London is famously a city full of opportunity, diversity, spectacular sights, historical marvels, but what it is not famous for is its friendliness. Many Brits seem to blame this on the far from glamorous English weather, others on England, particularly the South, being historically cold-hearted. This does ring true, particularly on public transport or in central London. Emmie Harrison-West points out in her article ‘London makes people rude and unpleasant – I’m glad I’ve left” that while moving around London, “Morals, manners and unique thinking doesn’t exist as you become part of a fluid, sprawling mass of sheep in suits and dirty trainers.” She goes on to explain how, in being part of London life, you often find yourself ignoring your moral standards, believing yourself to be more important than someone else. Examples include rolling eyes at wide eyed tourists, being frustrated when a mother and buggy are trying to use the tube at rush hour or someone slowly walking in front of you. People don’t look around, we look at our feet, don’t make eye contact, and never smile at people. Part of this also, as a woman, comes down to safety; continuously as women we are told that we mustn’t do anything to elicit unwanted attention, things such as the above. I fear that these things, including blaming weather and fear for safety (although women’s safety is still very much an important concern for women), are being used as excuses by London society due to the fact that most of the time Londoners have so much on their plate – work, money, feeding themselves and others – that they don’t feel like they can afford to exert anymore of their precious energy. It has become culturally ingrained in London that you must follow some intangible social code that denies you opportunity to speak to or even make eye contact with people, for fear of being considered rude, impolite and annoying.
I had the unfortunate experience over the summer of witnessing just how uninterested Londoners are in helping strangers out; one morning, I hit my head really hard on a cupboard door. I forgot about it, but 10 minutes later my eyesight became blurry (I had totally forgotten that I had hit my head, so this felt like a freak incident that would probably pass). I decided to carry on and go to work. This was a mistake as when I got on the tube I quickly realised that I was getting a migraine – I felt like my head was being split open by an axe, I called my mum in floods of tears asking what to do. For some reason I continued the 30 minute journey on the tube to my stop. When I tried to stand up to get off my legs buckled beneath me, I stumbled out onto the platform and became briefly unconscious on a bench. When I came around I decided to get a train back home; thankfully the train back shared the same platform and I got straight on the next train. All this time I’m crying, and trying to contain the nauseous impulse to throw up. At my stop I barely think I can make it to my house without vomiting (sorry for those emetophobes). I managed to get all the way there, but nope, my body couldn’t handle it and I had to, mortifyingly, squat down and, as discreetly as possible, vomit onto the pavement as multiple people pass me. Standing back up and feeling totally embarrassed, I went back to my house, only the next day remembering that I had hit my head, and that the chaos that followed was due to concussion.
This experience was illuminating to me. Not once did someone stop to ask if I was okay. People just glared or stared at me and looked away again. This, I fear, is the reality of London. People are so much in their own worlds that they can’t even face reaching out to someone who is visibly in pain and needs help.
All this is not to say that I’m exempt from this. I often find myself being frustrated by slow walkers, or purposefully avoid eye contact with people. But there are things, having now been aware of this problem for a while, that I try to employ to just take the sting out of the cold London persona, not just for other people, but for my own wellbeing and positivity. These things include such basic rules of politeness that we get taught as children but are so easy to forget; saying thank you if someone moves aside for you, or, if you are in a rush, rather than just pushing past someone, actually saying excuse me and thanking them for moving for you. In a coffee shop if the barista has a name tag, thank them by their name when you collect your coffee, or ask a shopkeeper their name if they have helped you find something, and thank them directly. London doesn’t have to be a place devoid of genuine human interactions – remembering that you have a role to play in this perception of London is a great start to shifting this culture to a more friendly disposition.