Now seems about the right time to say I never really liked the handshake. It always felt icky, not just hygienically-speaking, but socially too. So when coronavirus hit and medical experts began to advise against it, I breathed a hard sigh of relief (into the crook of my elbow, just to be responsible citizen).

Handshakes always felt like some sort of masculine display of strength and dominance that you had to get ‘just right’ in terms of grip and duration. Too weak and you’re a coward, too strong and you’re intimidating.

Lord knows I’ve had my hand crushed on several occasions by – mainly guys – who are oblivious to the pain they’re inflicting. I’m a sucker for competition, especially with members of the opposite sex, so always give as good as I get. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a sense of joy and acceptance into the ‘boy’s club’ if I’m told I have a good handshake by an older man. Terrible feminist.

‘Judge a man by his handshake’ seems to be advice passed down by grandads across the nation. According to Reader’s Digest, a limp handshake tells other people you don’t care; you’re not into them. According to me, a severely limp one ruins my day. Handshakes are a symbol of professional conduct, formality and mutual respect.

The origins of the greeting date back to the 5^th century B.C. in Greece. They were a symbol of peace, in order to show that neither party was carrying a weapon. The irony being that, in our current climate, the handshake itself has become a weapon of mass contamination. I wonder just how many pandemics throughout history have been unknowingly spread by hand-to-hand ‘combat’.

Apparently the shaking motion of the handshake started in medieval Europe as a means to detect whether an adversary has any hidden loose weapons. Our modern version is certainly a derivative assessment of trust.

The ‘is this interaction going to kill me’ element lives on

But as of this week, the real test is whether or not you trust that the other person has washed their hands for twenty seconds beforehand. The ‘is this interaction going to kill me’ element lives on.

Social awkwardness extends beyond the shake. I often find myself adopting the stereotypically British approach of apologising before and after physical palm contact. Usually because I’m carrying something that I have to clumsily shift over to the left-hand side in order to present myself, followed by a: ‘Sorry my hands are so cold, it’s freezing outside.’

Do I accessorise this handshake with a kiss? Two kisses? Can I interest you in a left-handed shoulder pat, perhaps? Did I just wink? Oh god, I winked. Ground, swallow me up before I destroy what little is left of my career prospects.

It shouldn’t take a global pandemic to realise that a handshake is unsanitary. Is there anything worse than observing your new acquaintance giving their hands a quick wipe-down on the side of their trousers before going in for the shake. Is that wet? It feels wet. God I hope it’s water. Or sweat. I’d take sweat over pee. Please don’t be pee.

The human hand has around 1,000 bacteria per square inch, which is remarkably more than a toilet seat. It’s therefore arguably more hygienic to make contact with a person’s loo rather than their palm. A ballsy power-move, but surely there are more appropriate alternatives?

Around the world, people greet each other in a myriad of ways that involve minimal skin-to-skin contact. The fist bump, the bow, the curtsy, the air-kiss, even the kunik nose rub.

Following medical advice about contact with the elderly or vulnerable, my grandmother and I are rather enjoying our version of the ‘Wuhan shake’, which involves tapping our ankles together or just high fiving from across the room. I love that, in the face of adversity, creativity and a sense of humour is what gets us through. I can only hope our immune systems are as resilient and adaptable.

My heart goes out to those who suffer from hygiene anxiety at a time like this particularly those with germ-related OCD. A constant reminder from mainstream and social media to wash your hands, when it’s already all you’re thinking about must be exhausting. Trying not to catastrophise or overreact when the entire world appears to be going into lockdown is nigh-on impossible, but the cancellation of the handshake could be a silver lining.

Throughout history, pandemics have taught us valuable lessons in how to improve our hygienic practice. The question is: will the handshake survive coronavirus, or is it time to wash our hands of it?  

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