Picture the moment after a work lunch when a colleague tells you, warmly, that you are “so articulate”. It is meant as a compliment. It may even land as one. But something snags, and later on the train home you work out what: nobody said it to anyone else at the table.
Microaggressions are like that. Small, deniable, often wrapped in a smile. Britain is particularly good at this version of them, because our rudeness tends to arrive dressed as politeness. This checklist is not a trap, and it is not a test you can fail. It is a mirror held at a friendly angle. Read it honestly and you will probably find two or three items that apply to you. Almost everyone does, including people who write about this sort of thing for a living.
What Counts, and What Doesn’t
A microaggression is a brief, everyday slight — a question, a tone, a joke, a compliment — that carries a message about who belongs and who is merely being tolerated. It is not the same as overt prejudice, and it rarely comes from people who think of themselves as prejudiced. That is precisely why it survives.
Two things are worth holding together. The first is intent: most of these remarks are genuinely meant well. The second is impact: what you meant is not the same as what was heard. Both matter, but only one of them is remembered by the person on the receiving end. And the sting is rarely in a single instance. It is in the fifth, the fiftieth, the one that lands on an already difficult day.
A useful test before you speak: would I say this to someone who looked like me, or came from where I come from? If the answer is no, the comment probably says more about your assumptions than about them.
The Checklist
At work
- Praising someone for basic competence. “Your English is excellent.” “You’re surprisingly good at this.” “You’re so well-spoken.” All of these imply a lower baseline. Compliment the work, not your surprise at it.
- Asking where someone “really” went to school. In the UK this is often a class question wearing the costume of curiosity. If you need the information for a practical reason, ask about their training. If you don’t, let it go.
- Handing the same person every diversity task. Asking the one Black colleague to draft the inclusion statement, or the only woman in the meeting to take the notes, is a habit rather than a compliment. Rotate it. Ask properly. Accept no for an answer.
In conversation
- “Where are you originally from?” Once is a question. Repeated after the answer “Manchester” is where it becomes an interrogation. You get one ask, and you accept the reply.
- Treating an accent as a personality trait. “You don’t sound like you’re from there.” Most of us have moved, or have parents from somewhere else, or both. The accent is not the interesting part.
- Quizzing mixed-heritage or trans people about labels. “But what are you really?” is not a warm opener. It asks someone to explain themselves for your comfort, usually over a drink they were enjoying.
- “I don’t see colour.” It sounds generous and lands as dismissal. Nobody is asking you to be blind. They are asking you to see them accurately, which is a different and more demanding skill.
Out and about
- Assuming the role. Assuming the Asian man in the restaurant is the waiter, or that the wheelchair user needs help with everything except their own decisions. Ask. Wait. Then act.
- Touching hair, or commenting on it constantly. Anyone’s hair. It is a body part, not a conversation starter.
- “Man up.” “That’s so gay.” Jokes about someone’s religion. The defence is always “it’s only banter”. Banter requires both people to be enjoying it.
Why Good Intentions Don’t Settle It
Nobody is asking you to confess to being a bigot. The honest question is not “am I a good person?” but “what did that land as, and what will I do differently?” Those are different questions, and only the second one is useful.
Defensiveness is the tell. When someone says a remark stung and the reply is a ten-minute explanation of what you really meant, the person who was already hurt ends up doing the comforting. That exchange happens in kitchens, offices and group chats across the country every week. It is exhausting, and it teaches people to stay quiet next time.
If Someone Tells You You’ve Done It
You will not handle this perfectly. Nor will they. Here is a short sequence that works better than most:
- Thank them, briefly. “Thanks for telling me” is enough. You do not have to agree with every word of their analysis to be glad they spoke.
- Resist explaining your intention in the moment. If it helps later, say it later, once, and lightly.
- Ask what would have worked better — if they are willing to talk about it. If they aren’t, leave it.
- Don’t ask them to prove they were hurt. They are reporting an experience, not submitting a case file.
- Follow through. What people remember is whether you said the same thing again the following week.
It is also fine to be clumsy. Say the awkward version, then listen. Correction is not humiliation; it is maintenance.
Small Changes, Kept Up
Pick one habit and run it for a month. Notice who you interrupt, and count it honestly for a day. Learn to pronounce your colleagues’ names properly: ask once, write it down phonetically, practise it in the car. Stop asking people to speak for everyone who shares their background. When you are curious about someone’s identity, ask a question rather than making an observation.
None of this requires walking on eggshells. It requires paying attention, and accepting that the people around you are the experts on how they are treated. The point is not to become faultless. It is to become the sort of person others don’t have to brace themselves around — which, in a country that runs on small courtesies, is the most British ambition there is.
Photo: fauxels / Pexels
