them politely if we try. What easier way to remind us of our shared humanity?

Conversation’s last refuge: the art, and heart, of talking about the weather

Talking about the weather

Finding a human connection

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