The bullshit detector’s survival guide

In a world of waffle and weasel words, plain speaking is a small act of rebellion. Here are seven ways to recognise bullshit, challenge it, and, if necessary, laugh it off the stage.

The “Age of Bullshit” is one of my most widely circulated essays. It followed up a related article, “Campaign Speech by the Honourable Minister for Progress, Priorities and Posturing.” That piece mocked political double-speak. Dear readers, you have clearly signalled your interest, so it seems only right to return to the subject of bullshit one more time. My former pieces diagnosed the disease. This one prescribes the remedy—bullshit, while incurable, is treatable.

Let’s begin where all counter-bullshit strategies must: with Alberto Brandolini, the originator of Brandolini’s Law. Also known as the Bullshit Asymmetry Principle, the law states: “The amount of energy needed to refute bullshit is an order of magnitude greater than that needed to produce it.” That’s why bullshit thrives on professional panels, in comment threads, and at podiums. It’s fast, confident, and unbothered by accuracy. Refuting it is slow, cautious, and laborious.

So we must triage. Focus on the most noxious forms. Let the lesser ones drift by like (smelly) weeds on the tide.

Step 1. Spot the symptoms

In general, the more bluster, the less substance. The more multisyllabic terms packed into a sentence, the more likely that sentence is designed to impress rather than clarify. When you come across someone whose goal is to “leverage strategic synergies” or “optimise stakeholder alignment” or similar opaque phrases, try to rephrase what they are saying in plain language. If you can’t, they are probably talking bullshit. Real expertise simplifies. Bullshit always complicates.

Step 2. Learn to use the McCloskey method

Deirdre McCloskey, economist turned rhetorician, made a career out of translating the grandiose into the intelligible. She mocked economists who wrote “maximise intertemporal utility subject to an intertemporal budget constraint.” Her version? “Try not to run out of money.”

McCloskey’s method—dry, exact, slightly amused—is ideal for puncturing bloated claims. Here are three more examples.

• UK Government Net Zero Strategy (2021):
  “Delivering transformational change through sector coupling and whole-systems innovation.”
  Translation: We don’t know exactly, but we’re trying something big.

• UNESCO (2021):
  “Leveraging learning ecosystems to enable inclusive pedagogical frameworks through strategic transdisciplinarity.”
  Translation: We want schools to teach everyone fairly.

• BlackRock ESG Report (2022):
  “Driving sustainable value creation via integrated materiality assessments.”
  Translation: We’re trying to be eco-friendly—or at least appear to be.

McCloskey’s approach is timeless: if speakers can’t say something clearly, they may not understand it, or worse, they may not want you to.

Step. 3 Beware the medical mirage

Bullshit loves a lab coat. One of its favourite tricks is quoting relative risk reductions while hiding the absolute numbers. “This drug reduces your risk of stroke by 40%,” they proclaim. But from what to what? From 5 in 10,000 to 3 in 10,000? That’s a 40% relative reduction, but only a tiny absolute difference.

It sounds dramatic, but it isn’t.

The same goes for food labels promising to “boost immunity” or “reduce inflammation.” Compared to what? In whom? Under what conditions? When percentages are untethered from a baseline, you’re not getting information—you’re getting theatre.

The rule is simple: never accept a percentage without asking what it’s a percentage of.

Step 4. Mock mercilessly

Ridicule is a potent solvent. Monty Python knew this instinctively. Their sketch about the Ministry of Silly Walks said more about bureaucratic silliness than a hundred Royal Commissions.

The Yes Minister television series was practically a documentary, lampooning administrative inertia and euphemistic doublespeak. Sir Humphrey's ability to prattle on at great length should be studied in schools as a warning.

Satire rarely changes laws, but it can change language—and that’s where bullshit lives. A sharp line, a well-placed joke, or a perfectly timed parody can make a phrase unusable in public ever again. Whenever you get the chance, poke fun at corporate clichés (“We value your call; We are passionate about …?”). Laugh at politicians who employ the passive voice to avoid accountability ( “Mistakes were made”) and skewer management jargon (“Going forward; Leaning in”).

Laughter disarms. It punctures pomposity. It unites the listeners against the windbags—and sometimes, it rewrites the script entirely.

Bullshit survives because we’re too polite to name it. Instead, we say “that’s problematic” or “that seems somewhat unclear.” But sometimes, the most honest thing to say is simply: “That’s bullshit.” It’s not rude. It’s precise. And it’s a public service.

Step 5. Cui bono (who benefits)?

Remember: bullshit is rarely free. It usually has a sponsor. When someone insists that “independent research shows…” or that “consumers overwhelmingly prefer…”, ask who paid for the study.

If an oil company funds research on clean coal, a pharmaceutical company pays for research, or a bank subsidises surveys about consumer trust, you don’t need Sherlock Holmes to guess the outcome. Following the incentives is the quickest way to see through the fog.

Step 6. Check the track record

Bullshit is often loudest when it’s newest. A bold claim, a miracle cure, a revolutionary policy—they all arrive with fanfare. The question is not “what are they saying now?” but “how did their last big idea turn out?”

Did the innovation “transform education,” or did it quietly disappear in a footnote? Did the wonder drug cure cancer—or just enrich its shareholders? Did last year’s “visionary reform” improve lives—or create another committee?

Patterns matter. If someone leaves a trail of broken promises and failed predictions, don’t waste time parsing their latest jargon. Their record speaks louder than their rhetoric.

Step 7. Study the bullshit curriculum

If you want to sharpen your bullshit detection skills even further, consider visiting CallingBullshit.org. Created by professors Carl Bergstrom and Jevin West at the University of Washington, the site is a brilliant companion to this guide. It features case studies, video lectures, and a full university course titled “Calling Bullshit: Data Reasoning in a Digital World.”

The course dissects data misuse, dodgy graphs, and statistical trickery with surgical precision. If this little guide of mine is your pocketknife, Calling Bullshit is a full toolkit. It won’t make you cynical, but it will make you sharper.

In conclusion

We can’t eliminate bullshit—but we can become immune to its charm. That means spotting it early, asking sharp questions, and refusing to nod along. Bullshit thrives in vagueness. It wilts under clarity, scrutiny, and wit. You don’t need a PhD to dismantle it—just a cool head and a sharp ear.

In a world of waffle and weasel words, plain speaking is a small act of rebellion. Saying “That’s bullshit—and here’s why” isn’t just satisfying. It’s an absolute necessity.