I don’t remember where I learned that you’re not supposed to blow your own trumpet. Unlike most rote manners that are drilled into children you are never exactly taught that it is improper to display too much confidence. It’s just something you grow to understand. As nine-year-olds, my friends and I would police each other for the cardinal sin of “showing off”.
You grow up, you realise that you’re not going to get very far in life (especially if you’re a woman) unless you find a way to get comfortable demonstrating at least a bit of self-belief. You learn tactful ways of articulating your achievements. Professionally, that is. Socially? Self-deprecation is still ingrained. It isn’t just a custom but a communication style: making jokes at your own expense makes you approachable.
But recently, I went to a wedding in America. It was a dream: in a beautiful, creaking, old New England inn with a white porch and wreaths of carnations hanging over the screen doors. On the last day, a maple syrup stand was pitched on the lawn outside. At the “rehearsal dinner” – a tradition I’d heard about in TV and films and which here was a welcome drinks and pizza at a nearby wine bar – I met the bride’s family and friends, all desperate to talk to the British contingent with openness and generosity and curiosity. As I was introduced to them, I realised very quickly that the self-deprecation that is instinctively “polite” to us might risk coming off strange and even worse: rude.
