Amber at Prettier than Napoleon gets the cap tap for linking to three posts about kissing, including this one from the New York Times: Who Changes the Kissing Rules? Daniel Hamermesh writes:
A female friend who I hadn’t seen in several months and I greeted each other yesterday with the usual hug and one-cheek kiss. If I had done this in 1970 I would have been looked on as really weird, or I might even have been slapped.
The social norm on kissing has changed in the U.S.; and the norm elsewhere is different: In much of Europe the two-cheek greeting between friends of the opposite sex is standard.
On my first return trip to the Netherlands, I assumed that two-cheek kissing was the norm there. That nearly cost me a broken nose, as the norm there is now the three-cheek greeting kiss. My Dutch friend tells me that the norm changed in the 1980’s or so.
Why do norms change? Does some highly visible individual start the new custom? Do we adopt it from elsewhere (which can’t explain the Dutch three-cheek kiss), so that we Americans might soon be doing an Arab or Latin male-to-male hug/kiss?
I’m a physically affectionate person, raised at least partly in a physically affectionate family. Though my mother’s family was, in keeping with WASP tradition, less demonstrative, my father (raised by central European ethnic Jews) was always a hugger — and a kisser. I grew up taking the kisses from both my parents for granted, and was rather surprised when I realized, perhaps around first grade, that while other mothers kissed both their children and fathers kissed their daughters, mine was the only Papa who seemed to be publicly kissing his sons. Indeed, my only memories of squirming away from any adult touch in my entire childhood came as a result of my embarrassment at my father’s kisses. Dad always kissed me on the cheek or (less often) on the head, and I was very eager to discourage this behavior in public, for fear of being teased by other boys.
In time, of course, I came to appreciate my father’s demonstrativeness. Some of my cousins on my mother’s side grew up shaking hands with their fathers and no more; I know of two brothers who first hugged their fathers, awkwardly, on their wedding days. I’m more than willing to overthrow WASP convention for the sake of manifesting my adoration on my children of both sexes; from the time they are small, my kids are going to be kissed.
I’ve run, over the years, into many subcultures of male kissing. With the gay male buddies I made in college, I began to hug and kiss them much as I did my female friends; these were not sexual kisses but simply signs of affection used primarily at “hello” and “goodbye”. Even among some of my gay friends, there was a clear self-consciousness about the function of these platonic smooches — there was an awareness, sometimes remarked upon, that we were doing something counter-cultural. And for ostensibly straight men to hug and kiss gay men was, at least in my circle of friends in the Bay Area in the mid-to-late 1980s, a sign of one’s comfort level with one’s own sexuality and masculinity. To be uncomfortable with hugging and kissing gay men was as clear a marker of insecurity as trembling hands and knocking knees.
My wife and I study at the Kabbalah Centre. In the Kabbalah community, I’ve met loads of Israelis — and found myself delighted with that particular culture’s kissing protocol. Men and women kiss each other on two cheeks (but not three), and men often kiss each other on one cheek as well. Israeli men, particularly former soldiers, are not renowned for either androgyny or subtlety; it’s a delight to watch these lads of all ages demonstrate so much physical affection towards one another. I’ve hugged and kissed a lot of men since I came to the Centre, and it’s a comfortable and safe culture in which to be immersed.
In youth ministry, I often follow the “if it moves, hug it” philosophy. I say “often” rather than “always” because I recognize that while most young people are (whether they know it or not) hungry for safe and affectionate touch from adults whom they have grown to trust, I know that others (for any number of reasons ranging from abuse to autism to simply not being that sort of kid) experience most embraces as violating. I trust my instincts, and don’t foist affection on those whom I don’t know well.
But those boys and girls who do want hugs can always have them from me, and sometimes – this depends on the kid and the situation — a kiss as well. With teens I work with, the only place I generally kiss is on the forehead. It can function, in the right setting (particularly after a talk) as a kind of benediction. When I was in college, a priest who mentored me kissed me a few times on my forehead — I experienced it as nonsexual, utterly non-violating, and appropriately intimate. It was what I needed. I don’t kiss most young people with whom I work, mind you, but sometimes (again, trusting those ENFP instincts) I do.
