Picture it. You’re chatting with a stranger, friend, or a group of old college pals at a bar, and then… it happens. You’re out of words. The energy falls off a cliff. You’re just… standing there. Silence floods in, and no one seems to know how to wrestle the conversation back to life.
This particular form of silence came up recently on my podcast, Fifty Words for Snow, where my co-host Emily Garcés and I explore unique words from around the world that lack direct English equivalents. In a segment we call There Should Be a Word for That, we bring on guests who’ve coined words for nuanced experiences that English doesn’t quite capture. Recently, my friend Eric Giancoli joined us to introduce a term he created for this awkward vulnerable gap in conversation: “the snoob.”
A snoob is that terrible, dangling silence in an interaction, an awkward pause so uncomfortable it feels like you’ve been caught in a naked dash across the room. But here’s the twist: Eric doesn’t run from the snoob. He loves it. He leans into it. At first, I didn’t believe him, but he swears it’s true.
Why We Fear the Snoob
Silence in conversation, studies show, disrupts the subtle yet reassuring feedback loop we rely upon to gauge the quality of our social encounters (Brown, 2003). When this loop is interrupted, our minds seize upon the silence and turn it into a mirror, reflecting back every conceivable insecurity: Am I boring? Are they bored? Did I mention my distress over the extension of “pumpkin spice” season more than once? In this tiny brain loop of insecurity, the snoob swells and multiplies.
For some, the snoob is murderously awkward. For others, like Eric, it’s thrilling. Why? Personality types come into play. Extroverts—who need a steady stream of back-and-forth to feel at ease—often find these silences intolerable. Introverts, however, perceive snoobs as part of the conversation’s natural rhythm, an essential pause that grants them time to gather their thoughts, to restore their inner balance (Cain, 2012).
The Snoob and Emotional Intelligence
People who can remain in this uncomfortable silence, who do not immediately reach for filler words or polite banalities, are often better listeners. In their willingness to linger, they open themselves to truly hearing what has been said, without the distraction of planning their next remark. Studies show that allowing such pauses can improve self-regulation, foster empathy, and even build trust between conversational partners (Krauss & Fussell, 1991). Far from a void, the snoob can be a space for connection, a moment of unspoken mutual acknowledgment.
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The Quaker Approach to the Snoob
My co-host Emily shared something fascinating. She recently visited a Quaker meeting, where people sit together in intentional, reverent silence. Picture it: an old Friends’ Meeting House, with sunlight streaming through tall windows, casting gentle patterns on the worn wooden pews. People sit scattered around the room, not speaking, just sitting quietly together, some with eyes closed, others gazing softly ahead, all held in a shared, reverent silence. Emily said it was initially a bit awkward—like being trapped in an elevator with strangers while wrestling with her inner monologue. But then, something extraordinary occurred: the silence ceased to feel empty. Instead, it became a kind of presence, a shared, supportive atmosphere that dissolved the usual need to perform or impress.
This, perhaps, is the untapped potential of the snoob. When people gather in silence, they experience a profound trust, an understanding that there need not always be something to say. Emily calls this “the Quaker Challenge”—the challenge to hold space in silence without reaching for the comfort of filler phrases. In this quiet act of presence, the snoob transforms from an awkward interruption into a subtle affirmation that it is okay, even natural, not to talk.
Snoob as a Mindfulness Practice
Herein lies the marvel of the snoob: it is, in essence, a form of mindfulness, an invitation to exist wholly in the present. By remaining in this peculiar silence, we confront a space that feels alien yet richly human, a space that challenges us to hold our own vulnerability without flinching. We might even find, in the heart of the snoob, a moment of calm, a rare, gentle peace in a world that urges us to fill every gap with words (Kabat-Zinn, 1990).
Embrace Your Inner Snoob Hero
Eric admitted that snoobs aren’t always easy, but they’re worth it. And maybe he’s onto something. So maybe the next time you find yourself in a snoob, perhaps you can take a deep breath, hold steady, and say, “Well, this is awkward.” Make it your new favorite challenge. Be brave. Lean into it.
Because here’s the thing: we live in a world where we’re constantly expected to perform, entertain, and keep every moment unawkward. But real connection—the kind that’s honest, weird, and a bit wonky—sometimes needs a snoob. So embrace it. Make snoobs your new mindfulness exercise, your new moment of bravery. After all, what’s a little silence between friends?
