In the long ago times, before Covid, nobody had heard of the fist bump. We survived on the handshake’s earnest, slightly sweaty cousin and the high-five. A celebratory handshake in the air. Then, as the world shut down six years ago, those smarter than us decided that our social interactions would be changed forever. The Fist Bump was born. It was all the rage for several years. A way to safely greet someone without contracting whatever hand disease they had dipped their body into. We called it the “fist bump,” “knuckles,” “Yo, Gabba, Gabba.” And it was universal.
It’s time to dump the bump.
Now, after Covid, we are left with a vast wasteland of confusion on how to greet others. I met someone the other day and he went knuckles and I went handshake. What followed was an awkward dance that would make two eighth graders slow dancing at a party look elegant. I pulled back and tried the fist bump. He pulled back and opened his hand for the shake. Finally, we just decided to abandon all hope of a touching greeting and talked instead. The whole thing felt like the worst game of rock-paper-scissors except there were only two choices and you were doomed to select the wrong one each time.
That “rock” moment—the knuckle to knuckle—has become not so much a greeting as a negotiation. Do you tap once and bail, or do you mount a full percussion section with a whispered “pewwwwwww” as if you’re signaling the launch of a tiny spacecraft? It’s less a cultural gesture and more an act of Congress that needs to go through multiple committees before you decide.
I’m proud to say I have even mastered the elevated version of the handshake – the “cool” handshake. Where you shake hands, then pull back in that little grab thing and then dap the person up. It took me until I was in my 50’s but now I’m cool. There’s nothing about the fist bump that is cool.
So here we are, with multiple ways of greeting others yet no guiding principle on how. We have returned to normal in nearly every way. People are heading back into the office. The only people who use masks now are ICE. We have gone back to coughing into the open air, as God intended regardless if your sick grandmother is four feet away. Let’s just let the fist bump die.
We’ve turned a simple social gesture into a bureaucratic form. People have to declare their preference on a post-it: handshake, fist bump, elbow tap, toe tap for those who forgot their shoes. Maybe we incorporate Eskimo kisses in there, too. If we were a small town, this would be the year the town clock gonged every hour to a different Lady Gaga song. We’ve got a mish-mash of incongruity, a ledger of discomfort that grows every time someone forgets what century we’re in and tries to “progress” back to a handshake with the enthusiasm of a dentist appointment.
The world isn’t craving a perfect handshake or a flawless fist bump; it’s craving coherence. And maybe a little mercy. So here’s my plan, posted in bold on the corkboard of common sense: let’s retire the 8th Grade Dance of modern greetings. If you want connection, you can reserve a simple, honest shake. If you’re not sure, offer a polite nod and a smile that says, “We’re all in this post-pandemic theater together.” It’s not glamorous, but it’s simpler, safer, and mercifully free of the dramatic knuckle ballet that makes me feel like I’m negotiating a merger with a stapler.
So RIP Fist Bump. We hardly knew ya. If the handshake takes its rightful place atop society once again, great. If we decide on something else, well then it’s survival of the fittest. For me? I’m going with a choreographed hand jive.
