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For years, I stacked flashy adjectives together to make my copy look more 'professional'—only to realize later that instead of persuading readers, I was just choking the engine of the sentence.
For years, I strung together flashy adjectives to make my writing seem more "professional" or "impressive." Whenever I hit a wall in a product description or landing page, I reached straight for the adjective jar: "Incredible, revolutionary, seamless, dynamic, end-to-end..." I thought these words would convince the reader and lend weight to the copy. It was only much later—when I ran out of breath reading my own draft aloud—that I realized I was simply suffocating the engine of the sentence and wearing down the reader.
As writers, when we want to polish an idea or product, we naturally default to decorating the text. When we write "a seamless and rapid customer experience," we assume our job is done. Yet when readers see that sentence, they feel nothing. Adjectives offer no proof. They are nothing more than the writer lazily dictating a claim to the reader. They tell readers what to think without showing them why they should think it.
Strengthening copy doesn't start with adding new ornaments; it begins by pruning them back. When we lift the weight of adjectives off the spine of the sentence and transfer it to specific, action-oriented verbs, the rhythm changes instantly. This is not a macro content strategy; it is a micro-tactical editing process executed directly on screen, keystroke by keystroke.
In the writing world, the most concrete equivalent of "Show, don't tell" in copywriting is verb-driven architecture. Tools like Hemingway Editor operate on this exact logic: to boost readability, they highlight the adverbs and adjectives propping up weak verbs, forcing the writer to find a single, punchier verb instead. As research corroborates, while adjectives hand the reader a prepackaged state (for example: "the angry man"), strong verbs prove the state through action (for example: "the man slammed the door"). Especially across digital platforms or persuasive commercial copy, favoring action verbs over state-of-being adjectives directly improves on-page time and engagement.
So, how do we make this shift at the desk? Here is the "Adjective Pruning Matrix" honed over years of trial and error.
Take a virtual red pen and strike through every qualifying adjective in your draft paragraph. Keep the objective adjectives that specify color, size, or quantity (three, red, 15-inch); our target is subjective qualifiers like "effective, tremendous, innovative, fast" that merely inject the writer's opinion.
Once you pull the adjectives out, examine the remaining skeleton—just the subject and predicate. Does the sentence collapse into nonsense? Does the message evaporate? If so, your sentence relies on adjective crutches. A sentence that cannot stand on its own feet cannot be rescued by slapping three more "dynamic" or "groundbreaking" modifiers onto it.
When we first tested this diagnostic method in our workshop, we made a major mistake. We said, "Alright, let's delete the adjectives," and tried replacing them with generic helping verbs like "do, make, provide, ensure."
For example, we took the sentence "Our software offers you a seamless and fast data analysis experience" and stripped out the adjectives. We tried turning it into action: "Our software enables you to do data analysis and achieve fast results."
It didn't work. The copy became even flatter and more bureaucratic than before. We even found ourselves missing the artificial excitement of the adjectives. Why didn't it work? Because "to enable" or "to do" is not an action; it is merely the shadow of an action. Weak helping verbs don't energize a sentence—they just lengthen it. Deleting adjectives is not enough on its own; the real craft lies in finding a direct action verb capable of carrying the entire promise of that adjective alone.
Find a single strong verb that delivers the outcome your crossed-out adjectives promised the reader. Translate the adjective into a verb.
Old sentence: "Our system features a remarkably fast and secure infrastructure." In this sentence, the writer asserts that the system is fast and secure, but offers zero proof.
New sentence: "The system responds in seconds and locks down data." Here, the adjective "fast" is gone; in its place is the action "responds in seconds." The adjective "secure" is gone; in its place is the verb "locks down data." When readers read these two actions, their minds automatically arrive at the conclusion: "This system is fast and reliable." We didn't dictate what to think; we showed them the action needed to reach that conclusion.
Another example: "He was a very angry and impatient manager." (Adjective-heavy, lazy). Action-driven version: "Throughout the meeting, the manager tapped his fingers on the table and cut us off mid-sentence." The second sentence never mentions the words angry or impatient, yet the verbs ("tapped", "cut off") prove the reality unequivocally.
We aren't treating adjectives as absolute enemies. When crafting a literary or descriptive atmosphere, you need them. But if you are writing informative, persuasive, or commercial copy, keep this checklist on the edge of your desk before hitting publish:
As you step away from your desk, take this single transferable rule with you: The strength and persuasiveness of your writing is measured not by the sheer volume of adjectives, but by the precision of your verbs. Adjectives are lazy—they try to speak on your behalf. Verbs put on work boots and show readers the truth with their own hands.