As a dual citizen of the US and Canada, people often tell me what they admire, dislike, and find baffling about Americans.* Understandably, many of these conversations at the moment focus on geo-political issues. But across the years, the questions are typically more related to day-to-day interactions with US colleagues and friends.
Like all cultures, there’s no one American way. Some of these behaviors apply to me and many of my American friends and others don’t. But as with most cultures, there are some dominant patterns that emerge. Here are a few questions I often hear.
Why do Americans ask, “How are you?” if they don’t really want an answer?
When Americans ask, “How are you?” the expected response seems to be, “Great. How are you?” even if you’re anything but great. Many find this incredibly disingenuous but for the average American, “How are you” is not a literal request for information as much as it is a greeting. At most, someone having a difficult day might be expected to respond, “It’s been a long week, but it is what it is. How are you?”
Think about this question as more of an American ritual than a question. Similar to how Japanese chefs greet guests by saying, “Itadakimasu,” asking “How are you?” functions primarily as a signal of warmth and politeness. American culture prides itself on efficiency and friendliness, something that stems in part from being a nation of people who left extended families and social networks to begin life in a new land filled with strangers. Casual warmth makes brief encounters easier without necessarily creating a relational commitment beyond the moment.
Why is everything “awesome”?
Many Americans appear easily enthused. The presentation was awesome. The new restaurant was amazing. The conference was incredible. This is particularly true in US white culture. In fact, an African American working for a nonprofit told me that before he meets with potential donors, he purposely thinks about how to incorporate words like “awesome” into how he describes his work. “I put on a pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt, and I insert awesome as often as I can.”
The pioneering, entrepreneurial roots of the US are embedded with a sense of optimism and sayings like, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” That optimistic outlook contributes to a reflexive orientation toward positivity. While there’s no shortage of Americans who feel like life is anything but awesome, there’s a default toward describing everyday good moments in overly enthusiastic terms.
Why do you respond to emails when you’re on holiday?
Europeans are particularly baffled by how many US colleagues stay online during their summer holidays. US work cultures reinforce expectations of accessibility wherever you are, and many employees feel stressed about falling too far behind while they’re away. I think this comes in part from the importance that work and productivity play in the American identity. Americans are quick to ask, “What do you do?” to locate someone socially and personally.
US culture was shaped by migration, industrialization, and a persistent narrative of self-reliance. Productivity came to be associated with character and responsibility. In contrast, many cultures ruthlessly protect time outside of work. The American who answers an email from the beach may think of themselves as signaling reliability and commitment, while a colleague from Sweden may interpret that as a failure to set boundaries or an inability to get work done outside holiday time. Gen Z Americans are challenging this norm; it will be interesting to see how this unfolds as they move into more management roles.
Why are politics and religion off-limits in conversation but everywhere on social media?
A few weeks before the Trump vs. Clinton presidential election, I was at dinner with a group of international colleagues. A German asked the Americans at the table, “Who are you voting for?” After an awkward silence, someone said, “That’s not something we typically share publicly.” The German was humored and perplexed. American social media feeds are saturated with political and religious debate and controversy, yet many Americans are taught to avoid discussing politics and religion in conversation because they’re considered highly sensitive and personal.
US culture is organized around the assumption that people should be free to form their own beliefs and make their own decisions. However, Americans also tend to believe that discussing politics and religion will create conflict. In a culture that puts a premium on friendliness and easy social interaction, avoiding those subjects becomes a way of protecting the relationship. Social media makes it easy to declare what you believe to an audience you don’t know, while face-to-face conversation requires dealing with the immediate response of someone who may strongly disagree with you. In places like Germany, intellectual disagreement can build intimacy and trust, but not so much in the US. The increased polarization of the last decade has only intensified many American reluctance to risk a relationship over politics or religion.
Why are you so uncomfortable with silence?
Many Americans are notoriously uncomfortable with silence. Ask a question, wait a couple seconds, and if no one responds, simply answer it yourself. I readily identify with this. Unless I’m with someone I know well, too much silence feels awkward.
I think some of the aversion to silence stems from a US bias toward action and movement. Silence feels passive, boring, and like nothing is happening. It also reflects a low-context, direct communication style where Americans rely heavily on words to tell them what someone is thinking. Silence feels ambiguous. I, like others, appreciate that silence can be incredibly productive and it’s something I’m trying to incorporate more of in my life. But long periods of silence, particularly in conversation or a meeting, go against the grain of a US orientation toward speed, movement, and explicit communication.
Why do you say, “Just be honest” and then get uncomfortable when we are?
Ironically, many people outside the US feel like Americans aren’t as comfortable with direct communication as they pretend to me. Americans often say, “Just tell me what you really think. Be honest.” There’s a sincere desire to hear the person’s opinion, yet it comes with an expectation that honesty should be delivered with diplomacy and gentleness, particularly if the feedback feels personal.
I think some of the American discomfort with giving overly direct or opinionated feedback comes from a strong orientation toward autonomy and minding your own business. There’s an instinct that it’s not my place to tell you what to do. Individual rights and respecting boundaries are high values, even within families. My adult daughters ask why my wife and I were reticent to tell them what to do when they made decisions as adolescents. We viewed this as empowering them to think independently, a very American ideal. To be American often means balancing clarity with a measure of warmth, friendliness, and personal choice.
Why do you say, “Let’s get together” and never contact me again?
Many Americans move quickly from “Nice to meet you” to sharing surprisingly personal details. The level of disclosure between relative strangers can make it seem like you’re moving into a close friendship fast. Many of these conversations end with, “Let’s get together. I’ll follow you on Instagram,” and you never hear from them again.
There’s some fascinating research on relational mobility to help explain this, which is the degree to which people in a society form new relationships and leave old ones relatively easily. A recent study comparing people in the US and Japan found much higher relational mobility among Americans than Japanese. In the highly individualist, extroverted US culture, social networks are fluid and relational mobility is high. There are also lower expectations surrounding the need to follow through on every social connection. It’s usually not an intentional effort to ghost someone. Life is busy and saying “Let’s get together” may not be meant literally.
I imagine many Americans reading this are thinking, That’s not me! (which by the way is a very American thing to do; we like to think we’re exceptions to any broad generalizations). I’m not sure I can think of an American who fully embodies all of these. And I’ve been repeatedly cautioning against putting too much weight on nationality to understand anyone’s values and behavior. Yet we’re all still shaped in part by our national cultures.
My hope in sharing these questions is to elicit reflection, regardless of whether you’re an American. We all have behaviors that are welcomed by some and annoying to others. The culturally intelligent learn how to draw on a variety of behaviors to express their core values. Warmth might be expressed with a friendly “how are you” to one person and by stopping to have an unhurried conversation with someone else. Maybe the best way to use the irritating behaviors of others is to consider, which behaviors of ours send a wrong message to others?
*America includes all of North, Central, and South America. But for the purposes of this article, I’m using “American” as it’s often used, to refer to people from the US.