Filler killer: How three repeated words could wreck your credibility on air
There is a sound that haunts every broadcast studio on this continent, and it is not static, not a dropped call, not even the distant hum of a generator kicking in during load-shedding.
It is the sound of an otherwise brilliant executive saying “so” forty-one times in a six-minute interview, each one landing with the quiet persistence of a leaking tap nobody’s gotten round to fixing.
I have counted. I keep a small, slightly unhinged tally sometimes, purely out of professional curiosity, and I can tell you that “so,” “basically,” and the ever-popular “to be honest”—which always makes me wonder, gently, what exactly was happening during the rest of the interview—are the three most common stowaways in executive speech, sneaking into sentences uninvited and refusing to disembark.
Here’s the thing about filler words: the person saying them almost never hears themselves doing it. It is a bit like asking someone if they snore — they will look at you with genuine, wounded innocence, utterly convinced you’ve mistaken them for someone else entirely, right up until you play them the recording, at which point their face does something remarkable, somewhere between horror and grief.
Picture this. A wonderfully sharp executive who begins nearly every single answer with “so, basically.” Not occasionally. Structurally. It has become load-bearing, like a beam holding up the rest of the sentence.
“So, basically, what we’re doing is…” “So, basically, the market has shifted…” By the end of her first practice round, the media trainer has counted it eleven times in ninety seconds, and when he plays it back to her, she goes very quiet, the particular quiet of someone recalculating an entire self-image in real time.
The trouble with filler words isn’t that any single one ruins an answer. Nobody’s career has ever ended over one “um.” The trouble is what they do in bulk — every “so,” every “basically,” every apologetic little “if that makes sense?” tacked onto the end of a perfectly sensible sentence, quietly chips away at how certain you sound, one small pebble at a time, until the audience has, without quite realising why, started to doubt someone who hasn’t actually said anything doubtful at all.
There’s a very local flavour to this too, and I say this with the deepest affection: the interview equivalent of “small small,” “as I dey talk to you now,” or the ever-reliable “you know” tacked onto literally anything, functioning less as a phrase and more as a small verbal exhale, a placeholder while the brain catches up with the mouth.
None of this is a crime. It’s simply air being used for something other than your actual point, and air, on live television, is a resource in shorter supply than people realise.
Here’s what I find fascinating: filler words tend to spike in exact proportion to nervousness, which means the moment you most need to sound composed — the hard question, the unexpected follow-up — is precisely the moment your mouth starts reaching for its favourite verbal comfort blanket.
It’s not a coincidence. It’s simply what an under-rehearsed brain does while it searches for the next real sentence: it stalls, politely, with a sound.
The fix, mercifully, doesn’t require some dramatic personality transplant. It requires awareness, which is considerably less glamorous but does actually work. Record yourself answering three or four practice questions, then listen back — not for content, purely for filler.
Count them. It will feel excessive and slightly humiliating, in the way all useful feedback tends to. Then do it again, this time consciously replacing the urge to say “so” with something radical and underused: nothing at all.
A small pause instead of a filler word does more for your credibility than either of us has time to properly explain here, though loyal readers of this column will recognise the pause as an old, dependable friend by now.
You won’t eliminate every filler word. Nobody does, and frankly, a completely filler-free human would be slightly unsettling to interview anyway. But cut them by half, and you’ll sound like a different person entirely — sharper, calmer, considerably more in command of a sentence you were, in fact, in command of the whole time.
So, basically — and yes, I heard myself say that, and no, I’m not going back to fix it, some ironies deserve to stay exactly where they land — listen back to your last interview and count the leaks.
Stay on cue.
Author
Kafui Dey is a renowned celebrity TV host and master of ceremony, known for his exceptional talent in engaging interviews and captivating event hosting.
With years of experience and a charismatic presence, Kafui Dey has mastered the art of connecting with celebrities and audiences alike, creating memorable and impactful experiences. His unique approach and expertise have made him a sought-after personality in the entertainment industry.
Kafui Dey trains executives to own any interview. For enquiries, email kafuidey.mc@gmail.com.
