Rules of Re-Entry #2: We Can See Your Whole Face
In preparation for our eventual reintegration into whatever society looks like post-pandemic, I'm back with my hit segment, Rules of Re-Entry.
In each set of Rules, we'll be reviewing staples of non-quarantine life to remind ourselves of social Do's and Don't's in hopes that we don't act like huge drunken babies when we all eventually are allowed to be around each other again.
Let's boogie.
Rules of Re-Entry #2:
We Can See Your Whole Face
One of the weirdest parts of this pandemic has been that we haven't seen the entirety of our friends and loved ones' heads in a full year. On video calls, we've only seen faces and never the backs of heads. In person, we've been working with only the top half of the face.
The emotive and reactionary power that is going to be unleashed by fully unencumbered faces in public will likely at first be too much to handle.
But don't worry, I have you covered. Here's some rules to follow as we move into real-life full-face time.
Rule #1: Brush your teeth
You're probably already doing this because you don't want gross-ass breath gunking up the closed system behind your mask all day.
But technically, we all haven't needed to think about how our breath smells around another human outside of our bubbles for a full calendar year.
I don't think folks are necessarily planning to plant a big, wet, open-mouthed smooch right on their friends when they see them. (You do you, though! Just get consent to tongue-tuggy with your best buddy.) But it is probably in everyone's best interest to remember that our mouth holes make stinky air in the real world.
Brush your teeth! Chew some gum! Pop an Altoid! Anything to combat the inevitable return of hot pizza breath.
Rule #2: Don't check another tab
I was on a work call this past Friday where every single person on the call—myself included—fessed up that they were multitasking and wasn't listening until their name was called to give their update.
(To my boss, who reads this email: It was an internal call! No harm, no foul!)
((To my coworkers who were on that call who also read this email: I will never name names. We have sworn a blood pact, and I will never snitch. I will take this to my grave.))
Maybe it was a case of Friday Brain or the result of a stressful couple of weeks on that project, but I know that I've fallen into the habit of multitasking on calls.
This happens even on calls I want to be on—I'll sometimes be talking to my family on the phone and simultaneously scrolling. I don't want to be scrolling! But something in my brain chemistry has shifted over the past year, and it asks in a haunting yet sultry voice, "But Josh, what if there's one new post on Instagram? What if in the course of talking to your family, who you haven't seen in months, you miss a funny meme about Tony Hawk that will be served to you anyway when you get off the phone? Why not have that joy sooner?"
More importantly, when I have been safely around friends in person, I've felt this same need to check my phone or the buzz on my wrist harder than I remember feeling it pre-pandemic.
I've always had a hard time not getting sucked into a screen, but I've exclusively interacted with others over the past year in an environment that encourages multiple simultaneous applications and tabs. I think it made focusing on one thing uninterrupted so much harder for me. My eyes are constantly darting to whatever notification is happening at that moment. So this adjustment back is going to be hard for me personally.
So what can we do and what can't we do with our phones and watches and Google Glass? (lol remember Google Glass?) What is baseline acceptable electronics etiquette?
I feel like this was roughly the state we left things last March vis-a-vis checking your electronics:
You can check your phone up to, but not exceeding, once an hour in polite company, so long as you say something like, "Sorry my phone has been going off, I just want to make sure it's not critical/work/the babysitter/[family member]"
If you have a fun video or post to share with a friend, and you both want to watch it then or send it for later, you can do that with their permission. In this moment you are also allowed one quick check of ye olde notifications.
If you want to really indicate that you're going to dial into the real-life conversation, have your phone on the table, but flip it over. Do it in a slightly performative way that says to your conversation partner, "I know this is important, but it's not as important as you."
The smart watch rules are hard. On the one hand (literally), it's much easier to give something a glance to confirm it does not need your attention. In that way, you check in so that you can ignore it with a clean conscience and be fully invested in the in-person conversation. On the other hand, the motion of checking your watch looks rude. It's so ingrained in us as a "hurry up" motion that it just feels a little offensive. Also, it's probably better to just not check? I dunno.
All I want is to be around other people, but I know deep in my bones that it is going to be so freaking hard to be fully present for the first few months of being able to do that again. So just be aware, and you're not alone if you're feeling that way.
Rule #3: Eating in front of other people is vulnerable and messy, but you have to do it
I've said it once and I'll say it again: putting a sloppy soup or a big ol' burger down your face hole is the most vulnerable thing we do with other humans on a regular basis.
Everyone eats weird! Everyone! And we're all messy! All of us!
In many ways, the past year has been a reprieve from the intimacy inherent in sharing a meal. Ready to eat? Smash those mute and camera buttons. The gross way you eat your $15 delivery burger stays between you and your god.
But out in the real world, we're going to need to watch each other eat. We're going to care if garlic aioli spills on our outside clothes, as opposed to the sweats we're all wearing now. I know I will get food stuck in my beard.
I'm not saying go practice eating in front of a mirror before going out to a restaurant again. That's serial killer behavior.
But what I am saying is to just remember that we all had to learn to eat as babies once, and I'm pretty sure we're going to have to re-learn it again now. And that's okay. Because we're all re-learning it.
Rule #4: People can see how you react, so choose a side
I hate to break it to you, but once we're all vaccinated you're going to have to see your extended family. And there's not going to be a go-on-no-video-and-mute option when your conspiracy-loving uncle starts going on an impassioned defense of how Armie Hammer maybe wasn't all that wrong to try human meat—not that it's been proven that he actually did eat human meat!—because in the free market individuals of means can and should do whatever they want because they've earned it.
You're going to react with your real-life human face. You may not have control over your face. But you will react, and—I cannot stress this enough—other people will see it.
So here's my proposal: we have an opportunity to do a social reset here. We need to cut out all the shades of gray.
I believe there should only be two ways to react in any moment. No half measures.
The first way is to lock it down. This is your classic stare-into-the-mashed-potatoes look. A small knowing glance to your sibling. It's small, it's controlled, and it's passive. Nothing to see here.
The second way is to go all out. I want a reaction like you're in the ensemble of your high school's production of Annie Get Your Gun and you've just heard that Annie Oakley is going to challenge the main guy (whose name doesn't matter) to a shooting contest. Wide eyes, open mouth, and visible from the back of the auditorium.
And those are your only two choices. We have all gone through too much in the past year to do anything halfway anymore.
Avoid or agog, those are the only ways forward.