I talk to people. I talk to them in line at the supermarket, sitting at the next table in a restaurant, on the street. I talk to people in the porcelain doll section at Savers and Goodwill, and we often wind up sharing pictures of our creations and connecting through Instagram.
I compliment women’s hair or jewelry or the way they’re “put together.” I sometimes compliment men, too, when they have a nice smile or fancy hat. As an occasional portrait photographer, I make my subjects feel comfortable with their appearance by pointing out how I’ll make their best qualities shine, whether it’s their ice-blue eyes or their warm smile.
Of course, I’m a woman, and when a woman talks to strangers, it’s different. You know why. It’s why we choose the bear. Women, often by virtue of their size and strength, are not usually threatening.
Just don’t ever tell one of us to smile.
More than once, a strange man at the grocery store has told me to smile. “Would it hurt you to smile?” they’d say. “Smile! It can’t be that bad,” they’d say.
“How do you know my mother didn’t just die?” I’d ask. The men would be embarrassed and so sorry. “She didn’t,” I’d tell them. “But my facial expression is none of your business!” We are not here to beautify your world. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman tell a man, “You should smile more.”
There are no written rules about talking to people, so we must all rely on common sense. For instance, if someone is using public transportation—plane, train, bus—and wearing headphones or doing work on a laptop, the only thing you should probably ask is, “Is this seat taken?” And, if they’re not paying attention and you’re nice, maybe you can tell them the flight attendant is asking for their drink order. Otherwise, headphones are a sign that idle chit-chat is unwelcome. Respect the boundaries. They exist for a reason that’s none of your business.
Strange men spoke to me every day when I was younger. It was almost always to make a lewd comment they thought was flattering. But sometimes it’s a more subtle pickup line.
Once, I was pumping gas, and a man with the dirtiest pickup truck I’d ever seen in my life (still), pulled in front of me to get gas. He emerged and immediately complimented my hat. I was used to it; it was a brown felt bowler hat from the Gap*, and I got compliments on it all the time. I was a captive audience, but what could I say about a kind recognition of a cool hat?
He said, “Hey, I like ‘at hat!” I said, “Thanks!” While we pumped gas, he said, “Yeah, I really like ‘at hat.” I said, “Thanks” again. He said, “Yeah, ‘at’s a nice hat.” Then, in what was the king of non-sequiturs, he said, “’Is is just m’ work truck. I got a better truck at home.” There it is.
People don’t like it when you talk to their children as if they aren’t there. It’s creepy. It’s especially unwelcome when you’re contradicting something they’ve just told their child. Don’t help a stranger with their parenting.
But go ahead and play peek-a-boo with the infant in the cart in front of you. You’ll probably help out a stressed-out mom just trying to get home without baby tears.
I’m older now, in my invisibility era. Not too many men hit on me anymore, and it is a relief. So when a car pulled up beside me last week during the day on a busy, four-lane road and honked, I was cool. He motioned for me to roll down my passenger window (my driver’s side window was down already), so I did. “That is nice!” he said. Yeah, I know. My car. It’s fucking gorgeous. He didn’t want anything else, just to tell me how much he liked my car. He didn’t even ask if it got good mileage. He just kept saying, “That’s really nice.” And without mentioning his better car at home, we waited for the light to change and went on our way.
Talk to strangers, but take a hint, respect the visible boundaries, don’t be a creeper, and never fucking tell a woman to smile.
Did I miss a rule? Feel free to add your own in a comment.
*I lost my hat about ten years ago. It still anguishes me. If anyone knows where I can find ‘at hat, please let me know
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Hair. I’ve always been complimented on my hair. Usually men a few years older than me. When I was younger it was huge, nearly black, massive wavy curls. Unruly not willing to be ruled. In the past 10 or 12 years it’s been a gray, shorter mess and those compliments now come from young women and older men, especially Jewish women who can relate. I make sure to tell all women with hair like mine how beautiful it is. We are a club.
I’m sorry you lost that hat! You are so cute, so there. I don’t have a better truck, or any truck, at home.
And I have jet lag which is why I’m writing this at 4:30 am.