So there I was, standing on the 34th floor of a fancy Manhattan hotel, being hugged by a Chinese man who spoke almost no English and thinking to myself…
This was more than I bargained for.
For context: I write a weekly column on a site called The Good Men Project.
That means I am regularly thinking about manhood, masculinity, and their existence in every facet of our lives. This means I am constantly evaluating my own beliefs and perceptions. Sometimes I learn new things, sometimes I end up more confused than when I started. But either way, I am aware how men are performing their identity in their daily lives.
That being said…
I recently spent a week with a dozen beauty vloggers (video bloggers) from China visiting New York City.
This isn’t the kind of activity I normally engage in, but a dear friend from out of town was planning the event and she needed a trusted assistant. I was happy to oblige. Taking a break from the stressful mental exercise of running my own business to be a minion for somebody else was actually appealing.
I was basically a very competent assistant. I did coffee runs, I picked up packages, I placed gift bags of extravagant beauty products in the vloggers’ rooms while they drank cocktails on rooftops and dined at fancy restaurants. And occasionally, I had to escort recently arrived guests to their hotel room.
Many of these vloggers didn’t speak much English. And with scattered arrivals, a full agenda of events, and a limited staff, it was important that we made sure they were accompanied at all times.
And since they didn’t know who “we” were, the only way to show them was to wear the logo of the sponsoring company, which I did by putting on a white zip-up hoodie with a giant gold unicorn on the back.
I basically looked like a half-dressed boy band member from 1997.
The majority of the vloggers were female, but there were two males. On my second day of helping out, I got a flurry of texts that one of them, Franky (his American name), was arriving and I needed to put on the company sweatshirt, meet him in the lobby, and escort him to his room.
None of the staff knew what any of these vloggers looked like in real life. We had grainy, thumbnail-sized, glamour shots of each vlogger in which they were all heavily made up and posing as if to make a jilted lover jealous. I didn’t imagine Franky would look the way he did in his picture after a 14-hour flight.
I certainly didn’t think he traveled with a white rose held again his face as he was in his picture.
With limited knowledge of his appearance, I waited in the lobby for his arrival. After some time an Asian man in a royal blue trench coat topped with a stylish ball cap and wearing winged sneakers toting a rolly suitcase breezes through the revolving door.
It is Franky.
I approach him and introduce myself. He has no idea what I was saying. He apologizes for his lack of English. I point to the company logo on my sweatshirt and tell him I have his key. He understands. And despite a bit more confusion I lead him to the elevator where we proceed to have a conversation that neither of us understands.
I let him into his room, give him the key and do my best to answer the questions he tries to ask me. He asks me if I will be attending the events. I say no and point to a printed agenda in his native language. He tells me he wants to go to Sephora. I smile, wish him a good day, and go back to my other duties, thinking nothing of our interaction.
Later that day, while waiting in the lobby for somebody else to arrive, I see Franky come through the revolving doors. I say hi and ask him if he had made it to Sephora. Without hesitation, he pulls a small rectangular box out of the pocket of his blue trench coat and shows me a travel sized eyeshadow palette. He tells me it is good because it is not so big. Good for travel.
I smile and congratulate him on finding something he likes. While I don’t know anything about buying makeup, I have bought sunblock in Australia so I know anything one buys in a country other than their own is instantly cooler.
Franky asks me if I am going to the events that night, I say no because I have to put gift bags in the rooms. He smiles, shakes my hand, and says goodbye. But I couldn’t get over what a fantastic interaction it was.
Here was a man from China showing a man from America the makeup he just bought. No hesitation. No judgment. Just two guys bonding over the clear functionality of travel sized eyeshadow.
I thought it was a beautiful moment.
The following day I was in the lobby again. (I spent a lot of time waiting in the lobby for various reasons that week, so much so that on my last day the concierge invited me to the hotel staff’s happy hour since by then I felt like “one of the team.” It was a good indicator it was time for me to go home).
It is 2:30 pm and I am dropping off a package at the concierge on my way out to grab late lunch before my early evening tasks.
I am just about to exit when Franky comes into the lobby with the other male beauty vlogger. I wave on my way to the door when Franky stops me and asks me to wait. He turns to his friend, says something in his native language, and the other vlogger leaves. Franky then tells me he wants to give me a gift for helping him to his room yesterday. I tell him it is unnecessary. But Franky has already purchased the gift and asks if I would come to his room so he could give it to me.
I don’t want a gift. I just want a burger, fries and a beer from the spot around the corner. It was very kind and generous of Franky to buy me a gift but I don’t have much time for lunch. However, I also don’t want to offend this guy. My job is to make sure everybody is happy and taken care of so if he wants to give me a gift I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
So I go with him up to his room.
And yes, I am aware how that sentence sounds. Everything is clearer in hindsight.
More bumbling through conversation in the elevator. We arrive at his room where he realizes (while pulling multiple credit cards out of his expensive bag) he doesn’t have his key. I tell him no worries, we have copies of all the keys. I head down to the production suite to get a copy of Franky’s key… which isn’t there.
Great.
At this point, it is important to note that since we were dropping gift bags into the vloggers’ rooms every night while they were out, we had a copy of all of their room keys. Which was great before they arrived. But once they did, they would frequently lose their keys and get new ones made thereby invalidating the keys we had, and forcing any one of the four of us to go down to the front desk and get a new key made, which ultimately resulted in a conversation with a different member of management about who was on the reservation and who wasn’t.
Nevermind the fact that we barely knew the American spelling (which none of us could pronounce) of their Chinese name (which none of us could read) and they all had an “American” name (which none of us could remember) completely different than the former two, and most likely not at all associated with their hotel reservation.
Ten minutes later I get back to Franky’s floor to find him sitting on the hall table next to the courtesy telephone like a kid whose parents forgot to pick him up from school.
I let Franky into his room and wait as he disappears into the bedroom to get my gift.
I don’t know how to stand, where to look, or even what to do with my hands. I feel out of place in the universe. I am an underdressed bellhop waiting on a guest to dig a five out of their suitcase. I don’t want to be standing there. I just want to be eating a burger
He finally comes back into the room and very formally hands me a box of John Varvatos Cologne that I can tell I am not going to like the smell of.
Still, it is very kind and considerate. I smile and say thank you very much thinking that will be the end of the transaction.
Nope.
He tells me he likes my hat, a red trucker hat that says “Banff” on it. He asks to take a picture of the hat. He asks if I am going to the event that night. He asks how tall I am. He stands next to me to compare out heights, seemingly pining for the height advantage I have.
Desperate to get to lunch, I shake his hand and head for the door. He walks out with me.
At the elevator, I thank him again. As the doors open, I step halfway in and Franky extends his arms to come in for a hug. And while I will readily hug pretty much anybody something about this one feels awkward. There is a strange excitement and reticence on his part, like an awkward high school boy not quite comfortable with his existence.
Just as I am thinking that he buries his face under my ear and kisses my neck with an audible “MWAH!”
Not exactly what I was expecting. Not even close to what I was expecting.
I quickly step into the elevator as the elevator doors snap shut behind me, sealing me off from future advances.
I saw Franky several times over the next few days. While he didn’t attempt to hug or kiss me again, he did continue to attempt conversations about my height, my job. He asks me if I am attending the events. He points to different staff members and asks if they are my girlfriend. Each interaction as awkward as the one before.
I could probably write something here about cross-cultural communication. About mixed messages and misread signals. About gestures being lost in translation and perceptions of acceptable interactions, but honestly… it was just an incredibly awkward and very funny (in hindsight) interaction.
I’ll never see Franky again. And it’s probably for the best because I am going to sell that cologne.
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