If you’ve lived in Britain for more than about six minutes, you’ll know that “You alright?” or “How are you?” isn’t actually a question – it’s a greeting. The accepted response, to be given in all circumstances short of being actively boiled alive in a volcano at the time of asking, is “I’m fine, thanks. You?” To which the other responds that they, too, are fine. But why do we do this? Why do we constantly lie to one another? When you dig in a bit, it’s actually quite revealing about the everyday psychology and social considerations involved in being British:
It’s usually not meant as a lie
Most of the time, “I’m fine” doesn’t mean “Everything is perfect, and I’m thriving.” It means, “I don’t fancy unpacking my emotional state while we’re both standing in the meal deal aisle.” There’s a contextual element that’s important here. We’re not a demonstrative culture, and that’s got as much to do with consideration for others as it has with our famous emotional repression. If you bump into someone in the street, they may well be busy or not have the emotional bandwidth to deal with all of your issues at that point. We say “I’m fine” so that both ourselves and the other person can go about our business without the burden of a big emotional offload.
This has the dual effect of letting us know that when someone says they’re not fine, then they’re REALLY not fine, and you can accordingly set aside time to get them some help, hear about their tricky detox from ketamine, or pull them out of that volcano.
However, if what we’re expecting to hear is “I’m fine”, and people only answer differently if they’re in truly desperate need for help, why do we ask it in the first place? That’s a bit more complicated.
We were brought up to both be polite AND to keep a lid on things
Politeness is something we’re very known for here. And one of the most polite things you can do is to enquire after someone’s health.
However, politeness – like much of Britishness – is a contradictory thing. It is polite to ask how someone is, and it’s also polite to avoid talking about yourself too much. We’re supposed to be deprecatory, self-effacing, and to avoid burdening others with our personal problems.
You see the issue here. These two duties of politeness cancel one another out. On the one hand, we have to ask others how they are. On the other hand, to actually tell someone about how you are can seem self-involved and even a bit rude if the other person is clearly busy.
To be British is to spend a lot of time stuck between competing forms of politeness and social acceptability. The ‘participates in class discussion’ conflict is another case in point here. In group settings, we’re supposed to participate, be engaging, be interesting, be witty and erudite, and generally contribute to a fun time. But we’re also not supposed to be loud, annoying, obnoxious, or dominate the conversation.
It’s a tough balancing act – and we often don’t realise just how much time and mental energy we spend maintaining that balance.
Understatement is part of the national character
Above all, we try not to make a fuss unless there really, truly is something to make a fuss about. To be fair to us, that attitude didn’t appear out of nowhere. Generations of Brits have lived through war, rationing, economic hardship, and crowded family lives in which privacy was rare and jealously guarded. Talking openly about anxiety or depression simply wasn’t something many households did – not when absolutely everyone was struggling in one way or another.
Do we need to maintain that understated reserve nowadays? Maybe not. But what’s the alternative? Becoming like the Americans, being loud and shouty, exaggerating everything? What’s more, being understated is part of what makes us unique. If there’s a hurricane blowing, we say it’s “a bit breezy”, or if a leg gets chopped off in a freak accident, we go all Black Knight and describe it as “a nasty scratch”. There’s a kind of comfort and unity in that kind of thing.
Should we work to change this?
So, is the persistent “I’m fine” lie that most of us tell multiple times a day every day worth it, or should we be trying to change things? Should we be committing to being more honest with our friends, less self-effacing?
Maybe. After all, it’s always a good idea to be honest and open about your mental health and to ask for help when you need it. Vulnerability can be a powerful tool in your mental arsenal. The issue is that not everyone is your on-tap therapist, and it’s simply not fair to trauma-dump in the grocery aisle every time someone makes polite small talk.
That’s not to say that you shouldn’t reach out to anyone available if you’re in genuine crisis. Of course you should! And most decent people will know that you’re in true and dire need (nothing says “I need immediate aid!” louder to a Brit than not answering “How are you?” with “Fine, thanks!”). But as for general offloading…well, there are times and places to talk about what’s going on with you and, luckily for us, the UK provides them. They’re called pubs and patios with wine and chats with friends and family.
Reach out to your friends if you need to. Or even if you don’t need to. But otherwise, embrace the considerate understatement that makes us such a strange and unique bunch.