Monthly Archives: August 2013

fake-smileAsk any Dutch person to mimic an American and they will put on an exaggerated smile and say “Oh my god, shut! Up! That’s awesome!” Or something of the kind. And obviously anyone who has actually spent any time with real human Americans outside of their own TV knows that’s a ridiculously exaggerated stereotype. But stereotyping aside, I must admit I’ve met my fair share of overly-excited Americans and the culture shock after so many years of living in calm and composed Europe – and brutally honest Holland – has been entertaining to say the least. My favorite disproportionately-excited American person anecdote is from two years ago when I still smoked. I was in a DC roof-top bar and a fellow smoker asked me for a lighter. When I handed it to her, as if I had saved her life –the irony of course being that my actions couldn’t be much further from that – she exclaimed: “Oh my god, thank you so much! You’re the best.” The. Best. That’s right, for a lighter. All I could think was “Okay, lady, if I’m the best for lending you a lighter you are in desperate need of some better friends!”

See, the thing is, while I admit this romanticism may eventually fade, I really do appreciate what I call the ‘positivity tyranny’ that so many everyday interactions with Americans seem to be guided by. People are somewhat expected to be friendly here. I realize that the neighbor I run into in the elevator or the person who greets me so happily at the grocery store or coffee house couldn’t care less about how I’m actually doing, but I can’t help but love it that they feel somewhat obliged to ask me with a smile on their faces. Never mind that every other post-purchase or post-door-holding “thank you” is answered to with “uhm-hum”, I really do enjoy being treated kindly. By people in the service industry, sure. But by fellow humans in general too. After so many honest facial expressions of “please go away, it’s raining, I’m having a bad day and I hope you die” that I’ve dealt with in Amsterdam, the seemingly American culture of ‘nice’ is a refreshing change.

My general enjoyment of ‘fluffy’ attitudes, if you will, probably has something to do with the fact that I can’t stand blasé attitudes and everyday cynicism. Never could. People who act like they’re too cool for school really get on my nerves. I personally perceive it as arrogance and I refuse to ever assimilate to this whole ‘nothing impresses me’ thing as a way of life. In that sense, I’m much more the annoyingly loud “Oh my god that’s awesome” person than anything else. I’ve seen so many different counties and cultures and gorgeous nature and yet I can still stop on my way home to look at a sunset and smile and then talk about it to other people later like it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been known to call people to tell them to look at the moon or re-count mundane stories and laugh out loud at stupid things, unapologetically. I am really uncomfortable with silences and I will small-talk like it’s my job. The way I see it, life is way too short to be blasé. So there’s probably something there as to why I feel so comforted by being in a place where friendly equals polite. The normalization of niceness and expressions of excitement that I experience in the United States suit me just fine.

And yet it’s in being a third culture kid that this talk of ‘culture’ gets relativized. For instance, in Amsterdam, I am considered quite loud and chatty. If I had a euro for every time someone told me they could hear me from outside a restaurant or someone’s house… Well, let’s just say I would have many euros. However, when I go to Brazil my sister always comments on how much I embarrass her because time after time when she introduces me to her new friends after telling them for months how great I am, anyone who doesn’t know me thinks I’m cold and distant. Apparently just smiling and say hello instead of going into full-blown “I’ve just met you but I think I love you” mode is somehow offensive. Needless to say she hasn’t visited me Holland in a long time. Moreover, I’ve met my fair share of shy, quiet and also incredibly rude Americans with no patience or time for smiles and niceties.

While I like the change of scenery – and script – that life in the USA brings, at least for the moment, I’ve often wondered what it is about your stereotypical American loudness and excitement that bothers blasé people worldwide – Europeans or otherwise. One friend literally made me promise I wouldn’t come back any louder than I already am. But is it really a question of decibels? Or is it perhaps cultural imperialism backfiring? So like, “now that we’ve seen all your movies and shows where you comically portray Americans as annoying we assume that’s just who you are”. Or, is it rather, a form of cynicism about the possibility of anyone being that genuinely upbeat? My theory has always been that it is a mixture of all of the above. And maybe that’s fair.

For one, the world does consume a lot of American pop culture and for the most part that doesn’t do the American people much good, image-wise. If every corny movie about white people overcoming their racism stopped winning the Oscar’s, maybe the world’s perception of American culture might improve. If teen classics like ‘Clueless’ and the cheerleading movie ‘Bring it on’ stopped serving as a model for depicting teenage girls, the expectation of happy American women being shallow might actually start to fade from our imaginaries. If every working class dad figure in American shows wasn’t a selfish, overweight and ignorant white man with a disproportionally attractive but mean and/or stupid wife, maybe the world would stop expecting working class Americans to be obnoxious. You see where I’m getting at? Plus, it would probably help if the American government stopped trying to be the world’s police. But hey, that might be a little too political for the point I’m trying to make right now.

