The social skill set
Sep. 25th, 2011 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
narcasseHaving covered the topic of how long I stood and looked down one [road] as far as I could, to where it bent in the undergrowth; then took the other [1] on Friday, this seems to be the right juncture at which to pitch my argument about finesses in social communication. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find the reference I found long ago about how INTJs who learn to play the excepted social games and develop a convincing social ‘mask’ can do well in leadership positions, so I’m resigning myself to sounding a little... diagnosable in the undertaking. For what it’s worth, I do indeed tick the required 3 boxes out of 7, that are needed to make a positive diagnosis, but since that lacks a significant paper trail, and the criteria for at least one of those boxes is extremely debatable, that’s neither here nor there.
Acceptable forms of social interaction, rules of civility and so on serve the purpose of codifying human interaction. And considering that we cram so many people into such small environments these days, those rules of conduct are necessary if anyone is to get through their day. Much like the overarching rule of law to halt the inexorable slide back into the state of nature we also need prescribed ways through which we can interact safely. Interaction is, after all, much easier if all parties know what to expect and how to go about achieving their aims. Everything runs that much more smoothly if nobody has to be brought up to speed in regards to the game rules, and you can just get down to business right away. This is, incidentally, why B2B salesmen have the leeway to be far more charming than their ‘direct to the public’ sales counterparts. The former are already dealing with customers who know the rules of the game, so they can concentrate on greasing the wheels of interaction, rather than having to explain the product or service beforehand.
There’s a general, set criteria, that we call things like civil conduct, common decency or politeness, and for the most part that criteria tells us explicitly how to behave in social discourse. It gives directions such has making sure that your handshake is firm enough, that you enquire about the other party’s wellbeing and that you make an offer to provide tea or coffee for them. These are small directions, not particularly significant when taken by themselves, but that can be used to set the tone of an interaction. And tone is everything. It requires not just the set criteria but the ability to adapt and apply one’s self. Observation is critical so that you can track the flow of the interaction, through both dialogue and body language cues. Those cues must be understood not just as isolated incidences, but within the context of the interaction, and against various pieces of relevant, prior, knowledge about the circumstances and the parties involved. Once the observed indicators are recognised then they must be responded to suitably, again through the consultation of another mental list, this time of applicable responses, given the contributing factors of the occasion. Even a suitable response must be tempered by degrees of affection, the most simple example being measuring a polite smile so that it doesn’t stretch too wide, becoming a parody, and apparent in its insincerity. The feedback from that reaction again leads into another action and so on, as the interaction continues.
The entire process of civil interaction is a game of set rules and moves. And there is an expected level of competency for all participants. What tends to surprise me about this, then, is that while the expectations are set and the rules established, there is a very haphazard way of learning the game. There is formal instruction for almost everything else but this, and the various participants are expected to learn both rules and finesse at the game, almost as if by osmosis. There’s very little concrete direction as to how to play the game and, more than that, there’s a strange mythology surrounding the process. The perpetuated theory is that some people are simply born more skilled at social interaction than others, and that those who aren’t skilled at the game, can only ever expect to become mildly competent at it. Certainly, some things may come far more easily with inclination, but that’s not to say that there isn’t a whole host of ways to improve one’s competence, and improve it dramatically. One doesn’t have to place any value on the niceties of introduction, beyond seeing them as a means to an end, to be capable of them.
But social interaction isn’t generally taught or viewed as a skill set. It’s taken as granted that it’s an inherent ability, and that alone, may be the biggest barrier to actual improvement in that area. If you buy into the myth that, for example, as an introvert, you simply don’t have the social skills, then you stall your own development there. On the other hand, if, lacking the instinctive grasp of social interaction that others seem to have, you make a study of it, then that’s just as equally perceived as defective. It’s one thing to respond to body language or verbal cues, but it’s another entirely to admit to that, especially when you have a list of set responses for each possible cue, and you evaluate them for appropriateness as requited. The minute you break down the myth of instinctive social interaction, by applying analysis, then you become suspect. It’s less about ability and more about protecting the myth, that this is a skill that you’ve simply been born with.
Of course the flip side of the coin is that, if social ability is an intuitive skill, then you’re free to classify and ‘other’ those who don’t possess it, as aberrations to the norm. That suggestion of their never being able to meet the criteria, allows for exclusion, because as everyone knows, someone who is unpredictable because they don’t understand the cues and set responses, is much too difficult to work with. This works in both directions of course, where it’s very easy to refuse to learn better social skills, as it’s perceived as an impossible task, and instead cling to your specialised area of knowledge, so that you can claim that everybody else is just too stupid to understand you. Which leaves them quite free to regard you as dysfunctional as a complimentary diagnosis.
