Offputtingly Perfect Writing: Why Clarity Isn’t Always Comforting

Source: ChatGPT

We’ve all seen it before. That buffed and polished email. That perfect paragraph. The kind of writing that slides right past you—smoother than a Kenny G sax solo—and somehow leaves you colder than before.

It’s smooth. It’s technically correct. It follows the tone guide. It says all the right things.
And yet something’s missing. It doesn’t feel, well, human. Sometimes this can be a sign that it wasn’t written by a human being at all, but the truth is we don’t need AI to sound stylistically perfect but emotionally remote.

We talk a lot about clarity in professional writing. I myself am a big fan of clarity and I talk about it a lot on this blog. Clear communication equals respectful communication. But clarity without warmth, without friction, and without texture isn’t clarity. It’s clinical detachment.

And for many readers, especially the vulnerable ones (I’ll get into what I mean by “vulnerable”), that kind of writing doesn’t just miss the mark. It can actually hurt.

When Clarity Turns Cold

As a writer and communications strategist, I’ve spent many years helping organizations make their content clearer—cleaner sentences, tighter structure, better flow, and so on and so forth.

But I’ve also witnessed something troubling happen in the pursuit of polish. Non-stick frying pans are great for cooking, but when it comes to writing, you want a bit of stickiness. And when you sand down the edges so aggressively that nothing sticks to your writing, you’re left with cold, detached copy that is alienating to readers.

Granted, there’s a time and a place for thoroughly inoffensive, totally neutral, impossible to argue with—and also impossible to care about—writing. (Contractual writing springs to mind.) But if you’re writing content that you in any way want the reader to care about, excess polish is counterproductive.

The thing is this is easier said than done. What reads as “professional” or “respectful” to one person might read as evasive, cold, or even alienating to someone else. Especially if that someone is already navigating the world from a place of overwhelm, grief, or marginalization.

Who Gets Shut Out?

Let’s talk about the people this kind of writing leaves behind.

1. Neurodivergent readers

I’ve written a lot about writing and communications aimed at neurodivergent audiences, as this is a subject I care deeply about. For readers with ADHD, autism, dyslexia, and other flavours of neurodiversity, overly indirect or hyper-neutral writing can be exhausting to parse. When emotional cues are flattened and everything reads the same, it becomes harder to trust the intent behind the words.

2. People in crisis or suffering from depression

If you’ve ever received a “polite but professional” response during a difficult time, you know how hollow it can feel. Sometimes what people need isn’t a polished script—it’s a sense that someone is actually with them. For example, during my tenure at Covenant Health I wrote content for Covenant’s Palliative Institute, much of which was aimed at people (or the loved ones of people) facing terminal illness. For such audiences, highly polished copy is not what you want.

And while I would hardly consider myself “in crisis” in my current job hunt, I know all too well what it feels like to get that highly polished rejection letter where you’re addressed as “applicant” rather than by your name—after you’ve already been through two interviews, a written test, and a reference check. It always hurts.

3. Non-native speakers or cultural outsiders

As a general rule, everything that applies to communicating to neurodiverse readers also applies to non-native language readers or people from different cultural backgrounds. A flawless tone might be impressive to other professionals, but for readers whose primary concern is connection (not syntax), it can create distance and confusion. The more natural, grounded, and emotionally legible your writing, the more inclusive it becomes.

What Does “Too Polished” Look Like?

Here’s a small example of what I’m talking about that we can all relate to:

“We acknowledge your concern and are reviewing your feedback internally.”

Technically this sentence is perfect, but is anyone reading sincerity in this? I know I’m not. To me this is about as sincere as the voice message you get on hold that says “Your call is important to us.” 

Now try this for contrast:

“Thanks for flagging this. I’m looking into it now and will circle back once I have an update.”

Still perfectly professional, but way clearer, warmer, and more trustworthy. One sounds like a script. The other sounds like a person.

How about this one?

“Per our earlier communication, we’re experiencing delays due to unforeseen circumstances. We appreciate your continued patience as we work toward resolution.”

Again, there’s nothing “wrong” with this statement, but it’s precise to the point of coldness. Also—and I’ve always wanted to say this when I get a response like this, how the hell do you know I’m being “patient”? For all you know, I’m actively cursing you while I wait and doing nothing whatsoever that embodies patience.

Now, how’s this as an alternative?

“Hey—just a quick heads-up. We’ve hit a snag we didn’t expect, and we’re working through it as fast as we can. I know that’s frustrating and I’ll keep you posted as work to resolve the situation.”

Wow! Sounds like something an actual human being would say. And it didn’t take any longer to write.

What to Do Instead

Clarity doesn’t mean eliminating emotion. It means communicating with purpose and care.

Here are a few things I’ve learned to ask myself when editing:

• “Does this sound like I’m trying to be correct—or trying to connect?”

• “Would I say this out loud to someone sitting across from me?”

• “What emotional tone would help the reader feel safe, seen, or included?”

Sometimes, I leave a sentence in that feels a bit “off” because it captures a real voice or feeling. Sometimes I sacrifice a clean clause for an authentic one.

Sometimes, I just write like a person.

We Don’t Need More Perfect Writing

Your grammatically perfect paragraph may have impressed your grade eight English teacher, but trust me, nobody else cares. We need less writing that feels like it came from someone obsessed with sounding like a master craftsman and more from people who write like they legit care about the reader.

That’s not to say you shouldn’t polish your work. Please do. Clarify your ideas. Tighten your structure. Follow that style guide you wrote three years ago and now sits in your shared drive. But don’t let those goals override the human part of your message. Let your voice show. Let your intentions breathe.

Because in a world that’s increasingly optimized for speed, efficiency, and AI-perfect output, it’s the human imperfections that actually reach people.

Psst! Over here!

I, for one, care. I care deeply about people and communication and I write like someone who does. If you’re working on content that needs to feel both clear and kind, I’d love to help. I work with teams and individuals to build communications that connect—not just convert.

Reach out here or find me on LinkedIn.