Social Interaction Archives - untypicable.

Georg Simmel – The Patron Saint of Social Awkwardness

AJ Wright — Tue, 04 Mar 2025 10:00:00 +0000

Georg Simmel may not be a household name like Karl Marx or Max Weber, but his work is painfully relevant to anyone who has ever felt awkward in a social setting (so, everyone). Unlike grand theorists who tackled capitalism, bureaucracy, and revolutions, Simmel focused on something far more insidious: everyday interactions. Why do we make small talk when nobody likes it? Why do we pour our souls out to taxi drivers but avoid deep conversations with family? Why does city life feel both exciting and soul-crushing at the same time? Simmel saw these contradictions and dedicated his career to explaining why human relationships are simultaneously fulfilling and deeply, deeply weird.

Why Small Talk Exists (Despite Being Universally Hated)

Simmel argued that small talk isn’t pointless drivel; it’s a social lubricant that helps maintain relationships without requiring actual emotional investment. It’s why we talk about the weather when we could be discussing mortality, tax brackets, or why Greg from Accounting is insufferable.

Small talk is essentially a survival mechanism for modern life. It establishes that we are friendly but not too friendly, engaged but not emotionally dependent. It’s a way to acknowledge each other’s existence without risking meaningful connection. Think about it: asking “How was your weekend?” is safer than asking “Do you ever think about how fleeting and meaningless our existence is?” One gets a polite smile, the other gets you reported to HR.

But not everyone is good at small talk. Neurodivergent people, introverts, and people who just can’t be bothered struggle with this forced social ritual. If you’ve ever answered “How are you?” with an overly detailed account of your recent existential crisis, Simmel would have found you fascinating.

The Stranger Theory: Why We Confess Our Darkest Secrets to Uber Drivers

Simmel’s concept of “the stranger” explains why we sometimes share things with random people we’ll never see again. The stranger exists in society but isn’t fully part of it. They float on the edge of social groups, close enough to observe but too distant to judge. This is why you’ll spill your life story to a bartender but refuse to tell your mum how your job is actually going.

This phenomenon is particularly evident in travel. Ever met someone at an airport, bonded over shared flight misery, and within an hour, you knew about their failed marriage, childhood traumas, and bizarre hobby of collecting antique spoons? That’s the stranger effect in action. You’ll never see them again, so there’s no social risk in oversharing.

The modern version of this is, of course, social media. People will reveal their innermost thoughts to thousands of strangers online while maintaining an icy level of detachment from people they actually know. Simmel would have had a field day with Twitter.

Urban Life: Why Cities Are Both Exciting and Soul-Crushing

Simmel was one of the first sociologists to argue that cities fundamentally change how humans interact. Urban environments force us to engage with an overwhelming number of people, so we develop coping mechanisms to survive the sheer volume of social contact. This is why people in big cities are both highly social and completely indifferent to one another.

If you live in a small town, ignoring someone you know is a crime punishable by social exile. In a city, making eye contact with a stranger on the Tube is practically an act of war. Simmel called this the “blasé attitude”—city dwellers develop a thick emotional skin to avoid being constantly overwhelmed. This explains why Londoners don’t react to a man in a dinosaur costume skateboarding down Oxford Street, but in a village, it would make the local paper.

City life also forces us into bizarre social contradictions. We crave community but actively avoid unnecessary interaction. We are surrounded by people but often feel incredibly lonely. We want to be part of something bigger but also desperately need personal space. This tension is what makes city living both exhilarating and mentally exhausting.

The Duality of Social Life: Why We Crave Both Connection and Distance

Simmel believed human relationships are a constant balancing act between wanting to belong and wanting to be left alone.

We want close friendships, but also personal space. We want to be noticed, but not stared at. We want to be unique, but not weird enough to be shunned by society.

This explains:

Why introverts and extroverts constantly misunderstand each other.
Why working from home is both a blessing and a curse.
Why socialising is fun until you suddenly need to lie down in a dark room.

Simmel argued that modern life forces us into paradoxes—we are surrounded by people yet often lonely, connected yet detached, hyper-social yet exhausted by it all.

Why Simmel Would Have Been Great at Observing Modern Social Weirdness

If Simmel were alive today, he would have a field day with social media, remote work, and how we interact in digital spaces.

Social media is basically a giant urban environment—we interact with thousands of people, yet feel disconnected.
Online friendships follow his “stranger” theory—we reveal things we wouldn’t in person because digital distance makes it feel safer.
The workplace “LinkedIn personality” vs. the real you—Simmel would love to analyse why people write things like, “Excited to leverage cross-functional synergy!” when they mean, “This job is slowly killing me.”

The Rituals of Everyday Life: Why Everything We Do is a Bit Ridiculous

Simmel was fascinated by how even the most mundane parts of daily life are structured by hidden social rules. Consider the ritual of ordering coffee. There is a precise dance between barista and customer, a strict script to follow:

Approach the counter but not too aggressively.
Order, ideally without making eye contact for too long.
Stand awkwardly to the side while pretending to check your phone.
Retrieve your coffee, say “thanks” even if they get your order wrong.
Leave as quickly as possible.

Any deviation from this script—like starting a full conversation with the barista or lingering too long at the counter—immediately makes the situation uncomfortable for everyone. Simmel argued that these kinds of micro-interactions, while seemingly trivial, are the glue that holds society together.

Final Thought: Embracing the Chaos of Social Life

Simmel’s work teaches us that awkwardness, contradictions, and social paradoxes aren’t just quirks of personality—they’re baked into society. Humans are inherently contradictory creatures who want both intimacy and independence, community and solitude, connection and distance.

