An invasion of personal space is usually memorable, for reasons we’d probably rather forget. Bumping knees with a stranger on a train, or a crotch in the face on the tube. An awkward hug, or non-reciprocal kiss; sometimes, a threat. The mundane, reliable invasions – that particular nausea that only the breath of a colleague reading over your shoulder can induce, or a dirty lunchbox. For now, a thing of the past.
Lockdown has redefined personal space in a plethora of ways. Change came fast and we adapted accordingly. “Two metres” has never been such a powerful ultimatum; the physical space we occupy at home is now more meaningful, and under moderation everywhere else. We’re having to consider our proximity to others in an unnaturally mindful way and, as the weeks roll on and lockdown loosens its grip, our perception of personal space has evolved.
Assertions that “normal” no longer exists are aplenty. Post-lockdown, friends and colleagues insist, will inevitably not only look different, but feel different. Choices are being considered: in cities, personal space has long been a commodity we’ve been conditioned to surrender in order to be successful, or at least in close proximity to success. We cram our bodies into tubes and lifts and offices, sit for hours in stuffy meeting rooms. Many of us share our (too small) homes with strangers, sacrificing living rooms for cheaper rent. During lockdown, the cost of that personal space – and its unequal distribution in society – has become clearer.
“I’m going to move back up north,” one friend tells a group on WhatsApp. There’s no space – physically, mentally, financially – for her in London anymore, she peruses. Other friends are considering similar moves, even further afield. “I’m going to find a long term rent in the middle of nowhere in Portugal,” another says.
We’re learning, perhaps, to re-value personal space as a commodity and what that means to us. Our quality of life, the decisions we make about who to bring into our personal space; when to sacrifice it as a necessary statement, too.
“Personal space is about control and choice,” says Peter Kinderman, a professor of clinical psychology at the University of Liverpool. “There are a number of things to understand about this, our behaviour, during the pandemic. One is that members of the public on the whole have been really very collectivist – very socially aware and compassionate. They’ve tried to cut through the corrupt distortion of our politicians and do the right thing. We’ve adapted how we use our personal space quickly and effectively and while it has been difficult, for some more than others, we’ve adapted for the greater good.
“Since lockdown began, people have become more mindful of their health and the significance of safety from space." Kinderman says this heightened respect for space in the current context makes the Black Lives Matter protests in the UK and USA particularly poignant and significant. "That we are worried about our health in a very visible way, the number of people sacrificing their personal space to stand together tells us just how important these protests are.”
More personal space means that the “decay rate” on friendships is at an all time high...
Individually, we’re all feeling the effects of the boundaries we now live in. The craving for togetherness, or just a simple touch through a difficult time, for some becomes louder as each week passes by. For others, says Kinderman, a hesitancy of going back to our previous lives now lingers.
“There are economic, environmental, personal benefits that come from this way of working,” he explains. “Time gained from not commuting, for example,” and not compromising our personal space on public transport, either, or sitting in greying, cramped offices all day. “For many, this could be an opportunity for us to build a society that includes many of the benefits of lockdown, and fewer of the negatives of before.”
The benefits of personal space vs office space haven’t gone unnoticed by many major companies who are also considering dramatic changes. As working from home proves to be not only effective, but cost-effective, businesses like Barclays, Facebook and Nationwide are among scores currently considering whether office spaces are not only distracting and intrusive, but also a hazard to our health.
There are downsides though – the toll of too much personal space could manifest within our friendships, so says Professor Robin Dunbar, a British anthropologist and evolutionary psychologist, of the University of Oxford. “Our whole evolutionary strategy is built upon communal sharing as a cost of survival and successful reproduction, essentially,” Dunbar tells me. “So everything we do is, in those terms, designed to create an efficient working community. We’re still very dependent on that. And our social world is still very, very small.”
We depend on physical contact, he says, to maintain friendships and relationships. His prior – widely reported – research shows that we have a maximum of 150; a mix of friends and acquaintances. More personal space means that the “decay rate” on these friendships is at an all time high. “There’s something about the importance of eye contact in these relationships that just can’t be replicated,” he says.
But after months on end in isolation, our physical reactions and proximity to each other has taken a colossal hit. We’re more used to being apart, perhaps, more wary and hyper-aware. Could this have a lasting effect?
On the amount of friendships we have, probably. Definitely on the amount of acquaintances we have, which are already dropping like flies. If the lockdown was to continue for another six months, then maybe on the way we treat people in our personal space too, says Professor Dunbar. “In the short term it will have an effect – people will be more concerned about giving Italian-esque hugs, for example,” he explains. “The quantity of air kissing might drop. Because it’s a relatively recent cultural innovation and you do it with people you don’t necessarily know, that might decrease at least for a while.
“But things like handshakes are so ingrained in us. This is why politicians keep getting themselves into trouble and breaching their own regulations. That will die harder. Briefly, we’ll be less huggy.”
The last few months have, in multiple ways, forced us to reassess the space we take up in the world and the value of that...
Might it mean that touch takes on a more meaningful presence in our lives, I wonder? Could things like first kisses – or that first embrace – more significant, or charged? Is this the end of hook-up culture? “No,” Dunbar says. “But I’d expect maybe we’d be a little bit more cautious in courtship. Those who are already not very good at inhibiting their actions – or able to factor in the long term consequences of their behaviour in the moment – won’t be so affected.”
Ultimately, while ways of working and our own perceptions of what personal space means to us could be significant, our changes to our physical conduct in personal space will be short lived, he says. “We’re very good at learning,” he says. “We learn very fast. And we vary enormously. These changes might feel big now, but they won’t last.”
Perhaps so. But the last few months have, in multiple ways, forced us to reassess the space we take up in the world and the value of that. Our living arrangements, the quality of life personal space affords us, how we use – or relinquish – our personal space to protect ourselves and others have all taken on new, or elevated meanings. As we move forward, let's not forget this.
