‘I Like You’: The Challenges of Expressing Affection

Henri Fantin-Latour, La Lecture

'Liking one person is an extra reason for liking another.’
E M Forster

Like many people I came out of lockdown with a new-found fondness for my neighbours and local storekeepers; with a commitment to embark on a fresh chapter of cordiality and kindness. 

I found, however, that writing that fresh chapter would be rather challenging.

Lying in bed one morning, reflecting on my pandemic experiences, I determined that, broadly speaking, the mass of the population is warm-hearted and well-intentioned. People are amiable. I like people.

Perhaps I could put a figure on human affability.

‘That’s it!’ I decided to myself. ‘I like 95% of people.’

This is not to say that I think 95% of the public are paradigms of good behaviour, charismatic characters and potential pals. Just that it’s completely possible to have a pleasant conversation with the vast majority of them – about the variable weather, the participants on Gogglebox, the return of ABBA or plans for supper this evening.

When I revealed my new positive perspective at a dinner party, it was greeted with disbelief. 

‘You’re naïve, Jim. Humanity is really not that nice.’

Being somewhat timid in my convictions, I promptly adjusted the figure down to 80%. Nonetheless I still felt the theme worth pursuing. 

Next I decided that if people are so amiable, I ought to evolve my own engagement with the world.

I suspect I have a tendency to sceptical glances, sharp remarks and ironic gestures. My conversation is littered with parentheses and I communicate my feelings in cautious, caveated ways. I find it difficult to express affection. 

I resolved that I should emerge from the pandemic a more direct, open and honest individual. I would do away with artifice and affectation, cynicism and sarcasm. I would smile at strangers and be genial towards pets. I would be attentive when people spoke about minor ailments, travel routes, parking and bins. I would tell friends and acquaintances how much I liked them.

'I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.’
Audrey Hepburn

I decided I would test out my new bonhomie at Michelle’s drinks party, an event that was attended by a good many former colleagues and associates.

Across a crowded room I spotted Toby.

Although Toby had worked for another agency, through many encounters at client meetings and industry events I had established that he was charming, intelligent, quick witted and funny. I liked Toby.

At an opportune moment I strode up to him and announced: ‘Toby, I just wanted to say: I like you.’ 

He was somewhat taken aback. 

‘I like you too, Jim’, he said, with a look of unease, as he turned to fetch himself another lager. 

He didn’t come back.

Later that same evening I told Natasha that I liked her too. That didn’t go down particularly well either. 

My experiment had failed. It’s really not that easy to express fondness in a frank and forthright fashion. Sincerity provokes suspicion. It comes across as dubious and strange.

I would have to return to circumlocution; to euphemism, intimation and assumption; to subtle gestures and coded compliments.

'Is it really possible to tell someone else what one feels?'
Leo Tolstoy, ‘Anna Karenina’

I realise now that the challenges of conveying affection also extend to the workplace. 

I’m not sure I was ever very good at telling the teams that worked for me that I was impressed; that they’d done a good job; that they’d exceeded my expectations. I was worried perhaps that it would all seem rather awkward, superfluous and empty. 

And then the moment passed.

And yet I know that if I had been better at expressing gratitude and appreciation, it would have led to more confident, motivated, loyal employees. It would have created more effective teams.

I wish I’d found the time.

Perhaps we should all commit to articulating our admiration and approval with greater frequency, alacrity and clarity. 

Though I would not now recommend the candid, unfiltered approach. Probably better to start with a little small talk - about the weather, Gogglebox, ABBA and plans for supper this evening.

'When you cycled by
Here began all my dreams,
The saddest thing I've ever seen.
And you never knew
How much I really liked you.
Because I never even told you.
Oh, and I meant to.’

The Smiths, ‘Back to the Old House’ (S Morrissey / J Marr)

No. 340

The Triumph of the Frustrations: Sometimes We Need to Star in Our Own Movie

Walter Richard Sickert - Brighton Pierrots 1915, Tate

Well, yes, since you were asking, I can sing. I have a sweet voice, but it has a narrow range and a tendency to go a-wandering. At school I found my appropriate level as a rank-and-file member of the choir. I appreciated that there was safety in numbers. I knew my place.

Nonetheless, I always hankered after greater things. I yearned for the spotlight, for centre stage, imagining that there was a sensuous soul singer lurking deep within my awkward, apprehensive exterior.

The Pembroke College Talent Competition provided the ideal opportunity to test my mettle. And so I teamed up with my mate Thommo, who could both sing and play guitar. Conscious of my more limited skill-set, I suggested it would be best if he concentrated on the instrumental side of things.

We called ourselves The Frustrations, the idea being that we were ‘the thwarted Temptations.’ But to be honest we didn’t have too much in common with David Ruffin and co.

We put together a concise set of covers that would appeal to a broad range of student tastes. Iggy Pop’s ‘The Passenger’ had a menacing monotone verse and a rousing ‘la-la-la’ chorus. The Smiths’ ‘Please, Please, Please’ signalled a pale-and-interesting, wistful melancholia. And Andy Williams’ ‘Can’t Get Used to Losing You’ implied a certain supper-club sophistication.

'Guess there's no use in hangin' ‘round.
Guess I'll get dressed and do the town.
I'll find some crowded avenue,
Though it will be empty without you.
I can't get used to losin' you no matter what I try to do,
Gonna live my whole life thorough, loving you.’

Andy Williams, ‘Can’t Get Used to Losing You’ (J Pomus / M Shuman)

On the big night Thommo and I donned our shiny vintage suits, with pressed shirts and slim silk ties. As usual, I had my hair slicked back with Black & White coconut oil - I think I was channelling Spandau Ballet – and, of course, we both wore white towelling socks. We were from Croydon and Romford, and ours was the true sound of the suburbs.

The College bar was small, smoke-filled, dark and dingy, the only comfort supplied by the tatty orange-brown banquettes. Tonight it was crammed with students in combat jackets, pyjama tops and greasy Docs; with studded belts, ripped jeans and soaped-up hair.

And so it came to our turn at the microphone, and we edged onto the makeshift stage located neatly between the darts board and the jukebox. What we lacked in ability we made up for with youthful brio. And soon we had them swaying on the banquettes and singing along with the chorus. Our friends Rob and Doug enhanced the authentic gig experience by pelting us with plastic glasses.

No surprise perhaps that the Frustrations triumphed at the Pembroke College Talent Competition. The Holsten Pils bottles were cracked open, the jukebox was cranked up, and Thommo and I danced jubilantly into the early hours. ‘The sky was made for us tonight.’

'Get into the car.
We'll be the passenger.
We'll ride through the city tonight.
See the city's ripped backsides.
We'll see the bright and hollow sky
We'll see the stars that shine so bright.
The sky was made for us tonight.’

Iggy Pop, ‘The Passenger’ (J Osterberg / R Gardiner)

Many of us are naturally shy, polite, reserved. We are team players, happy to participate and contribute, without being centre stage. But that’s not always enough to sustain us. Sometimes it seems like we’re just extras or bit-part actors; as if we’re performing a supporting role in someone else’s film.

Just occasionally it serves us well to write our own script, to step into the spotlight, to deliver our own lines, to play the romantic lead – regardless of the constraints of talent. Sometimes we deserve to live life like the star of our own movie.

Subsequent to our success Thommo and I resisted the siren call of a music career and slipped quietly back into our erstwhile roles as geeky Classicists. We were happy enough with this outcome. We had got what we wanted. This time.


'Good time for a change.
See, the luck I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad.
So please, please, please
Let me, let me, let me,
Let me get what I want
This time.'

The Smiths, ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ (J Marr / S Morrissey)

No. 294