Fiona McCade: Obama - It's time for the pecking order to get sorted out

Published on Monday 6 April 2009 19:42

PERHAPS it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Perhaps they took one look into each other's eyes and fell so madly in love, they didn't know what to do next. Perhaps his people hadn't checked with her people about what was supposed to happen. Whatever the reason, when US President Barack Obama met France's First Lady Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, under the scrutiny of the world's press, something went horribly wrong.

And it had started out so well, too. French President Nicolas Sarkozy had already met the Obamas, so he and Barack had a manly hug, then Nicolas gave Michelle a warm kiss on each cheek and the cameras snapped merrily away. But then Barack had to say hello to Carla and everything fell apart. She moved towards him and leaned in, obviously intending to give him the standard French greeting of one air-kiss per cheek, but he stepped back at the crucial moment.

Wrong-footed, Carla suffered a split-second of frozen panic, then she pulled back and did the only thing she could. She politely shook his hand, which of course led to mountains of media speculation about The French Kiss That Never Was, ranging from Madame Sarkozy's possible racism to Mr Obama having a bad cold, or even bad breath; to the breakdown of Nato and Western civilisation.

I don't know whom I feel most sorry for. Barack is a natural handshaker who obviously had a sudden crisis of confidence about where to put his face, and Carla was stuck in the difficult position of appearing – from some angles – to snub the most popular man on Earth. Once Barack backed out, it was a no-win situation. So why isn't there some sort of international standard greeting that will save us all from this sort of embarrassment?

Like Obama, I feel more at ease with a hand-shake when meeting someone new, but in our increasingly touchy-feely society, this sort of gesture tends to be looked upon as the prerogative of ex-colonels who remember the days of the Raj. Nowadays, you're almost always expected to kiss someone on the cheek even though all you know about them is their name and, unless I'm meeting George Clooney, that makes me uncomfortable.

Kissing people you don't know is a nightmare. First of all, which cheek do you go for? On more than one occasion, I've gone for the left cheek, while the new acquaintance has gone for my right and we've ended up bumping lips, which is both humiliating and insanitary. I don't enjoy snogging strangers, especially when there's always the possibility that by the end of the event/funeral/Tupperware party at which you met, you will hate them more than words can express. It's much safer to save the smooching for people you already know you like.

Kissing in France is such a minefield of etiquette that even the French themselves can get confused. In Paris, it's one kiss per cheek; in some provincial towns, they go for one, two, then whizz back to the first cheek for another, often unpredictable, third. In the country, it's four. But where does Paris end? When does the provincial town become the country? And what the heck is wrong with a quick hug, for God's sake?

My husband had an Obama moment recently when meeting a French couple in the deepest Dordogne. He happily kissed the wife four times, but couldn't bring himself to kiss the husband, so he gave a manly handshake. This went well and he was just congratulating himself on having navigated the situation perfectly, when they unexpectedly introduced their beautiful, unmarried, 20-year-old daughter. Faced with having to kiss an attractive girl four times in front of her parents (and his wife), he hung back, quivering with uncertainty, until she took charge and shook his hand. Madame Sarkozy would have been proud.

We need firmer rules for first meetings. We need a globally accepted protocol to put the pecks in some sort of pecking order, so people aren't forced to introduce themselves one moment, then fling themselves into an embarrassing faux-embrace the next. I'm starting to favour the Japanese bow, which is quick, respectful and makes accidental exchanges of bodily fluids impossible. In fact, if I could choose the way I was greeted, I'd probably insist that everybody bowed to me. But until that happy day dawns (and I realise it may involve some sort of coup) I quite fancy proffering my hand to be kissed. Or you can always curtsey.