The Dutch are famous for being direct and not mincing words. They value honesty and straight-forward talk. You will always know where you stand, whether you're talking to the grocery store cashier, a friend, or a colleague. When a neighbor does you a favor, no need to apologize a million times or ask, "Are you sure?"
If they say yes, they mean yes. I kind of like that.
This communication style has it's benefits, such as efficiency and clear lines of responsibility, but for a newcomer it takes some getting used to.
For many outsiders, the Dutch can seem rude or insulting (and this isn't helped by the fact that customer service is pretty much non-existent here), and their communication style can lead to misunderstandings with the uninitiated, who tend to take it personally. What the Dutch view as aboveboard, open and sincere communication, the foreigner may interpret as blunt and tactless. There are nuggets of truth in both reasonings.
A Dutch acquaintance, for example, might say, "I really liked your hair before you got it cut." The comment is meant in a helpful way--it would be better to know, than not to know, so the thinking goes. And usually the delivery is ever-so-matter-of-fact; it's hard to actually take offense. Consider this same remark if they had said (with the addition of the comma), "I really liked your hair, before you got it cut." One can detect a little attitude, right? But said just straight up, "I really liked your hair before you got it cut," the remark is too plainspoken to allow one to personalize it or find it insulting. It just is what it is.
Of course, as the recipient, it's hard to know what to do with this kind of feedback--I mean the hairs are cut, the deed is done. There's nothing left to do but to embrace the new cut, or wait self-consciously until it grows out. And it's definitely tricky to know how to respond in the moment because often comments like these are unsolicited, and you're therefore caught off guard.
Last April, Doug and I were touring houses in Amsterdam with our real estate agent and our relocation specialist, and while we waited for the bill after lunch one day, the specialist looked over at me and said, "You're full." To this day, I have no idea what she meant to convey to me when she uttered this statement out loud. Did she think I ate too much? Did I look uncomfortable or just happily satiated? In the end, I doubt she meant anything by it, and was probably just noting an observation, albeit out loud.
Still, I was unsure how to respond, and, in general, the Dutch want you to engage back. They appreciate the dialog and genuinely hope that both parties gain insight or are better able to move forward (this is true in the workplace or in personal interactions). They will often dive quickly and deeply into a subject, no matter how controversial (for instance, my recent conversation with our neighbor about the Black Pete tradition). And because the Dutch tend to also be pragmatic and not super sentimental, even very personal matters are spoken about frankly and without a lot of fuss. Again, this often seems to be with the genuine hope that clear communication will be helpful, elucidating, transforming. Keep it real, people.
So, here begins my series on the funny, sometimes helpful, sometimes not, moments of Dutch directness. I'm curious to see if these moments fall off my radar as I become more accustomed to the communication style, and appreciative of its benefits.
Last week, a moment at Schiphol Airport caught my attention, for while I'm now (sort of) used to frank talk in my one-on-one interactions, it was funny to hear such directness broadcast across the airport.
Here's what the gate agent will say (into the microphone, and in both Dutch and English) at the final boarding call: "Mr. ____, you are delaying flight # ___. If you do not report to Gate "X" immediately, we will remove your baggage from the airplane."
No gentle paging, encouraging Mr. ____ to report to his gate. Honesty and accountability reign supreme.
I recently cut four inches off my hair. Let's see if anyone notices . . .
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