So, next time you accidentally overshare with a stranger, freeze during small talk, or feel weirdly detached from city life, just remember: Simmel saw it coming.

Happy

0 %

Sad

0 %

Excited

0 %

Sleepy

0 %

Angry

0 %

Surprise

0 %

AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in. Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk

The post Georg Simmel – The Patron Saint of Social Awkwardness appeared first on untypicable..

Diary of a Neurodivergent Supermarket Trip

AJ Wright — Sat, 21 Dec 2024 10:00:00 +0000

For most people, a trip to the supermarket is just another mundane chore—grab some milk, pick up bread, maybe splurge on a “two for one” offer you don’t really need. For me, as a neurodivergent thinker, it’s a carefully planned adventure into a swirling vortex of sensory chaos, social tension, and existential dilemmas. Each aisle is a minefield of unexpected challenges and moments of triumph. Here’s how it unfolds.

10:00 AM – Planning the Expedition

The first stage of any supermarket trip is reconnaissance. My list isn’t just a loose collection of items; it’s an intricate map of must-buys, ranked by urgency, with aisle numbers estimated based on previous visits. This isn’t over-preparation—it’s survival.

I mentally rehearse the route: in through the sliding doors (always too fast), start at sandwich meats (because it’s near the entrance), then the aisles in strict order, finishing triumphantly at the self-checkout. Timing is critical. Late morning means fewer crowds but also fewer social interactions with bored employees asking, “Can I help you find anything?”

10:30 AM – Entering the Arena

The automatic doors hiss open, and I’m hit by the supermarket’s unique sensory cocktail: fluorescent lights, distant pop music, and a faint smell of overripe bananas from the reduced-to-clear section. My brain starts calibrating—too bright, too loud, but manageable for now. I adjust my earbuds to block the worst of the din, armed with a playlist of soothing background music.

The first hurdle: the trolley. I grab one, carefully avoiding the sticky-handled renegades. It wobbles slightly to the left. No matter—this is my steed for the journey ahead.

10:35 AM – Sandwich Meats: The Meat of the Problem

I arrive at the sandwich meats section, but instead of efficiency, I’m met with a baffling array of choices. Sainsbury’s has somehow decided that a hundred types of ham is a good idea. Honey roast, smoked, unsmoked, thick cut, wafer thin, organic, budget-friendly, premium, or with a hint of maple syrup.

And yet, beyond the ham? Not much else. A token turkey slice, a sad pack of chicken tikka, and a single lonely pastrami. It’s like someone in the product department decided that the British public can’t survive without five different shades of ham but doesn’t deserve variety. I shake my head and grab the usual. The paradoxical choice overload leaves me questioning the point of it all. Don’t get me wrong, I like ham, but do other people eat it every day?

10:45 AM – Aisle 3: The Cereal Dilemma

The cereal aisle is where the real test begins. Faced with a dazzling wall of brightly coloured boxes, I feel like I’m navigating a social experiment designed to overload my decision-making circuits.

Do I stick with the usual or try something new? The cheerful mascots on the boxes seem to mock me with their oversized smiles. I finally grab my standby granola, but not before silently judging the overabundance of chocolate-flavoured options.

10:55 AM – Mid-Journey Fatigue

By now, the background hum of the supermarket is wearing on me. A child wails in the distance. Someone’s trolley squeaks incessantly. A cheery announcement about loyalty card deals blares from the loudspeakers. My brain, already processing at full capacity, starts to fray at the edges.

A quick glance at my list tells me I’ve deviated from the planned route. Aisle 7 was supposed to follow Aisle 5, but I’ve somehow ended up in Aisle 9. Panic bubbles. Do I retrace my steps or press forward? After a moment’s deliberation, I decide to adapt. Neurodivergence is nothing if not creative under pressure.

11:05 AM – The Social Gauntlet

It happens near the dairy section: the dreaded “someone I know” encounter. My heart sinks as they approach, trolley in tow, with a smile that says we must chat.

Small talk is my nemesis. Do I ask how they are? What if they ask me the same, and I respond too literally? We exchange pleasantries, during which I overthink every word I say. After three excruciating minutes, they wave and move on, oblivious to my internal exhaustion.

11:15 AM – Self-Checkout Showdown

I reach the self-checkout, my final hurdle. The machines beckon with their promise of independence but punish the slightest mistake. As I scan my items, the machine inevitably shouts, “Unexpected item in the bagging area.” I freeze, certain everyone is watching.

A kindly attendant comes to my rescue, but their well-meaning smile is almost worse than the error. They reset the machine. I mumble a thank-you, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment.

11:20 AM – Escape and Recovery

The sliding doors part for the final time, and I step back into the world. No car waiting for me, just my feet and the cool air. The journey home is almost meditative, a sensory detox after the overload of the supermarket.

I adjust my grip on the shopping bags, enjoying the rhythm of walking and the relative silence. The sounds of nature—a bird chirping, leaves rustling—gradually untangle the knot in my chest. With every step, the sensory chaos of the past hour fades, replaced by a small sense of triumph. I made it through.

And relax…

A supermarket trip may seem mundane, but for a neurodivergent person, it’s anything but. From navigating sensory overload to decoding social interactions, every moment offers a unique challenge. Yet, it’s in these challenges that I find both humour and insight.

As I finally arrive home, unpacking my slightly excessive selection of ham and reliable granola, I reflect: it’s not about the destination—or even the groceries. It’s about finding joy in the journey, no matter how surreal it might seem.

No wonder I prefer home delivery!