No denizen is quite so unable to recognise where their own culture ends and another begins as the American expat. Perhaps that’s because their ‘culture’ is really just capitalism, and what the big beasts of capitalism can never quite grasp – never want to grasp – is that there might be some things beyond the reach and grab of the market. But Americans betray a curious inability to observe their own cultural particularities. No matter how many passive aggressive pavements, cafetières or maths equations might issue from the mouth of a lightly kerfuffled Brit, they just don’t seem to get it. And it gets them entangled in endless social faux pas, many of which I’m sure they don’t notice. Only the other day I went a good few minutes into a conversation I had thought was about riding (though I couldn’t ascertain if we were speaking of the equestrian or mechanical kind), only to find after much confusion that it had always been about writing, with a ‘t’ – a point I shall touch upon below.
So, magnanimous character that I am, I thought I’d help out our American friends – teach them a lesson or two about how things work outside the land of the free, and more specifically in the bog-ridden ‘tiny island across the sea’ that is Great Britain.
1. People being nice to you probably doesn’t mean they like you. In fact, au contraire, as the Frenchies say: it’s probably a mark of toleration at best, or even something more sinister. Many a star-spangled acquaintance has missed this point, and mistaken my compulsive pleasantries for something more substantive, which has a tendency to make things rather awkward after a month or two. So, a note to my American readers: here in the sceptred isle such apparently affable comments as ‘It was lovely to see you!’ or ‘Let’s meet up again sometime’ tend to carry the equivalent social weight of a peacock relieving himself off before he goes to woo his lady – unlikely to make it onto the next Planet Earth.
2. Don’t ask about private things. We just don’t really do it. Things like marital status, living situation, family background, age – these we leave to any conversation partner to proffer on their own terms. There are ways of finding out (“Whereabouts do you live?” could be a roundabout way to get answers to some of them), but these are distinctly oblique. Whatever you do, don’t ask the question you’re actually trying to ask. Marriage is perhaps the worst conversation topic to put your foot into. I’ve only ever been asked if I’m married by Americans, and it always feels like a punch in the stomach: How dare you! is my usual first reaction. It’s simply not good for the nerves.
3. Come to think of it, don’t ask any direct questions. Nothing ought to leave the person you’re talking to without any wriggle room – not least because there are few things as dangerous as an Englishman cornered (think of the war!). So leave everything open ended, with the distinct possibility that you may leave the conversation none the wiser as to any actual details in that person’s life – even, a little more muddled than you were going into it.
4. And certainly don’t offer any direct answers. I once asked an American friend if he liked his new house. ‘Not really,’ came the answer: and, as you can imagine, I reeled. How rude! He had twisted a perfectly pleasant conversation into an opportunity for an honest discussion about something important in his life – something I had in no way invited him to do.
5. There is only one answer to the question ‘How are you?’ Some variation of tone is permitted, but it must be slight – else you risk, as with the previous example, splurging a whole load of overly personal information onto someone who wasn’t seeking it. If things are really bad, and the friendship is particularly close, some degree of divulgence is permitted, but it must be transmitted through what our North American cousins would call ‘understatement’ – that is, the commendable urge not to make the situation all about yourself.
6. The extent of honesty permitted is correlated to the amount of alcohol consumed in the process. In vino veritas, as they say. Otherwise subversive discussions are permitted under the strict circumstances of alcohol consumption – provided, crucially, that on the following day normality is restored and due decorum observed.
7. Don’t be from the Deep South. It’s just too jarring.
8. Pronounce the letter ‘T’. As in my above example, this one can cause endless confusion. Americans seem not to have realised that the alphabet is a full twenty-six letters long, and thus that we can distinguish verbally between words that end with ‘T’ and with ‘D’. I will hand it to them, though: this one can lead to some creative re-interpretation, as when I thought, for a good few days, that roundabouts in New England were called ‘roaderies’ (it fitted, I surmised, with the general trend in that dialect to say things as they are – ‘sidewalk’, ‘French press’, etc).
9. No, your family is not from Cornwall. Or probably from anywhere else in these parts. What in all likelihood you mean is that your ancestors were from England – that is, those long-dead folks who make up about one 2,048th of your genetic material. (But by all means, visit their old stomping grounds; it’s good for the local economy, and we won’t say no to American cash.)
10. Don’t be earnest. This encompasses rather a lot of the above. But we cannot take too much earnestness; irony is our bread and butter, and without it we quickly develop a heavy dose of fatigue. We are usually earnest in one of just two social situations. One is if there is, for some reason, extreme emotional or psychological stress put on us. The other is if we don’t like you. Both are best avoided. (If you’re confused, go and watch Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, and you’ll understand something of what I mean.)
11. Being rude to people is a mark of love. I have felt genuinely hurt when Americans I had thought friends have been nothing but kind to me. It isn’t good for the soul. A bit of banter is a compliment: a mark of comfort in another’s presence, and a sign that you respect the thickness of their skin. And, on a related note, you must never explain that you’re ‘only teasing’. There are few greater insults to someone on the receiving end of a witty jibe than to snatch their dignity from them by presuming the thinness of their skin. Just let them bask in the clout of low-level abuse.
12. ‘Schwa’ is your friend. It comes down to the earnestness thing again. We don’t actually pronounce words properly, and it would verge on rudeness to do so. Who are you to take up so much of my time with your “Buck-ing-HAM palace’, or worse, tales of your recent foray ‘WAW-Cest-err-SHIRE’?
13. You are not Irish. Just not. Let it go.
14. Yes, nothing works. That’s just how it is. It’s a mix of this thing called ‘culture’, the belief that we are more than just productivity machines, and a glorious reticence actually, ever, to do something about it all. We tried that, 380-odd years ago, and it didn’t work out too well; so we’ve stuck at it like this ever since. But hey, here’s the thing you won’t get – we like it this way. Give me a slightly tangy, mouldy pub in Warwickshire (for pronunciation see #12) that’s just scraped through its hygiene standards check over a shiny New York bar any day of the week.
15. Understate absolutely everything. To us Brits, it feels like Americans are always shouting. We take a more sedate pace when we talk about the world around us. Each day is ‘fine’, every idea is ‘interesting’, and if you produce some work for your boss that isn’t ‘good’ you should probably hand in your notice.
So, there you have it. My top tips for surviving English culture. You’re welcome.
The Fourth Discourseman
The Four Discoursemen 
Well said! I am a Brit who has lived on American soil for 40+ years, so I’ve had to do my part by accommodating in the opposite direction. Allow me to add one pet peeve I’ve always had about Americans and #5: When asked how you are, they generally respond with “Good,” or “Doing well, thanks.” Good is a character trait, not a state of health or well-being, and the person asking is not usually interested in what you’re doing. The British do it right by saying “Fine, thank you,” or “I am well, thank you.”
Do you agree, or have I been gone so long from England’s green and pleasant land that the British have by now slipped into this American way of greeting?
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