Some birds lay their eggs in the nests of other species. It often happens that the host animal then has its perception hijacked and starts pushing its own eggs out of the nest to make space for the one—abnormally large—egg that doesn’t belong.
Ethologists have a term for this: the host is subjected to a super-stimulus, an exaggerated form of sensory input that overwhelms the brain’s typical processing patterns.
This phenomenon isn’t limited to the animal kingdom. Super-stimuli shape human behaviour too. Junk food, for instance, seizes control of our natural pleasure responses, making us prioritise immediate satisfaction over long-term health. The same goes for other exaggerated forms of pleasure where our brains are tricked into overindulging in simulations of real experiences.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about a related phenomenon that doesn’t seem to have a name—but really should.
The base case is familiar: that corridor gossip we’ve all encountered. Groups huddle together, speaking in low tones that fade into silence when an outsider approaches. If you’ve ever been part of one of these huddles, you know the quiet thrill of being in on something secret—a momentary sense of belonging to an exclusive inner circle, something evolution has hardwired us to seek.
But an interesting twist occurs when the content of these hushed conversations is harmless, yet the outward behaviour remains the same. People act as though they have something to hide, even when they don’t.
I’ve seen this happen a few times recently, and the effect is often comical. You approach what looks, sounds, and feels like a secretive gathering, only to overhear innocuous office trivia. By the time you realise there’s nothing of importance being discussed, the damage is already done. As an outsider, you’re left with the lingering sense of exclusion. First impressions, after all, have lasting power.
I’d like to suggest a term for this behaviour. Let’s talk about super-signalling.
Super-signalling /ˈsuːpə ˈsɪɡnəlɪŋ/: the act of signalling exclusivity or secrecy, even when there’s no substantial reason. It mimics in-group dynamics to create a heightened sense of importance, often leaving outsiders feeling excluded, even when the content is trivial.
Super-signalling can be thought of as a kind of unintentional gaslighting. The term comes from the 1938 play Gas Light, where a man drives his wife to the brink of insanity by gradually dimming the lights in their apartment while pretending that nothing has changed.
Super-signalling operates similarly, although more subtly. There’s really nothing there, yet our very human Fear Of Missing Out is triggered. While gaslighting is deliberate, super-signalling is often unconscious—those engaging in it are likely unaware of the (super) signals they’re transmitting.
The behaviour is rampant on social media. Vague status updates, cryptic tweets, or ‘stories’ that hint at something significant without revealing any details are the digital equivalent of those whispered huddles. They tap into our instinct to belong, leaving us wondering what we’ve missed.
The same is true for airy corporate slides with conspicuous stamps of saying “CONFIDENTIAL,” when it’s apparent that they contain little of substance.
Or scientific presentations where heavy smoke screens of technical jargon obscure the fact that the subject being studied is actually quite inconsequential.
As Gertrude Stein once quipped: “There’s no there there.”
So next time you lower your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, make sure there’s actually something worth whispering about. Oh, and perhaps just as importantly: If you do succumb to that basest of human instincts and decide to trash-talk, then say it loud and clear, as if you were talking about what you had for lunch.
That is, of course, unless you want to telegraph to the world just exactly what you’re up to.