Can you introduce yourself?
If small talk is all that is required, it is best to stick to general subjects like traffic, the gadget culture cliché, and the American president.
There are more and more events where strangers are thrown together socially. It’s not just wakes and weddings but also open seminars on leadership and team-building sessions involving groups of companies. Why is there this need to know who everybody is and what they do for a living even when the possibility of ever seeing each other again is quite remote?
Can you introduce yourself? Please do not deliver a minispeech on your goals and aspirations.
Everybody has (or should have) a calling card which they can exchange if they care to. And this little rectangular data base from the analog days of paper provides at the very minimum the name, position, and the company and contact details of the card holder. This info can also be transferred on the phone via Bluetooth. But what if you send by mistake somebody’s vital statistics?
Clues to status are important in a hierarchical culture like business. Should such details also be required in a social setting?
Introducing yourself is tricky under the following situations: a) you have already retired from a high-profile position; b) you are awkwardly present as an uninvited guest, tagging along for somebody else’s school reunion; or c) you have bouts of amnesia. Outside of these challenging social situations, there is the ritual of strangers around a table introducing themselves, expecting to be reciprocated with information sharing.
There should be no stress attached to such a simple social task as self-introduction. It’s not as if the extracted information will be on long-term memory storage to be fished out for some future encounter. There’s no need to puff up the selfdescription with fictitious tags like being among Forbes Listing of Richest Filipinos (FLORF) or to unduly belittle oneself — I just live off the charity of my expatriate kids.
When introducing yourself to a stranger met for the first time, all that’s needed is a little information to guide him on what he can talk to you about.
We are so used to defining ourselves by our position, the company we work for, or how we make money — I have a small dog-grooming shop. So a person without a calling card which provides these data is at a loss on how he introduces himself — I cross-breed orchids in my garden.
If small talk is all that is required, it is best to stick to general subjects like traffic, the gadget culture cliché (nobody converses anymore, they’re just absorbed with their gadgets), and the American president. (It’s best to talk about other countries.) Other topics with partisan overtones say, local politics and religion, should be avoided as these invite ad-hominem queries on the legitimacy of your perspective — why, what do you actually do, aside from orchids?
There is always the harmless probing of common backgrounds, utilizing the theory of “six degrees of separation” tracing friends of friends, school ties, cousins of cousins, and colleagues from different companies in past lives. This bit of detective work which in a wedding (are you with the bride’s party?) or wake (did you know the deceased well?) leads to the inevitable Eureka moment, usually after five minutes of uninterrupted interrogation to the remark which is preordained and reached with much relief — “It’s a small world.” This bit of social digging veers away from the undue preoccupation with occupations. It also takes up a lot of time which is there to be wasted.
Odd relationships like accompanying partners not covered by routine labels like spouses or much younger property consultants require their own diversionary tactics including arriving separately or mixing with different conversation groups. Here, avoidance is the best recourse. It may even require discussing a topic you’ve been avoiding regarding what you do, aside from this particular activity you’re trying to hide.
There is really no obligation to introduce yourself at all, when in a familiar social setting among colleagues, friends, and family. Those groups already know of any recent embarrassing situations you find yourself in, like retiring or losing a job after some investigations, even as you await the resolution of a TRO. This particular grapevine is on alert for changes in social status. (He looks a bit poorer.)
So, the best way to introduce yourself is like a prisoner of war, but giving only a nickname (Hi, I’m Bruce.) and no rank and serial number. You can always then wax poetic over La La Land... and keep your occupation, or the present lack of it, out of the conversation.