Sometime in sixth grade I asked my mom when I would be allowed to cuss—I had not been introduced to Northeast ‘cursing’ and was far from the posh ‘swearing’— I wanted to cuss. But I also needed permission. Her answer has haunted me to this day: never in front of adults. While it is true that I have entered the ranks of adulthood and consider myself a liberal and creative cusser this rule still feels relevant, like I am habitually breaking it instead of aging out of the mandate. I flinch when preteens gleefully test out their new illicit vocabulary on the train; I feel guilty about not writing enough thank you cards; I refrain from calling friends’ parents by their first names unless I am extremely close to them. These impulses often catch me off guard, cobbled together from my grandmother’s southernisms and my general desire to be at least minimally polite. These guidelines are not “ethics,” it is not morality they are concerned with, but manners: how to behave with others.
On February 2nd The Cut published, “Do You Know How to Behave? Are You Sure? How to text, tip, ghost, host, and generally exist in polite society today.” The article has received its due discourse; it was slammed on Twitter for being out of touch, classist, and weird and after ranting about it to my friend he made the astute point that my primary gripe, that these rules were written for elite white woman Manhattanites, didn’t hold water because The Cut aptly appeals to its primary audience: elite white woman Manhattanites. He was correct but I kept thinking about the list; it was like poking a bruise to try to recover a memory of the injury. Very few things in the article are wrong, but they feel empty. Devoid of human warmth and care, the rules coalesce into a manual on how to slide past each other without impression in a highly lubricated social dance.
Last month I went to the Whitney Museum’s exhibit on Edward Hopper. As a person poorly versed in visual art, I had heard the name but couldn’t tell you anything about Hopper’s practice or significance. Turns out he’s a defining twentieth century American artist for good reason. Walking around, I was immediately drawn to his renderings of lone figures in opulent theaters, but on reflection it is the night scenes that stick with me.
Hopper strolled and took above ground trains and engaged in the most timeless, seductive New York City tradition: looking in people’s windows. On any given walk you are free to enter someone’s private space without invitation. They are washing dishes, watching TV, chasing children, humming to plants, real-time acting out Scenes from a Marriage. There is an agreement amongst New Yorkers—without the space to ever be alone, we offer each other privacy in full view. It is less embarrassing to publicly cry on the subway than in your own living room where a roommate could happen upon you and, god forbid, ask you what’s wrong. In the crush of a Saturday morning museum tour, I thought it beautiful that we see fragments of each other this way. Full lives on display in the time it takes to wait for a light to turn green. However, the other side, the sterile underbelly The Cut exposed, is that maybe we don’t feel we owe each other anything other than a wide berth.
When I think of “southern hospitality” I do not think of politeness, I think of how growing up the goal always seemed to be getting people in your house and then making sure they were as fed, watered and comfortable as possible once they got there. I think of loitering in neighborhood homes, dinner if you’re there past six, streetlight curfews, and never speaking to anyone’s dad. Of course, I see these conventions through the smoothing prism of childhood—the amount of time I have lived outside of Kentucky has surpassed the years I was raised there—but certain cultural upbringings remain. It is community we so often lack in the city. Even with dozens of friends, even with plans every night. How do we get in each other’s business more? Be more intertwined, get into the mess with each other? Climb in someone’s window, just kidding definitely not that. I don’t know exactly what I’m wanting or missing or desiring. I am leaving New York for a month, if I find it outside the city I will let you know.
xx
Mia