NTKOG #11: The kind of girl who, upon meeting a stranger, envelops them in a warm, loving embrace.
I am: generally of the belief that, outside the bounds of a sexual/romantic relationship, touching in general and hugging in particular is something to be endured rather than pursued.
I am not: a big hugger, alright? Geez. Loathe the stuff. All that “healing touch” nonsense — wish the FDA would ban it.
The scene: A bit before lunchtime on a Thursday, around the Park Street T exit, where the worlds of historical tourism and shark-grinning, suit-clad young business sharps intersect. I exit the steps dressed in my monkey suit for a last-minute interview about which I am not particularly excited, and for which I am running embarrassingly early. As I glance around to get my bearings, my eyes awkwardly meet those of a girl standing in the middle of the plaza, holding up a handmade sign that says: “Free hugs!” She smiles warmly. I look away.
I do not understand those “Free hugs!” signs. Is it some kind of Birkenstock peacenik citizen of the universe code for “Free scabies!”? The girl looks roughly my age and very pleasant — somewhat attractive, in a way you wouldn’t go on about. She is wearing, perhaps inevitably, a backpack and Tevas. I gird my loins and approach.
TKOG: So, have you given away a lot of hugs?
Free Hugger: Oh, tons!
TKOG: Really?! To what kinds of people?
FH [closing eyes and humming slightly to the lilt of the universe]: All kinds.
TKOG: Huh. Are you a traveler?
FH: No, I live here. This is a weekly thing for me.
TKOG. Oh. Well. I guess. Can I have a hug?
FH [opening eyes again]: Of course!
The Verdict: It was a hug. Just nothing but the body-to-body, muscle-on-muscle meaningless and fully clothed contact of two people who did not know each other and will continue not to know each other. What’s the point?
I will continue to save my hugs for the people I know and love, thanks, and enjoy the emotional heft they carry in those situations. Seriously, what is the the big deal with hugging? (That said, I am willing to revise my opinion on hugging if and only if any crazy hippie world traveler type out there wants to let me know what friggin’ drugs all you sandal-dudes are taking, that you’re so friggin’ into hugging?! ’cause I kind of want to try it.)
[9/24/2010 edit: Good lord, this post is AWFUL. Was I seriously this jaded only a year ago? If by some unlucky happenstance this is one of the first of my entries you're reading, dude, I'd beseech you to check out a few later posts. I promise I get nicer! It's all part of the grand character arc that this project became, apparently.]
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I organized a Free Hugs thing in Berlin on international free hugs day. It sounds cheesy as hell, but it actually felt really nice (oxytocin rush, what what), and at least some strangers got something out of it besides a salacious thrill (one guy started crying, confessed he was newly separated and just really needed a hug). Plus, somebody actually picked me up and whirled me in the air which was the first time that had ever happened to me and felt very cinematic. So in answer to your question: oxytocin and the heady opiate of the kind of “philanthropy” that requires neither money nor effort.
Your seemingly reasonable answer is nullified by your lack of Tevas. Good day, madam.
I am an avid hugger, prone to walking down the hall at work and telling close colleagues that I need a hug when I’ve had a bad day. But I admit, I only like real hugs, authentic hugs, not the “oh-I’m-uncomfortable-but-okay-I’ll-do-it” pat-pat-pat type hugs. One of my best friends gives EXCELLENT hugs accompanied by a little happy grunt.
*Shrug* It just feels good.