I would say Americans suffer from straight-up bad P.R. Especially seeing as people who have been to the United States and/or spent time with real-life Americans tend to have much more positive or at least more nuanced views about them. I wonder if this positivity tyranny bothers some Americans too. I know I for one don’t particularly love going to a gathering with thirty-odd people in Brazil and then being obliged to kiss every single person there on the cheek hello, only to then repeat the motion when saying goodbye – seriously, people, ain’t nobody got time for that! I wonder: is having to say “Hi, how are you doing today?” or “Have a fantastic day!” part of service industry people’s training? And is it that kind of thing that makes it trickle down to the general population while they actually hate it? So if at any point you get one customer service job the next thing you know you say “have a wonderful day!” to complete strangers out of reflex? As my great American adventure of 2013 begins, I find myself conducting participant observation everywhere I go.

And while no conclusions can be drawn at this stage, so far, the results have been nothing short of anthropologically interesting. 


ImageThey say you know who your real friends are when bad things happen to you. Or when you stop being Fun McParty and take a leave of absence from a group’s social scene. Life has taught me there’s some truth to this cliché slice of pop wisdom. But it has also taught me things aren’t quite so black and white and not all of our friends are equally reliable or sensitive to our needs at all times. And that doesn’t necessarily make them bad friends or bad people. In fact, I’d go as far as to say we are all worse friends than we think we are, at least to a portion of our friends, for a portion of the time. We all know great people who hurt our feelings. But somehow it never quite occurs to us how we may be that great person who is careless with other people’s emotions and expectations to someone else. That disappointing friend who makes us feel like we’d be better people if we were walking in their shoes: they could, in another scenario, be us. Leaving Amsterdam, I couldn’t help but evaluate the friendships I’d built there over the years and wonder which of them would hold once everyday commonalities started to fade through the process of living new experiences. In other words, how much support and closeness I could count on remotely.

Although not much time has passed, I’ve been right on the money with my assumptions so far. As much as I don’t enjoy being right about these types of things, as expected, the people who have always been there and aren’t even necessarily part of my routine yet are my close friends have remained just that. Close, caring and present. Others, as self-involved as ever. And now that I’m not an adjunct of their ‘self’, their ass is ghost! – I read this hilarious phrase on an internet forum once (his ass is ghost!) and I’ll confess I’ve been dying to use it but haven’t quite worked up the courage to say it out loud, so here it is. It’s an interesting thing, when life’s little disappointments no longer surprise us. Maybe that means at 26, with a little life experience under my belt, I am pretty jaded. But maybe I’ve just learned to spare my sentimental heart and that’s probably a good thing.

Until fairly recently – say, the beginning of my early 20s – with very few exceptions, I thought I had the worst luck with friends. Aside from my best friend who is like a sister to me and still one of my favorite people on the face of the Earth, every time a friend turned out to be selfish, or a stereotypical mean girl I thought I chose wrong. I thought I deluded myself into thinking a friendship had been real when in actual fact it was all a sham and a one-sided mess where I was the victim and the other person a villain. Even as a teenager, I was never incredibly popular but I had my close friends whom I thought I was very loyal to. It’s not since a few years ago that I started to understand my role in the complexities of my friend break-ups. I’ve never been very good at managing expectations and so having my feelings hurt is quite a common occurrence. I’ve often expected to get out of friendships what I put in, and that’s not always entirely fair nor objective. I’ve put romantic interests before girlfriends in the past and acted like a hormonal psycho on several occasions. I’ve put people I admire up on a pedestal which in turn made it very hard for me to accept their flaws. And the list goes on. I too have been to blame for friendships gone sour. And I get that now.

The thing about dealing with people who haven’t come to the above conclusions yet is that they are totally fucking blind to their own shortcomings as friends. They are demanding but have no clue how to be a real friend beyond their own needs. And so I apply a wonderful piece of advice my best friend gave me once when I was dealing with friendship-related disappointment: not all of our friends need to be an all-or-nothing-type deal. If that were the case, we would all have at best one friend we would call ‘real’. If that. Supposing my life is any parameter, the vast majority of people I lovingly call my friends fall short on the ‘all’ criteria but are so much more than ‘nothing’. And while that’s really okay, the thing that’s still hard for me to deal with is where in that spectrum between all and nothing people end up falling.

I am nowadays very cautious with allowing people into my life. Making room for someone new is tiresome and can be wonderful but I rarely feel the urge to do so in any meaningful way anymore. Maybe it is age. And if I’m brutally honest, experience has taught me that the investment of time and energy that goes into new people doesn’t always pay off. At the risk of sounding unnecessarily harsh, I barely have time for my existing real friends, never mind attempting to make real friends out of new ones. And yet I can’t help but insist on one or two empirically proven lost cases. I idealize good moments and am somehow always surprised when they turn out to be exactly what I knew they would be. Not ready for the kind of friendship I want, very much willing to take all that I offer. A little too close to ‘nothing’, a little too far from ‘all’. The real question that troubles me is whether I’ll ever be able to accept some people exactly for what they are minus the disappointment. Or whether, rather, I’ll forever be a friendship romantic.

Prone to heartache and looking for love in all the wrong places.