Q: My mother keeps emailing me recipes—mostly from The New York Times, always “healthy” ones—accompanied by long-winded notes about how healthy they are. Lots of bean soups and slow-digesting salads. We have a long history of tense dynamics around food, health, and dieting. But I’m pretty sure she means well and thinks this is a nice way to communicate with me from a distance. How do I ask her to stop?
Emily P.
Brooklyn, NY
A: I’ll start by saying I’ve grown tired of the “healthy” category when it comes to the food industry. And that includes its use on the NYT Cooking app, of which I’m a frequent user, but also on restaurant delivery apps. Do I want to cook or order something labeled “healthy,” or do I want to consume a pile of high-fat dog shit? Hmm. Salad it is!
What the word healthy actually implies is virtue, a hint of fortitude and restraint. And once the health gauntlet has been thrown down, once you know not just tacitly but explicitly about a more nutritious option, any divergent decision feels like a blatant error in judgment. We’re being indulgent—shameful, even. It’s guilt-inducing, for sure! When we put food through the medicalized risk/reward lens, we can turn away from foods that might nourish us emotionally or spiritually, meals that we gather around with friends, and meals that bring us joy.
Yes, of course I know that food can be good for you and delicious. But the behavioral economics with which your mom allies herself (the nudging toward “healthy” without expressly forbidding other options) infringes on your agency, which only makes your relationship with food—and your mom—more fraught. And the fact that she considers her actions well-meaning adds to the emotional complexity. Especially with members of our own family, we’re accustomed to acknowledging good intentions, even when the outcome proves alienating. Your wanting to ask your mother to stop suggests what we all know deep down: that if the gesture continually misses the mark, then “A for Effort” is as corrosive as no effort at all.
Luckily for you, I recently witnessed a master class in shutting the bullshit down. I was with my own family, which has its own history of tense dynamics around food. I remarked to my father, whom I hadn’t seen for a few months, that he looked a little too thin. He acknowledged that he’d indeed lost weight, then made what I considered a fairly benign comment about my own appearance. My sister, overhearing the two of us, swooped in and said, “Why don’t we make a rule that we comment only on our own bodies.” And that, Emily, shut our convo right down. My sister didn’t elaborate; she didn’t need to. It was a simple statement, very hard to misconstrue. My dad and I looked at each other and then at her, nodded, and changed the subject. Not a single comment was made about anyone else’s appearance or eating habits for the rest of the visit.
So might I suggest taking a page from my sister. Feel free to quote her verbatim, and add that this new rule includes the sharing of recipes. If your mom wants an excuse to email you, she can write about how that slow-digesting salad feels in her stomach on day three. Her salad, her choice!
Q: I have this old friend whom I recently reconnected with. She’s fun to spend time with, and we still have a lot in common, but I can’t help noticing that she always talks a few decibels too loud. In the past, when people have made comments about it, she’s just laughed it off. But I suspect it’s a point of real insecurity. Truly, though, my hands have jolted to cover my ears on a number of occasions (and beyond that, it’s a huge problem when we gossip). Is there any way for me to politely bring this up without embarrassing her?
The quieter friend
Malibu, CA
A: Let’s start by treading lightly. Or shall I say softly, as it will be difficult not to offend your decibel-endowed companion. As you suspect, she probably already knows she’s a loud talker. And the more people call attention to something that makes us self-conscious, the more we hyper-focus and dwell on it, which can make things worse, not better. For starters, I’m curious if you have context for your friend’s stentorian ways. Was she raised by an auctioneer? Did she learn to talk listening to Gilbert Gottfried stand-up? Was she forced to scream for her nanny’s attention in the ten-thousand-square-foot mansion in which she grew up?
If you didn’t answer yes to any of those questions, then perhaps a quick gut check is needed. (Apologies if you’ve already thought this through.) Let’s first step back and consider whose manner of speech we deem proper versus improper—and why. Sure, there are standards in place for what is considered an appropriate speaking volume. But those standards codify and extol one kind of speech—and one kind of speaker—while demeaning and marginalizing others. In reality, volume, like all facets of speech, is not inherently good or bad; we’ve just been inculcated into reflecting and maintaining the norm. Loud talking is simply not a speech variation that’s been adopted by the mainstream, which is why many of us, yourself included, feel so squeamish when confronted by it.
Now that we’ve considered the background and context in hopes that we don’t offend your friend, let’s discuss how best to handle your conundrum. What if, instead of coaxing an outdoor voice to come inside, we bring the volume to her? What if you met in places where she might actually be one of the quieter people in the room? For instance, at a sporting event, monster truck show, or rock concert. Buy some cheap seats in the nosebleed section and gossip your faces off while people around you chant, whoop, and sing. Or go only to restaurants housed in former industrial spaces where the clanking of silverware and dishes sounds like a scene from the musical STOMP. Or simply take walks together. Nature doesn’t judge, and a city will absorb the sound.
There are many reasons we hang out with our friends in certain contexts and not others. You might already be doing this unconsciously with other people, and they’re likely doing the same with you. Know your limits with your boisterous friend, and her limits, and then embrace what you love about her.
Before I go, I want to point out that while we collectively frown upon loud talkers, written discourse, particularly electronic forms of communication, has fully embraced VOLUME!!!!!!!! So maybe your friend is ahead of the curve, and soon we’ll all be screaming to one another in person to match the hyperbole and histrionics of our texts.
contributor
contributor
Carrie Brownstein is a musician and a writer/director in film and television. She was the cocreator and costar of the Emmy and Peabody Award–winning comedy series Portlandia. Brownstein has directed television shows for HBO, HBO Max, NBC, Comedy Central, and Hulu. She also directed a short film for KENZO starring Mahershala Ali and Natasha Lyonne. Brownstein is a founding member of the seminal punk-rock band Sleater-Kinney and author of the New York Times best-selling memoir Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl. She lives in Portland, Oregon.
