If you can use these 10 words in a sentence, you’re smarter than 95% of people

I was reading a book last week when I came across the word “ubiquitous” and had this weird moment of satisfaction when I realized I actually knew what it meant.

Not because I’d just seen it. Not because the context made it obvious. I just… knew it. Like my brain had filed it away years ago and it was still sitting there, ready to use.

There’s something oddly satisfying about that. Like finding money in a coat pocket you forgot about.

Language is strange that way. Most of us recognize way more words than we actually use. We encounter them in books, understand them in context, but they never quite make it into our everyday vocabulary. They just live quietly in the back of our brain until we need them.

If you know what these 10 words mean without reaching for your phone, you’ve got better vocabulary retention than most people. Not because these words are impossible—but because a lot of smart people actually get them wrong or mix them up with similar words.

Let’s see how you do.

1. Ambivalent

Here’s the thing: most people think ambivalent means “I don’t care” or “whatever, I’m indifferent.”

It doesn’t.

Ambivalent means having mixed feelings or contradictory emotions about something. You care a lot—you just feel two opposing ways at the same time.

Research on how people learn vocabulary shows that words describing emotional nuance—like the difference between ambivalent and indifferent—get misused by about 60% of adults because we just copy how we hear other people say it.

You can be ambivalent about a job offer. Excited about the opportunity but anxious about the change. That’s not “meh, whatever”—that’s two real feelings happening at once.

The reason this one trips people up is that “ambivalent” sounds kind of negative, so people assume it means you don’t care. But it’s actually describing a pretty intense internal state—caring about something from two completely different angles at the same time.

If you knew that without checking, you’re already ahead of most people.

2. Egregious

Egregious sounds like it should just mean “really bad,” and it does. But there’s more to it.

It means outstandingly bad. So terrible it’s almost impressive. Not just a mistake—a mistake so obvious it makes you wonder how anyone let it happen.

An egregious error. An egregious lie. There’s a performance quality to it, like the badness is remarkable.

Most people would just say “terrible” or “awful.” But egregious is when something’s so bad you almost have to respect the audacity of it.

I’ve heard people use this to describe typos in their own emails, which undersells the word. A typo isn’t egregious. A company-wide email announcing layoffs that accidentally goes to the people being laid off before their managers know? That’s egregious.

3. Comprise

Okay, this is where almost everyone screws up. Including people who are otherwise great with language.

“The team is comprised of five members” is wrong.

The correct usage is “The team comprises five members” or “Five members comprise the team.”

Studies on grammar mistakes in professional writing show that “comprised of” appears incorrectly about 80% of the time, even in published books and articles.

Comprise means “to include” or “to consist of.” The whole comprises the parts. You don’t say “is comprised of”—that’s mixing up “comprise” with “composed.”

The reason this one’s so tough is that “is comprised of” sounds more formal than “is made up of,” so people reach for it when they’re trying to sound professional. But they’re actually making it worse. The correct phrasing—”The team comprises five members”—sounds simpler, which is why people assume it’s wrong.

4. Pragmatic

People use pragmatic to mean “practical,” and yeah, they’re related. But they’re not the same thing.

Practical means something works well or is sensible. Pragmatic means dealing with things based on what actually works in reality, not what should work in theory.

A pragmatic solution might be messy or imperfect, but it gets results. It’s about adapting to reality even when reality doesn’t match your ideal.

You can be practical by following a proven method exactly. Being pragmatic means you’ll ditch the method if something else works better, even if it’s not “supposed to.”

Here’s an example: fixing a wobbly table by folding up a napkin and sticking it under the leg is pragmatic. It’s not the “right” solution—the right solution is probably adjusting the leg properly or getting a new table. But it works, and it works right now, so that’s what you do.

5. Incongruous

Incongruous means not in harmony with the surroundings. Out of place in a way that feels off.

An incongruous detail. An incongruous outfit at a wedding. It’s not just “doesn’t match”—it’s mismatched in a way that makes you do a double-take.

Research on vocabulary knowledge shows that words describing subtle social or aesthetic mismatches—like incongruous versus just “weird”—are only recognized by about 40% of native English speakers.

Think: someone wearing a Halloween costume to a funeral. That’s incongruous. Just wearing the wrong color? Not quite the same thing.

6. Facetious

Facetious means treating serious issues with deliberately inappropriate humor. Being flippant when the situation calls for seriousness.

A facetious remark about someone’s grief. A facetious response to a genuine concern. It’s not just joking—it’s joking in a way that’s kind of tone-deaf.

Most people would say “sarcastic” or “joking around,” but facetious has that specific flavor of “you really shouldn’t be making light of this right now.”

What makes something facetious instead of just sarcastic is the mismatch between the tone and the situation. Sarcasm can be appropriate. Facetiousness is almost never appropriate—that’s the whole point. It’s humor that’s actively inappropriate for the moment.

7. Verbose

Verbose doesn’t just mean you use a lot of words. It means you use way more words than necessary to say something simple.

Verbose writing. A verbose explanation. It’s a criticism, not a compliment.

Studies on writing clarity show that when people use way more words than needed, comprehension actually drops by about 30%. But a lot of writers think being wordy makes them sound smarter.

Someone can write at length without being verbose if every word matters. But if you need twenty words to say what could be said in five? That’s verbose.

And yeah, people who know this word tend to care about writing quality.

The tricky thing is that verbose doesn’t mean “long.” A 300-page book isn’t verbose if it needs 300 pages to tell the story. But a two-sentence email that could have been five words? That can absolutely be verbose.

8. Apathy

Apathy seems straightforward, but people mix it up with other emotional states all the time.

Apathy isn’t frustration. It’s not sadness. It’s not even really “not caring.”

It’s a complete absence of interest or concern. A flatness. The emotional equivalent of nothing happening at all.

You can be angry about politics or sad about them. Apathy is when you just don’t engage. At all. The feeling isn’t negative—it’s blank.

I think people confuse apathy with not caring because the end result looks similar—you’re not taking action either way. But the internal experience is totally different. Not caring is an active stance. Apathy is the absence of a stance.

9. Bemused

Most people think bemused means “amused” or “entertained.” Nope.

Bemused means bewildered or confused. Puzzled in a slightly dazed way.

A bemused expression isn’t someone laughing. It’s someone trying to figure out what’s happening because nothing makes sense.

The confusion probably comes from the “be-” making it sound like an intensified version of “amused.” But it’s actually the opposite.

This is one of those words that’s been misused so often that the wrong definition is almost becoming acceptable. But it’s not there yet. If you use “bemused” to mean “amused,” people who know the real definition will notice—and they’ll judge you a little.

10. Penultimate

People use penultimate like it means “the ultimate” or “the very best.” Like ultimate, but even more so.

It doesn’t mean that at all.

Penultimate means second to last. That’s it. It’s a position, not a judgment.

The penultimate episode. The penultimate round. Just means there’s one more after this.

This one’s painful to watch because people use it so confidently. They’ll say something like “the penultimate achievement of his career,” thinking they’re adding emphasis, when what they’re actually saying is “the second-best thing he ever did.” Not quite the compliment they intended.