Formality: Put a sock in it!

When your mother asks, “Do you want a piece of advice?” it is a mere formality. It doesn’t matter if you answer yes or no. You’re going to get it anyway... so says Erma Bombeck in a quote and while it makes amusing reading it’s also, in most cases, very true.

What is formality? The dictionary defines it as “the rigid observance of rules of convention or etiquette”.

Society is filled with little and not-so-little formalities. And these are played out in the cultures that shape us. The shaking of hands, the exchange of kisses, the sitting down to meals together, the remembrance not to slurp your soup when in the presence of others, the driving on the correct side of the road when everybody else is, the locking of the front door before leaving for work... all mere formalities.

There are some that abhor formal situations believing it introduces too much rigidity into situations where people are expected to behave falsely sometimes, forgetting to be themselves.

There are others who thrive on formality, it is the grist that runs their mill, the bread to their butter, the breath to their existence... you get the point.

Karen is one with such a leaning. She is formal to an unimaginable degree and consequently not very easy to get on with. The extremely formal apparently also turn out to be incredibly judgmental, expecting others to meet the high standards set, judging them unworthy if they don’t.

Karen is knocking (politely one would imagine) on the door of the forties. Her husband Vince, however, is striding resolutely toward thirty. In a few weeks he will reach that important milestone — for which a lot of formal preparation is being undertaken. A big birthday bash is envisaged. Friends and family are being asked. Invitation letters composed in metrical rhyme and embossed in fine calligraphic font have been printed on lavender scented paper and mailed giving enough time for RSVPs via return post.

“To go or not to go, that is the question,” said my friend Barney, who, surprise surprise, finds himself counted among the friends of Karen and Vince.

“I didn’t know you had a formal bone in your body,” I tell Barney, “seeing as you appear to have been nurtured in a laid-back cradle.”

It turns out Barney’s wife is a second cousin and it is her (his wife’s) connection that’s got him invited. Which explains a lot and also explains Barney’s predicament.

“To tell you the truth,” he confides, “I’d much rather sit down to dinner with Queen Elizabeth, much less formal I’d imagine. Besides Harry might be there and we’d have a chance to exchange a light-hearted joke or two but not at Karen’s. You keep your upper lip stiff and you try speaking that way, everything is so... yea you guessed it... stiff and starched!”

One is expected to be cognisant of a range of subjects — 1940s movies, theatre, art (especially the works of Monet and Manet just to show you have no confusion with their names. For example, who painted The Luncheon on the Grass and who produced Women in the Garden?) “Vince has gone from being a rather unaware young man, expert only in the knowledge of plumbing materials, to a well-drilled, well-schooled young father of one now, thanks to Madamoiselle Formality Herself. And yet...”

And yet?

“Yes, and yet, Kevin, scratch that fake formal veneer and you’ll find a certain brashness mate. When me and the wife moved to new premises, Karen just barged in and ran through the house without being invited to do so, all under the excuse of ‘taking a look’. Why do you need to take a look at what lies under a person’s mattress, for instance? Or under the pillowcases, or beneath the sheets?”

Formality is one thing, prying is another, stresses Barney, who has never forgiven Karen for finding his socks where they oughtn’t to have been! He’s definitely not going, he confirms.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.