New Yorkers don’t waste time being nice, and that’s exactly why I love it

A lot of people will tell you that New York City is a harsh place to live: people are rude, the subway cars are a nightmare, the streets are full of rodents, everyone’s trying to sell you something. Those people have probably never lived in London. I say this because when I made the move to the Big Apple in January (I’m one of the only people in the world mad enough to do that, as attested to by the more-than-half-empty plane), I steeled myself for that classic New York aggression. I thought I’d have to learn how to cope with their legendary cynicism and the pace that they walked down a busy pavement (or sidewalk, if we’re being consistent).

I soon realised that New York can be a harsh and unfriendly place populated by people who move at 100mph – if you’re from other parts of America. If you’re used to biscuits and gravy served on the porch by Grandma in the fields of North Carolina, you’re going to get a rude awakening when someone barks at you that you need to take your double-pump soy latte right now because there are 17 other customers waiting. But if you’re used to living south of the midlands in the UK? Well, you’re in for a nice surprise.

The British have a reputation for being polite, but it’s a lie. Americans are genuinely polite: they will tell you to “have a nice day” at the end of every interaction; they will tear up with excitement when you tell them your boyfriend, who they have never met, just got offered a promotion at work. Not saying “bless you” after you sneeze in America is basically a federal crime. And if you’re navigating the streets with a hot coffee or a pushchair or even a skateboard with a pug on it (something I genuinely saw this week as I was leaving work in Manhattan), then people will smile and move out of your way with a wave of the hand and a “No, you’re good – go ahead.”

You get used to this sort of communal etiquette after a while. You get used to people saying what they mean and saying it brightly. When you take a trip back to London, you feel genuine shock at the way people slope in and out of places without saying hello and goodbye, the way they turn away from you or stick their earphones in when they’ve seen you need some help navigating the street. As a woman in America, I got used to the extent of attention on the street being: “Hey beautiful!” or “Good morning to you, ma’am!” I forgot that in London, such minor infractions are usually replaced by a bloke sticking his head out the passenger side of a passing car and yelling, “Hey, you! Why don’t you suck my cock?!”

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I can see why Brits find New York overwhelming. On a superficial level, it is. People are upfront with you. They don’t waste time couching their requests in niceties. At work, I’ve had to get used to people replying to my carefully constructed emails with: “What rate are you paying and what time do you want it?” It would take a British writer at least 500 words to get to that in an email that they might have agonised about for an hour. An American will fire it off in a Twitter DM, 30 seconds after you asked them in a very British, roundabout way, whether they might please maybe think about working something into their I’m sure very busy day sorry thank you please.

I’ve found abandoning that linguistic hoop-jumping especially empowering as a woman. An unintended effect of communicating with people in a straightforward manner on a daily basis is that I have learnt to say, quickly and unapologetically, what I want and when I want it. I have stopped second-guessing what other people in my family or friendship group might want to do when I suggest an activity. I no longer agonise about when’s the best time to bring up a grievance at work or how I should make it more palatable. Because everyone else does it, I do it too. American culture is far from perfect, but its dedication to “cutting the crap” can do wonders for a sense of feminist confidence. Who’d have thought it?