Shaking hands.

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I tell you what I've noticed! How shaking hands is the most suspiciously polite way to say, “I don’t trust you yet”? It’s like, “Hello, stranger. Let’s touch palms and pretend we’re not both wondering if the other one’s got sweaty fingers or a criminal record.”

Now, I don’t mind a handshake. I’ve done it. I’ve done it sober, drunk, hungover, mid-sneeze, post-vomit every state of human decay. But the thing is, it’s a bloody performance. You’ve got to get the grip right. Not too limp, not too strong. You go limp, you’re a serial killer. You go too strong, you’re a gym bro named Brad who thinks creatine is a personality.

And then there’s the duration. Oh, the bloody duration. One second too long and suddenly you’re in a hostage situation. You’re both smiling, nodding, and silently screaming, “Let go, mate. I’ve got places to be and you’ve got clammy hands.”

Now, Americans—they love a handshake. It’s like their national sport. They’ll shake your hand for meeting them, for leaving them, for agreeing, for disagreeing, for breathing in their general direction. “Nice to meet you.” Shake. “Sorry your dog died.” Shake. “I just robbed your house.” Shake. It’s like a bloody handshake epidemic!

And don’t get me started on the handshake upgrades. You know the ones. The bro-grip, the thumb-lock, the shoulder-pat, the full-body hug disguised as a handshake. It’s like a secret handshake society run by insecure men who watched too many Fast & Furious movies. “We don’t just shake hands, mate. We connect souls.”

But the worst the absolute worst is the missed handshake. You go in, they go in, and suddenly it’s like two drunk flamingos trying to high-five. You miss, you fumble, you end up grabbing their wrist like you’re checking their pulse. “Oh good, you’re alive. Let’s never speak of this dreadful moment again!”

And then there’s the post-pandemic handshake. Oh, now it’s a bloody moral dilemma. You reach out and they recoil like you just offered them a live bat. “Oh, sorry, I thought we were doing that again.” “No, mate, I do elbow bumps now. I’m evolved.” Evolved? You look like you’re trying to nudge me off a cliff.

I say we retire the handshake. Replace it with something honest. A nod. A grunt. A mutual eye-roll. Or just scream “I acknowledge your existence!” and move on. Because if the best way to say “hello” is to simulate a business deal with your fingers, maybe we’re all just pretending to be civilised while secretly judging each other’s grip strength.



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