Small talk with Danes
- The International
- 22 hours ago
- 6 min read
Josephine Basthof guides us through the unspoken rules of Danish silence - where small talk is rare, privacy is sacred, and comfort is found in quiet.
Photographs: Various
Text: Josephine Basthof
Growing up in Denmark, I never noticed how quiet we are. Silence just felt normal, like background noise. It wasn’t until I travelled to cities such as New York or London that I realised how unusual this is. There, public spaces buzzed with chatter. Strangers talked in shops, on the subway, in cafés, voices filling every gap.
To me, all this noise felt overwhelming. I recall feeling uneasy during my first interactions with strangers and wondering: Why are they talking to me? Do they want something? In Denmark, you can move through your entire day without speaking to anyone outside your close circle.
What is small talk, really? And why don’t we do it?
Small talk is a social ritual. In many countries, it’s a polite way to create ease, friendliness and a foundation for deeper conversations.
It’s the casual “How are you?” in the U.S. or “Tudo bem?” in Brazil, phrases you throw out to almost anyone, not because you expect a deep answer, but because it creates bridges between people that don’t know each other. It’s the light comments about the weather, the bus being late, or how nice someone’s shoes look. It doesn’t really matter what you say - what matters is that you say something.
But in Denmark, those spaces are usually filled with silence. Try standing at a bus stop, and you’ll see ten people quietly staring at their phones, pretending not to notice each other. Step into an elevator, and the only sound you’ll hear is the awkward cough of someone wishing the ride was faster. In a Netto queue, the only words exchanged are between you and the cashier, and even then, it’s short, efficient and practical.
The Danish language doesn’t even have a casual equivalent of “How are you?” If someone suddenly asks “Hvordan har du det?” out of nowhere, most Danes freeze. Do I answer honestly? Do I say just “fine”?
The unspoken rule seems to be: if we don’t know each other, we don’t talk. And if we do talk, it’s because something unusual has happened, such as the bus breaking down or the fire alarm going off.
Are Danes cold people?
Scandinavians are often painted as cold and antisocial. It’s tempting to say that Danes are just unfriendly, but that’s not the whole picture. Here, silence isn’t about dislike - it’s more about comfort. In reality, Danes are just masters of comfortable silence.
Still, I sometimes feel we’re missing something, that easy, effortless warmth you usually find further south - those brief, joyful moments with strangers that can brighten a day and make a city feel alive.
Being with my Brazilian partner has shown me how different it can be. In his world, people are open, generous, and quick to spark conversation. They reach out without hesitation, share affection freely, and wide, lively social circles hold their lives together.
Denmark is the opposite. Here, closeness takes time. We guard ourselves carefully, and when we finally let people in, it’s usually just a handful. Our social circles are small, and our warmth is quiet, hidden behind layers of trust that take a long time to build.
I admire his world of easy connections, and sometimes I wish we had more of that here. When we travel and encounter other Danes, he assumes I’ll naturally talk to them - after all, we share a language, a culture, and a homeland. To him, it feels obvious. But to me, it feels unnatural. My instincts tell me to keep my distance. Is it shyness? Or simply the way I was raised, to leave strangers alone, because I assume they want their space, just as I want mine?
At the same time, I can’t deny the comfort I feel in the Danish way. I like the depth of my few close friendships, the safety of knowing I can always trust the people I let in. I don’t have to perform for a crowd - I can simply lean on the few who matter most.
Where does this silence come from?
Several factors shape our quiet nature, and they run deeper than rudeness or shyness.
First, there’s privacy. In Denmark, respecting personal space is essential. Approaching a stranger can feel intrusive. Silence is our way of giving people room to be themselves. What if they don’t want to talk? What if they’re anxious, stressed, or in a bad mood? There’s so much we don’t know about someone, so it feels safer to leave them alone and protect their space, just as we expect ours to be respected.
Then there’s the infamous janteloven, the cultural code whispering, “Don’t think you’re special.” Talking to strangers about yourself can feel like showing off or drawing attention to yourself in a way that’s considered inappropriate. Better to just stay quiet and blend in.
The structure of Danish society also plays a role. In countries where people rely heavily on networks for survival, small talk is essential for building trust and securing help. In Denmark, the welfare state has addressed much of that. You don’t need to charm or befriend the nurse to receive good care. Strangers aren’t potential allies - they’re just other people quietly going about their lives.
And finally, the Nordic climate cannot be ignored. Long, dark winters and endless rain don’t exactly encourage cheerful chatter. Practical, minimal communication becomes habitual as people simply want to get home, close the door, and escape the cold.
“Here, we don’t talkto strangers, not out of coldness, but out of respect for their space.”
Are there exceptions?
Of course. Danes aren’t monks sworn to silence. The “rules of quiet” shift depending on context.
At work, it’s expected to greet everyone you pass with a cheerful “god morgen”, even to those you barely know. Friday bars or parties are also a whole different story. Add alcohol, and Danes suddenly rediscover their voices and quiet people transform into chatty extroverts.
Having a dog also gives you a free pass to chat with other people. The same in the playground - having children will often lead to conversation with other parents. Suddenly, silence gives way to questions about ages, schools, or dog breeds.
Location matters too. In the small town where I grew up, chatting with neighbours felt normal. In Copenhagen, it’s the opposite. In eight years of living there, I’ve never spoken to a neighbour in my building.
How internationals feel about it
For newcomers, Denmark can feel cold. A friendly hello to a neighbour might be met with a closed door. A smile may go unanswered. What feels natural elsewhere may be experienced here as crossing an invisible boundary, and the absence of response can feel like rejection.
But silence here isn’t hostility, it’s neutrality. Ignoring someone in public is, strangely enough, a form of respect. We’re giving you your space, just as we expect you to give us ours.
Many internationals eventually discover that once you’re invited into a Dane’s circle, the silence melts. Danes become warm and talkative. But breaking through that first layer can feel impossible without understanding that small talk simply isn’t the entry ticket that it might be elsewhere.
So, should Danes learn small talk?
Sometimes I think so. Small talk can be a simple way to connect. I admire cultures where a stranger’s comment can lift your whole day. When I travel, I enjoy it, even if I don’t always know how to respond.
But at the same time, there’s something I truly value about the Danish way. The quiet, the relief of not needing to fill every silence. The freedom of existing side by side with strangers without obligation. Moving through your life in your own world, in your own thoughts, without anyone demanding a piece of you. I think there’s a lot of comfort in that.
Over the years, I’ve come to see it as a kind of honesty. In Denmark, if someone speaks to you, it’s because they genuinely want to, not out of habit or obligation. And maybe there’s something quietly beautiful about that too. After all, that’s what is so amazing about this world that we all have our differences.
