Les Bisous
We all know that French people frequently kiss friends and family on the cheeks when greeting and saying goodbye. Technically, I think it is more accurate to consider this act to be more like cheek pressing than actual kissing. In my brief experience with this form of greeting, I have observed that the kisses are usually air kisses, and the lips don’t actually make contact with the cheek. I suspect this is simply a result of the physical constraints of lips as it is difficult for two people with normal lip extension ability who are cheek-to-cheek to simultaneously make lip-to-cheek contact. Whatever the cause, I, for one, am grateful for this physical limitation.
I must confess that “les bisous,” the French kisses, have been a source of mild anxiety for me. I am, after all, a born and bred New Englander. We don’t kiss. In fact, we hardly even see each other half of the year, and it would be unseemly to start kissing each other when we do come out of hibernation. A simple hello will almost always do, and a hug is more than sufficient for those moments when people get carried away. Kisses, however, are simply out of the question.
Having been in France for two months, I now have friends and acquaintances who greet me with les bisous. (I know you are dying to know, but I refuse to name names.) I try to stay cool and act like I have been doing this all my life. Inside, however, I experience the natural adrenaline rush that occurs when one is under attack. And then there is that little voice saying, “Oh my god, here it comes.”
You can imagine the many ways les bisous could go wrong. What if I miss the air and make contact with a body part? What if we both accidentally go in the same direction and knock heads, or worse, knock lips? What if I think it’s going to be bisous, I make my move and it turns out that they are just bending over to tie their shoe? Obviously les bisous are a cultural accident waiting to happen.
For Marty and me, bisous raise two vital issues. The most obvious one is whom do you bisou? We still have little or no insight into this as the initial bisou from someone is almost always so shocking that it’s impossible to maintain the mental or emotional equilibrium necessary to assess the situation. For us, les bisous are the French equivalent of a “shock and awe” offensive. Needless to say, we have never initiated a bisou. As Marty says, “Man, you’d never want to go that route.”
The second, more pressing issue is where do we put our hands during les bisous? This might seem like a minor issue compared to the larger, more overwhelming dilemma of bisous in general, but it’s one of those seemingly minor details that, if improperly addressed, could result in international scandal. We can all easily come up with potential safe areas for hands, but, as you can imagine, there isn’t always time and adequate reflex speed to move hands into one of these safe zones. Marty and I have discussed the hand question extensively, but have yet to find resolution. As always, advice is welcome.
Marty generally doesn’t suffer from bisou anxiety. He doesn’t get bisou’d as often as I do because men don’t bisou other men that commonly. Both men and women will bisou a woman, thereby doubling my opportunities for les bisous. His height is also an advantage since most people are shorter than him and require him to bend for proper bisou placement. Consequently, he is not susceptible to random bisous, while any adult-sized person can bisou me without my cooperation. Also, Marty cleverly takes the offensive and offers his hand in greeting, thereby minimizing the opportunity for bisous. In fact the only time I’ve seen him bisou’d is when a very cute French woman in a tight black dress with knee-length black leather boots bisou’d him when they were introduced. He hardly suffered.
I consider myself lucky because one kiss on each cheek is sufficient in France. According to my French school classmates, there are other cultures that are three-kiss cultures. Perhaps the French enjoy the symmetry of just two kisses. I am grateful for this bit of conservatism as I think the frenetic action required for three kisses is simply too hazardous.
I am showing progress in my bisou acculturation. With practice I have started to relax into les bisous. Fortunately there haven’t been any “accidents” yet, so I am being lulled into a sense of comfort that is perhaps unwarranted. I also now generally know whom to expect bisous from, so the initial shock of having someone’s face ominously approach mine is dissipating. I think with a bit more practice I may even begin to like it.
XX Nancy
(For those of you unfamiliar with this particular form of greeting card coding, the X’s are kisses. Normally one would also use O’s for hugs, but we don’t hug in France.)
I must confess that “les bisous,” the French kisses, have been a source of mild anxiety for me. I am, after all, a born and bred New Englander. We don’t kiss. In fact, we hardly even see each other half of the year, and it would be unseemly to start kissing each other when we do come out of hibernation. A simple hello will almost always do, and a hug is more than sufficient for those moments when people get carried away. Kisses, however, are simply out of the question.
