Bernard O'Shea: 'I once apologised to a loaf of bread' — Why Irish people apologise to inanimate objects

"Sorry" to a chair, a wall, a doorframe — and once, a loaf of bread. It's politeness taken to Olympic levels.

Bernard O'Shea: "We also heavily rely on what’s called “negative politeness”—basically, a way of communicating that avoids imposing on others. That’s why Irish people say, “Sorry, would you have the time?” instead of just, “What time is it?”

I once apologised to a loaf of bread. In public. In front of witnesses. It fell out of my shopping bag and hit the ground like a doughy little soldier, and I instinctively muttered, “Sorry.” 

To the bread. I didn’t even blink. I just picked it up and moved on, as if apologising to baked goods was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t an isolated event.

I’ve said sorry to the car door (for walking into it), the Hoover (for tripping over it), and a particularly judgmental bathroom mirror (for being in front of it first thing in the morning). The low point? The tumble dryer. I dropped a sock, bent down, whacked my head on the door, and whispered, “Sorry, that was my fault.” 

To the tumble dryer. Who does that? That’s when I started to wonder: is this normal? Or, more precisely, is this Irish?

I’m not sure people in other countries apologise to their bins. I don’t imagine a German man knocking over his toaster and saying, “Entschuldigung.” 

I doubt a Parisian says, “Pardon,” to the corner of a table. But here in Ireland, it’s not just possible — it’s probable.

Is it cultural? Psychological? Genetic? Is there a long-lost Brehon law that says we must apologise to chairs lest we be cursed with seven years of back pain? Or are we just lovely? Really, really nice?

I realised that, in our own absurd way, Irish people might be among the most empathetic humans on earth —even to furniture.

Even to the non-living, the root of our excessive apologising goes back a long way. We’ve inherited a deeply embedded culture of humility, courtesy, and deference — often born of survival.

Centuries of colonial rule taught us to tread lightly, literally and linguistically. You didn’t want to be seen or heard. The safest path? Politeness.

Add to that (drum roll please) the ever-present influence of Catholicism, where guilt is less of a fleeting emotion and more of a national pastime.

Then there’s the Irish fear of confrontation. We’ll go miles out of our way to avoid it — actual miles. We will apologise to a traffic cone rather than question its placement. We’re the people who say, “No bother at all,” through gritted teeth while balancing a lawnmower we lent to a neighbour in 2009.

Even our language reflects it. Irish English is full of softeners:

“I don’t mean to be any trouble…”

“Sure, if you’re passing…”

“Sorry now but…”

We apologise before we’ve even done anything wrong. This is why our inner training kicks in when we bump into a doorframe. “Sorry.”

Not because the doorframe has feelings but because we do.

It’s politeness… weaponised.

Politeness Theory was developed by sociolinguists Penelope Brown and Stephen Levinson. They argue that much of our communication is built around maintaining “face”—protecting each other’s dignity and avoiding friction.

In countries like Ireland, where social harmony is valued more than directness, this gets dialled up to eleven.

We also heavily rely on what’s called “negative politeness”—basically, a way of communicating that avoids imposing on others. That’s why Irish people say, “Sorry, would you have the time?” instead of just, “What time is it?”

Dr Guy Winch, a clinical psychologist, says that when we apologise to inanimate objects, it’s actually a side-effect of empathy. Our brains are hardwired to relate, to empathise. It’s why kids talk to their toys. Or why we shout at printers. It’s called anthropomorphism — attributing human feelings to non-human things.

Then there are mirror neurons —brain cells that fire both when we act and when we observe others. If you grow up in a house where your mam says, “Sorry, fridge!” after slamming the door, your brain will wire that behaviour as normal.

And let’s not forget guilt — sweet, grinding, stabbing Irish guilt. A 2014 study published in Emotion (Emotion is my guilty pleasure of journals — it dives into how and why we feel things, from brain science to everyday life, and somehow makes emotions feel) found that people with high sensitivity to guilt were more likely to apologise reflexively — even when it wasn’t technically their fault. So it’s not madness. It’s neural kindness.

So now that we’ve established that this is a real phenomenon, what can you do with that information?

Here’s how to navigate your “sorry” reflex: First, notice it. Then, make it a game: keep a top-five list or start a “Sorry Jar.” Reframe it with mindful phrases like, “That was unexpected, toaster” or “I’m sorry television for shouting at you it’s not your fault you can’t find the hdmi input.” Finally, embrace it as quiet kindness. In a loud world, over-politeness isn’t weakness—it’s an empathy weapon with a sense of humour.

Maybe that table with the sharpest corners, well known to humans, doesn’t have feelings, but you do, and that’s what matters.

So, if you say “sorry” to a chair today (who was actually in your way), consider it a small, ridiculous act of emotional intelligence. And sure, what’s the harm?

So, the next time you find yourself whispering “sorry” to the leg of the bed after stubbing your toe — smile. You’re part of a long and proud tradition of ridiculous decency.

And on behalf of every inanimate object that’s been accidentally kicked, dropped, or headbutted:

They forgive you.

They appreciate the apology.