The Side-Eye on not being friends

‘So let me get this right,’ my North American friend said, looking over my shoulder for the men in white coats. ‘Toast sticks and undercooked eggs and yeast extract? That’s your desert island dish?’ Turns out that in her part of the world, eating soft-boiled eggs is a disgustingly novel idea. But it was the Marmite that she got particularly stuck on. It’s a notoriously love-or-hate condiment.

Eating my way through another round of dippy eggs (don’t be coming at me with your kombucha at this desperate time), I’ve been thinking about what it would be like if we owned up to more things – and yes, more people that we strongly dislike.

This week, we’ve all learned something about opening our hearts and minds to the experience and prejudices that others face every day. So I’m definitely not talking about proudly owning ignorant judgements based on someone’s gender, race or any other characteristic. I’m talking about something much more personal and local – that feeling of ‘meh’ that you get when certain people come to mind.

They might be part of your daily life – a familiar face at work (or on Zoom), a neighbour, your partner’s best mate’s wife, a fellow parent on the same birthday party and soft play circuit as you that always seems to have her shit together. Frankly, it would make life slightly easier – more frictionless – if the sight of them didn’t make your heart sink. It would be provocative to unfollow them on Instagram, but the sight of their stupid-ass filtered life makes your teeth grind.

What’s more, just as you don’t especially ‘get’ them, it’s likely that they don’t get you either. Your karaoke special is their personal Room 101.

Their earnest chat, whether about golfing holidays or nipple piercings, makes you want to run away screaming. But apart from hiding behind a rictus grin, we don’t know where to put those feelings. In place of an established way to express mutual or even one-sided dislike, we pretend to have lost numbers, fabricate excuses or do our best impression of a melting ice-cream as we attempt to slither away from the conversation. Maybe your feelings are shared with someone else – a good old bitch with a fellow hater feels gloriously purgative, yet inevitably leaves you feeling slightly ashamed. Could it be that it’s not them, it’s you? Maybe they’re fine and dandy, but just never going to be your kind of person.

This goes both ways. As I hit midlife, I find that not only do I not mind if people dislike me, I have a certain sympathy with their view. You’re right, we don’t have much in common. Working together is going to be about as much fun as pulling teeth, we can agree on that at least! Let’s just agree to stop this chat now and seek out someone more interesting, ok?

I know myself well enough to know that, for better or worse, I’m pretty fully formed by now. If my wavelength is not your wavelength, then fair enough. It’s the platonic equivalent of not fancying each other – in fact, actively repelling each other. It’s empowering to know that the connections and friends that you make at this stage of life have to earn their place in the busy slush of work and kids and life. So when you encounter those that don’t make your grade, wish them well. And remind yourself that you could never be friends with anyone who denies the magnificence of Marmite on toast.

Jennifer Coyle, June 2020.