The Matter of Modern Manners
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In 1922, Emily Post published “Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics and at Home” a 682-page treatise on how to conduct oneself in social situations. Since then, her advice has remained the founding text of politeness and common decency. Modern editions of her books are still published today (I have a copy of the 18th edition in my room at home, a Christmas gift from my mom when I was 15). Over the years, new technologies have created new challenges and situations that people need to navigate. Technology and culture are organic concepts that grow and change in tandem, and social “correctness” is something that fits there somewhere, too. But observing how etiquette rules change calls into question the values and cultural ideas that shape them.
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If we recontextualize etiquette to be a means of refining communication as well as behavior, we can see just how much manuals like Post’s fall short. 90% of human communication is non-verbal — you can bring a hostess gift, but if it’s not the right hostess gift (getting a silver necklace for a gold jewelry person, or bringing a bottle of wine to a dry house), you’re committing just as much of a faux pas as you would if you had forgotten entirely. How much can a list of rules really help when we have millions of micro-interactions to read and parry every day? Is someone able to tell me the exact amount of time I’m allowed to look at each person when I’m people-watching on the Metro? (In my experience you have around 3-5 seconds before you get weird looks back).
There are two opposing schools of thought on the construct of etiquette. One is that etiquette is a good way to demonstrate respect and consideration for those around you, to promote the comfort and ease-of-life for your loved ones. Engaging in politeness is a quiet and universal way of acknowledging the importance and personhood of others. On the other hand, etiquette rules, especially among “elite” groups, are ways to spot “outsiders” who do not belong. They can be overly restrictive and entirely exclusionary. In order to participate and gain respect in a culture or within a cultural group, you must align your behavior with that group or face social consequences and ostracization. Most etiquette rules are unwritten, and their intuitiveness to their native adopters is what makes them so difficult to engage with for outsiders.
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During the Victorian Era, etiquette and “composure” manuals for young men and women were an entire genre of literature. Endless books and pamphlets instructed young people on how to behave at dinner, at dances, and even when walking in the street. Etiquette rules were extremely restrictive, and holding a fan the wrong way could lead to total ostracization. These Victorian rules were informed by intense traditional religious convictions, rampant paranoia about female sexuality, and ubiquitous attitudes of classism and misogyny. Etiquette can reinforce exclusionary and bigoted cultural mores, and stigmatize otherness; how do we make sure that the rules we follow actually make the world more comfortable for those around us?
Etiquette is a double-edged sword, with its exclusionary and dubiously morally-grounded history, so what place does it have for us as we move forward? Recently, Vogue has started a monthly column called Oh, Behave! where celebrities and experts answer topical questions about modern etiquette. The responses are interesting and almost equal in profile and advice.
If you ask most people over the age of 65 if they think young people are rude, you will likely receive a resounding “yes.” This has been a trend between generations for all of history. In recent years, it seems more and more like we are phasing out “old-fashioned” standards of politeness. Door-holding and handshaking seem to be at an all-time low. This change could also be viewed through a double lens. Are we becoming more egalitarian and less deferential because we are less restrictive, stodgy, and self-serious? Have we finally bucked the yoke of outdated and surface-level socially mandatory actions? Or does this change indicate a growing disregard for the experiences of those around us? Do we care less about each other? Has technology turned us into atomistic hyper-individualists who can’t be bothered to consider the experiences of others?
The question, “What does it mean to be polite?” is almost as nebulous and complex as the question, “What does it mean to be a good person?” — answers vary across cultures and time. Is inquiring about someone’s personal life nosy or a demonstration of compassionate interest? Should you always bring a hostess gift? Am I allowed to unfollow someone on Instagram who posts too much on their story? All good questions. But the question I care most about is, do you want to? And why?
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