In the end, this particular myth of inherent ability is quite the double-edged sword. It means that, on one hand, if you can play the game successfully, you can lay claim to some inherent ability that’s not so very far off from the ‘divine right of kings’ by way of mythology, and automatically grants you other such self-assured comrades readily. On the other, if you want to stay on top of your game, analysis and study is the only way to go about it, as long as you never admit to it. The minute you admit to your careful study of human interaction, the triggers and cues you anticipate, and the set responses you have planned, then you’re, colloquially speaking, a sociopath, no matter how highly functioning.
Acceptable forms of social interaction, rules of civility and so on serve the purpose of codifying human interaction. And considering that we cram so many people into such small environments these days, those rules of conduct are necessary if anyone is to get through their day. Much like the overarching rule of law to halt the inexorable slide back into the state of nature we also need prescribed ways through which we can interact safely. Interaction is, after all, much easier if all parties know what to expect and how to go about achieving their aims. Everything runs that much more smoothly if nobody has to be brought up to speed in regards to the game rules, and you can just get down to business right away. This is, incidentally, why B2B salesmen have the leeway to be far more charming than their ‘direct to the public’ sales counterparts. The former are already dealing with customers who know the rules of the game, so they can concentrate on greasing the wheels of interaction, rather than having to explain the product or service beforehand.
There’s a general, set criteria, that we call things like civil conduct, common decency or politeness, and for the most part that criteria tells us explicitly how to behave in social discourse. It gives directions such has making sure that your handshake is firm enough, that you enquire about the other party’s wellbeing and that you make an offer to provide tea or coffee for them. These are small directions, not particularly significant when taken by themselves, but that can be used to set the tone of an interaction. And tone is everything. It requires not just the set criteria but the ability to adapt and apply one’s self. Observation is critical so that you can track the flow of the interaction, through both dialogue and body language cues. Those cues must be understood not just as isolated incidences, but within the context of the interaction, and against various pieces of relevant, prior, knowledge about the circumstances and the parties involved. Once the observed indicators are recognised then they must be responded to suitably, again through the consultation of another mental list, this time of applicable responses, given the contributing factors of the occasion. Even a suitable response must be tempered by degrees of affection, the most simple example being measuring a polite smile so that it doesn’t stretch too wide, becoming a parody, and apparent in its insincerity. The feedback from that reaction again leads into another action and so on, as the interaction continues.
The entire process of civil interaction is a game of set rules and moves. And there is an expected level of competency for all participants. What tends to surprise me about this, then, is that while the expectations are set and the rules established, there is a very haphazard way of learning the game. There is formal instruction for almost everything else but this, and the various participants are expected to learn both rules and finesse at the game, almost as if by osmosis. There’s very little concrete direction as to how to play the game and, more than that, there’s a strange mythology surrounding the process. The perpetuated theory is that some people are simply born more skilled at social interaction than others, and that those who aren’t skilled at the game, can only ever expect to become mildly competent at it. Certainly, some things may come far more easily with inclination, but that’s not to say that there isn’t a whole host of ways to improve one’s competence, and improve it dramatically. One doesn’t have to place any value on the niceties of introduction, beyond seeing them as a means to an end, to be capable of them.
But social interaction isn’t generally taught or viewed as a skill set. It’s taken as granted that it’s an inherent ability, and that alone, may be the biggest barrier to actual improvement in that area. If you buy into the myth that, for example, as an introvert, you simply don’t have the social skills, then you stall your own development there. On the other hand, if, lacking the instinctive grasp of social interaction that others seem to have, you make a study of it, then that’s just as equally perceived as defective. It’s one thing to respond to body language or verbal cues, but it’s another entirely to admit to that, especially when you have a list of set responses for each possible cue, and you evaluate them for appropriateness as requited. The minute you break down the myth of instinctive social interaction, by applying analysis, then you become suspect. It’s less about ability and more about protecting the myth, that this is a skill that you’ve simply been born with.
Of course the flip side of the coin is that, if social ability is an intuitive skill, then you’re free to classify and ‘other’ those who don’t possess it, as aberrations to the norm. That suggestion of their never being able to meet the criteria, allows for exclusion, because as everyone knows, someone who is unpredictable because they don’t understand the cues and set responses, is much too difficult to work with. This works in both directions of course, where it’s very easy to refuse to learn better social skills, as it’s perceived as an impossible task, and instead cling to your specialised area of knowledge, so that you can claim that everybody else is just too stupid to understand you. Which leaves them quite free to regard you as dysfunctional as a complimentary diagnosis.
In the end, this particular myth of inherent ability is quite the double-edged sword. It means that, on one hand, if you can play the game successfully, you can lay claim to some inherent ability that’s not so very far off from the ‘divine right of kings’ by way of mythology, and automatically grants you other such self-assured comrades readily. On the other, if you want to stay on top of your game, analysis and study is the only way to go about it, as long as you never admit to it. The minute you admit to your careful study of human interaction, the triggers and cues you anticipate, and the set responses you have planned, then you’re, colloquially speaking, a sociopath, no matter how highly functioning.
[1] The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost.