Having been in France for two months, I now have friends and acquaintances who greet me with les bisous. (I know you are dying to know, but I refuse to name names.) I try to stay cool and act like I have been doing this all my life. Inside, however, I experience the natural adrenaline rush that occurs when one is under attack. And then there is that little voice saying, “Oh my god, here it comes.”
You can imagine the many ways les bisous could go wrong. What if I miss the air and make contact with a body part? What if we both accidentally go in the same direction and knock heads, or worse, knock lips? What if I think it’s going to be bisous, I make my move and it turns out that they are just bending over to tie their shoe? Obviously les bisous are a cultural accident waiting to happen.
For Marty and me, bisous raise two vital issues. The most obvious one is whom do you bisou? We still have little or no insight into this as the initial bisou from someone is almost always so shocking that it’s impossible to maintain the mental or emotional equilibrium necessary to assess the situation. For us, les bisous are the French equivalent of a “shock and awe” offensive. Needless to say, we have never initiated a bisou. As Marty says, “Man, you’d never want to go that route.”
The second, more pressing issue is where do we put our hands during les bisous? This might seem like a minor issue compared to the larger, more overwhelming dilemma of bisous in general, but it’s one of those seemingly minor details that, if improperly addressed, could result in international scandal. We can all easily come up with potential safe areas for hands, but, as you can imagine, there isn’t always time and adequate reflex speed to move hands into one of these safe zones. Marty and I have discussed the hand question extensively, but have yet to find resolution. As always, advice is welcome.
Marty generally doesn’t suffer from bisou anxiety. He doesn’t get bisou’d as often as I do because men don’t bisou other men that commonly. Both men and women will bisou a woman, thereby doubling my opportunities for les bisous. His height is also an advantage since most people are shorter than him and require him to bend for proper bisou placement. Consequently, he is not susceptible to random bisous, while any adult-sized person can bisou me without my cooperation. Also, Marty cleverly takes the offensive and offers his hand in greeting, thereby minimizing the opportunity for bisous. In fact the only time I’ve seen him bisou’d is when a very cute French woman in a tight black dress with knee-length black leather boots bisou’d him when they were introduced. He hardly suffered.
I consider myself lucky because one kiss on each cheek is sufficient in France. According to my French school classmates, there are other cultures that are three-kiss cultures. Perhaps the French enjoy the symmetry of just two kisses. I am grateful for this bit of conservatism as I think the frenetic action required for three kisses is simply too hazardous.
I am showing progress in my bisou acculturation. With practice I have started to relax into les bisous. Fortunately there haven’t been any “accidents” yet, so I am being lulled into a sense of comfort that is perhaps unwarranted. I also now generally know whom to expect bisous from, so the initial shock of having someone’s face ominously approach mine is dissipating. I think with a bit more practice I may even begin to like it.
XX Nancy
(For those of you unfamiliar with this particular form of greeting card coding, the X’s are kisses. Normally one would also use O’s for hugs, but we don’t hug in France.)
posted by Nancy at 8:54 AM
3 Comments:
I too have similar anxieties with this dangerous practice of les bisous. A couple of years ago a female boating friend who is into les bisous greeted me with one. When I reached down to put my cheek next to hers, I overshot the mark and landed a kiss on her neck. She recoiled with a stunned look on her face. She was either (1)too polite to embarass me with a comment, or (2)too embarassed to comment because her husband was standing nearby. Of course I was embarassed and wondered how I could have done such a thing. At the first opportunity I confessed my faux pas to Donna. She still laughs at the thought of it. After that experience, I proceed much more cautiously when bending down for les bisous.
Dan,
Your story demonstrates perfectly the peril of bisous. I live in constant danger.
Nancy,
Don't stess out over a kiss. It's not like they are kissing you on the lips. It's just a friendly kiss. As for hands, you go like you are giving a hug. Just go with the flow. Matthew says it is different.Think of it as Special Olymics when all the athletes come up to you and give you a hug or a kiss.
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