The rules about kissing are many and varied, and as the Times piece points out, always in flux between and within cultures. I’m a happy kisser, though even I have qualms about kissing anyone other than romantic partners on the lips. I know families in which parents and children and siblings kiss on the lips; I have friends who kiss each other without the slightest sexual intent on the lips. Somehow, for me, the lips are a charged erogenous zone in the way no other part of the body above the neck can be. I’ll kiss foreheads and cheeks (and, much less often, usually by accident, noses). But I will do all that I can to avoid kissing anyone other than my wife on the mouth, though I won’t push a friend away in wrath if he or she drops a peck below my nose and above my chin. It’s an artificial and arbitrary boundary, to be sure, like all such boundaries, but it’s mine. But even in this, I am inconsistent, as I happily permit dogs and chinchillas to kiss me on the mouth, and I return the favor without, obviously, any carnal intent.
Feel free to share kissing thoughts.
Did you ever, in your time with Mennonites, run into the formal kiss of greeting that the Plain world uses?
(For me, it’s one of the more powerful gestures of inclusion/exclusion.)
I saw it when we had some folks from Pennsylvania come to Pasadena Mennonite.
My mother and I used to kiss on the lips in greeting. I caught glandular fever last year, so naturally she couldn’t kiss me on a couple of visits, and we haven’t resumed the habit.
I miss it.
I’m comfortable with kissing cheeks, but am confused and a little distressed by the pretend kisses that sometimes result – usually cheek rubs. For me, touching faces with someone is more intimate and personal than kissing cheeks and I feel uncomfortable rubbing cheeks platonically. I always turn my head to the side when I hug, which people often misinterpret as putting my head on their shoulder. It’s not conscious – I just automatically avoid face-to-face contact, in the same way I avoid touching someone’s bottom.
I found what you wrote very interesting
In France, people usually kiss on both cheeks (although in certain areas, they exchange a three-cheek kiss). I was very surprised when I first saw my ex boyfriend (he is English) kiss his mum on the lips for the first time, not because I’d not seen anyone do that before, but because even with his closest friends of both sexes physical contact was extremely rare. I and my friends kiss and hug but it feels awkward to kiss on the cheeks people I don’t know, friends of friends I’ve just been introduced to, even if it’s common practice in this country.
I grew up in the States, and both my mom and dad kissed us three (boys) on the mouth upon parting or returning up until puberty or so. These days, it’s mouth- or single-cheek-kissing plus a hug with Mom, hug or a handshake with Dad. My Dad usually still kisses female family members on the mouth, and I suspect it was we kids who dictated the pace of these changes.
I wonder if the increased acceptability of kissing in the US is an import that comes with immigrants from cultures that are kissier that WASP culture? Growing up in the Midwest, it took effort to train friends to accept hugs. Visiting El Paso when I was 18, I was pleasantly surprised to find that a sort of hybrid handshake/left-armed-hug/cheek-kiss greeting was standard. I lived in Thailand for a year, and there you don’t touch at all in greeting (though hand-holding and backrubs amongst same-sex friends is totally fine, male or female. Pretty cool to see very macho working men give each other much-needed massages without the slightest discomfort.) I’m in Montreal now, and though the two-kiss goodbye is like 99% innocent, I admit I do get a tiny frisson from kissing all those cute boys on the cheeks.
Throughout my life, I’ve sought to kiss females ONLY on places like the cheek, and not to kiss other males at all. This isn’t homophobia; it’s a desire to save something you do just for someone you have romantic feelings for, and when you don’t kiss anyone on the mouth, ever, cheek-kissing may be that thing you want to save for a Special Someone. I wish the cheek-kiss were treated as more special, instead of the “just friends” or the “purely platonic” gesture people treat it as.
