Don't reek of onions or take up too much space.
It is a privilege to be antisocial.
Let’s go back 10,000 years and check in on humanity. While a few communities around the Fertile Crescent have decided it’s a good idea to stay put and grow plants, most people are free-roaming citizens of nowhere. Humans are a nomadic, pack-based species that travel in groups of roughly 20 to 50, hunting animals and gathering wild food. Summers mean long days hunting and preparing because winters are cold, hungry, and dangerousThe clans, tribes, and families roam the landscape, helping each other out. Give Clive a bit of rest, he’s broken his toe. Let Erica have a bigger cut of deer; she’s just found out she’s pregnant. Everyone helps each other because that’s what you do when it’s you against the world. In the Neolithic world of yesterday, people often tried to be prosocial.
Except for Ralph. Ralph is an unquestionable asshole. He hides extra food in his sack, and he cried with laughter when Clive dropped that rock on his toe. “It’s your own fault for getting pregnant,” he tells Erica, as he claws back her extra slice of meat.
Now imagine that, one day, Ralph eats the wrong berries and he’s almost comatose from a dreadful dysentery. The group gets together, and all agree: Ralph’s an unquestionable asshole. Let’s leave Ralph behind.
To be antisocial is a luxury because we no longer live in a world that quite so obviously depends on the pack. Of course, with welfare states and human rights, Ralph would probably make it through and live a long, if somewhat friendless, life. Today, the issue is not so much one of life or death but of advantage and support. We need to be friendly and sociable to make everything a bit easier.
In his 1751 work, An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, the philosopher David Hume argued that being well-liked is important not only because it feels good but because it reduces social friction. We need prosocial, amiable, cooperative people because it makes everything just a little less rubbish. And so, Hume spent a few months working out his ideas about how to become likable.
Here are his five tips for fitting in and getting along.
The mutual sacrifice of ego
For Hume, humans are naturally proud and prone to ego. We’ve all got a bit of Ralph in us. But if everyone acted on this natural impulse to be the most important person in the room, society would become intolerable. It would become unworkable. And so, Hume argued that we need good manners.
Good manners aren’t just those socially constricting Victorian pleasantries we laugh at on Netflix. No corsets or starched collars required. Good manners are a system of mutual deference. It’s when you signal to others that you are temporarily setting aside your own ego to make space for theirs.
So, don’t talk too much. Don’t make everything about you. Ask questions, be curious, and let someone else take up the space instead.
Take things lightly
We like to be around people who make us laugh and keep us entertained. Being able to joke a bit and make light of big things prevents social interaction from becoming a tedious chore. If we constantly dreaded the company of other people, we’d want to avoid them. We’d all be forced into a Ralph-like assholery simply because being left to die of dysentery is better than long, boring hours of seriousness.
As Hume put it, cheerfulness “carries great merit with it, and naturally conciliates the goodwill of mankind.” A light-hearted conversationalist sparks “the flame that spreads through the whole circle.”
So, learn how to tell a good story and how to keep a conversation flowing. Make a joke. It’s what makes being around other people more than just a prehistoric necessity of survival.
Let others shine
Few things are more universally repellent than arrogance. Hume thinks that excessive and unrelenting vanity is so disagreeable because it directly threatens the vanity of others. In other words, when we celebrate our own beauty, success, power, wealth, or whatever, it makes other people feel worse. We feel ugly, weak, poor, unsuccessful, and so on.
A likeable person carries with them an authentic modesty. This does not mean self-hatred or false humility, but rather a quiet confidence that does not demand constant validation.
Admit your shortcomings, make fun of a past mistake, compliment others on who they are or what they do.
The Scottish Confucian
More than 2,000 years before Hume, the Chinese philosopher Confucius argued that one of the cardinal virtues was Li, or social propriety. Li is that sense of knowing how to read the room and act in a way that fits the context. We play the role required of us at that time. It’s not “two-faced” to talk a certain way to a certain person — it’s a part of being human. If Confucius is right, it’s part of being a great human.
Hume agreed. He points out that behavior perfectly suited for a young person might look foolish in an elder — “How do you do, fellow kids!” Likewise, the bawdy, screaming humor of the tavern is probably inappropriate at a solemn gathering. No drinking games in the emergency room.
The likeable person is highly attuned to their environment and adjusts their frequency to match the room they are in. They change their behaviour and conversation with “a proper regard to age, sex, character, and station in the world.”
Wash your clothes now and again
It sounds surprisingly basic for a philosophical treatise, but Hume explicitly lists physical cleanliness as a virtue immediately agreeable to others.
These days, with modern plumbing and vast-scale manufacturing, most of us can have a warm shower and lather our hair now and then. We can buy deodorant, soap, and toothpaste on a quick trip to the store. Hume’s day was different. If you were to be around other people, you should do your best not to reek.
But while the standards have certainly improved, there is a wider point to acknowledge here: the physicality of our interactions. When you are talking with someone, you are in the same space as them. Yes, this means you shouldn’t smell of onions if you can avoid it. You shouldn’t fart, burp, or scratch your privates. But it also means you shouldn’t take up so much room as to cramp the people next to you. I once knew someone — never really a friend — who would be constantly moving. He’d shadow box while others were talking or even spin on the spot. Whether it’s cocaine or your natural energy, try to think about others’ physical space.
None of this is about being fake. It’s about remembering we’re still pack animals — just with better hygiene. So, set your ego aside, lighten up, let others shine, read the room, and have a wash. If you do all that, nobody’s leaving you behind with dysentery.
