There’s a particular kind of silence that follows confusing feedback. You stare at the comments, unsure whether to revise, rewrite, or walk away entirely. And that creeping question—Is it me? Am I just not cut out for this?—starts to take root.
Lately, a theme has emerged with some of the writers I work with. Different voices, different projects, but the same underlying problem:
The reviewer said the paper lacks focus, but didn’t explain what that means.
One comment says the argument is too sweeping; another says it’s not ambitious enough.
All my advisor wrote was, ‘This doesn’t feel quite right.’ That’s it.
These are not outliers because, unfortunately, most of us have encountered this kind of feedback frequently in academia. In fact, most of us were never taught how to give good feedback. We imitate what we’ve seen, which is often opaque, defensive, or more about signaling our own cleverness than supporting someone else’s work. The result? Confusing, contradictory, and sometimes demoralizing responses masquerading as feedback.
Today I want to talk about what not to do when giving feedback, in the hopes that we can all move toward a more generous, effective practice.
1. Don’t Give Vague, Unactionable Critique
You’ve seen it:
“This argument lacks clarity.”
“Your methodology doesn’t make sense.”
“Consider tightening the structure.”
These comments may sound academic, but they don’t actually tell the writer anything. They’re like handing someone a weather report with no forecast: “Something’s off. Good luck figuring it out.”
If you can’t pinpoint what’s unclear, what needs elaboration, or what you mean by “tightening,” then your feedback becomes a guessing game. And that’s not fair to the person on the receiving end.
Instead, zoom in. Show them where you got lost. Name the paragraph, the concept, or the transition that didn’t land. If you’re not sure what they’re trying to say, ask a clarifying question instead of making a sweeping critique.
2. Don’t Make It About You
This is a big one. If you're reading along and you notice that the author didn't cite literature you value in your work, didn't use a phrase you like, or didn't make the argument you thought the data suggested, then we need to pause.
Yes, your expertise matters. But your first job as a reader isn’t to show the writer how you would have written the piece. It’s to understand what they are trying to do—and then help them do it more effectively.
That means setting aside your own preferences, frameworks, and assumptions long enough to get a sense of their project. What are they aiming for? What conversation are they trying to enter? Where are they on the learning curve? What kind of support would actually help them get where they’re going?
If your critique is centered on how the piece fails to reflect your vision, rather than how it might better serve theirs, then you’re offering a mirror—not a map.
3. Don’t Ever, In Any Case, Be Mean
This should go without saying, but here we are: feedback should never be cruel. And yet, I’ve seen comments like:
“This reads like a grad student wrote it.”
“The writing style is poor.”
“The author doesn’t understand the field at all.”
“This was clearly written by a non-native speaker. Hire an editor.”
These aren’t critiques; they’re judgments. They don’t help the writer improve; they just sting. And they stick. Especially for international scholars, first-gen academics, and anyone already wondering if they belong.
Here’s the rule: if it would make someone want to quit writing, don’t write it. You can be honest without being harsh. You can critique the work without tearing down the person.
Let’s keep the focus where it belongs: helping the writing get better—not proving that you’re smarter or more capable than they are.
4. Don’t Perform Critique for the Sake of It
The reality is that academic culture can be performative. Whether it’s the conference audience member who turns the Q&A into a diatribe or the peer reviewer who seems more interested in flexing their vocabulary than engaging with the argument, critique sometimes becomes more about display than dialogue.
But critique isn’t a performance. It’s a conversation. Before you hit “send” on that feedback, ask yourself:
Does this comment help the writer understand their work more clearly?
Will this suggestion move their project forward?
Am I offering this insight because it’s useful—or just because I feel like I should say something?
Because sometimes, the most gracious and honest thing you can say is: “This part is working well. Keep going.”
In Sum
Don’t be discouraged if you see your bad habits on display here. We’ve all absorbed messages about what academic rigor should look like. But we don’t have to perpetuate the habits that left us spinning or second-guessing ourselves.
In next week’s newsletter, I’ll talk about what gracious, constructive feedback can look like and how you can offer it in ways that help others (and yourself) grow.
But for now? Let’s retire the vague critiques and ego-driven edits. Start by listening to what the writer is actually trying to say.
Thank you for this, I 100% agree with all of your points on how to (not) give feedback! I recently received a review that ticked all the "how NOT to do it" boxes, which led me to write about it on LinkedIn (and in German). Your reminder that we reproduce what we know, and that because many people have never received constructive and specific feedback they tend to not give feedback of this kind, either, was important to me. There is just so much understanding as to what actually constitutes "proper" feedback and in my experience it's often a rather emotional topic because of this. So thank you again for this very concise and helpful list!
Perfect. Comments, done well, enlarge the writer's capacity to achieve their vision.