Now, since I appear to be the only one who doesn’t know this, where exactly is a person’s third cheek? I only seem to have two — on my face, at least.
My mother and I still greet by giving each other quick “pecks” on the lips. That’s just how we’ve always done it, and it’ll probably never change. My sister and I do this as well. At first it weirded out my boyfriends, but after explaining to them the significance of the kiss, and that it was part of our culture-they wished that they had the same amount of affection within their families. Greeting someone by kissing them either on the cheek or on the lips, depending on it is, has become very normal for me. Not only do I do this with my family, but with best friends as well. And it’s become just a sign of affection and care.
When I was growing up in South America, it was standard for everyone — male and female — to kiss each other once on the cheek when saying hello and goodbye. I learned how to do this smoothly as a young teen, and never found it that awkward (even though I don’t really like getting so close to acquaintances) because all parties knew what was expected of them. What I find socially awkward is the American hug, because the practice seems to be based more on the desire of the hugger than on social custom. There’s always this split second in which I realize that someone wants to hug and we silently negotiate what will happen next. I find being pressed up against a friend or acquaintance to be much more intimate than a quick peck on the cheek.
I’d have thought your father’s Englishness would have trumped his immersion in Ashkenazia. Interesting.
My father was a hugger and a kisser with children of all ages(as in well into their adult life) but not with other men.
I’ll kiss my kids on the lips for hellos, goodbyes, and bedtime (and whenever else they want it), but I’m not a kisser with anybody else but the husband. My family isn’t a big kissing family, it’s usually reserved for romantic partners and small children, and only romantic partners get the lips. We do hugs, though. But for some reason, both my kids are kissers (so far) and we haven’t discouraged them from it. We don’t want them to feel self conscious about showing affection.
My mother in law (and the husband’s other relatives of her generation) do a variation on the double cheek kisses goodbye. She doesn’t kiss, exactly, it’s more of a cheek press and sniff coupled with a sort of hug. At first, I found this really odd and a bit offputting, but I’ve gotten used to it. I still don’t like it, especially, but after 10 years, it’s something I’m accustomed to from her. The younger relatives on his side are more like my family–hugging on greetings and goodbyes, but no kissing.
When I lived in the Midwest, most kissing was verboten, and it’s always felt a little awkward to me growing up. Which is a real shame, because after we moved to the Southwest, I learned about the pleasures of hugging. Now I’m back in the midwest, and people generally aren’t as comfortable with it, and that makes me sad.
I never really understood the “if you don’t do it, it makes it more intimate” talk. Kissing my husband is entirely different than kissing my friends, and I’ve never had a glimmer of the same feeling. I love sharing physical affection with my friends and families; it’s nice.
“I never really understood the ‘if you don’t do it, it makes it more intimate’ talk. Kissing my husband is entirely different than kissing my friends, and I’ve never had a glimmer of the same feeling.”
But then there’s something ELSE you do only with your husband, right? Then kissing (wherever) wouldn’t need to have that role. If you don’t do something else only with him, then you might want that one act to be For One Person Only.
There is nothing that I’ve done with my husband that I haven’t done with someone else. I don’t have anything that is “For One Person Only”; and yet, I don’t feel like my intimacy with him is lacking in any way.
I think we cross-over too many ideals from property, including rarity makes something more valuable.
I think that I tend to be relatively averse to physical contact. I don’t generally touch strangers in most circumstances, and won’t do much more than a handshake (and often not that with females).
I have a hard time believing, Antigone, that there is no act of affection you do with your husband that you don’t currently do with anyone else. I mean, if it’s really true, then I won’t pry beyond that, but most people save certain things for their current romantic partner.
How about the “smelling kiss”? This is prevalent in SE Asia (e.g., in Indonesian, the word for ‘kiss’ [cium] originally referred to a long sniff on the cheek) – probably why baths are an important aspect in those places. Kissing on the lips or cheeks, on the other hand, arrived quite recently.