Mumsnet’s “Am I being unreasonable (AIBU)?” forum, the Emily Post’s Etiquette de nos jours, turned its attention last week to a new assault on civil society: pyjamas at a hotel breakfast buffet.
I didn’t get into Mumsnet when my kids were little. I’m not bragging; I was reading Heat magazine and crying, not translating Aristophanes. To an outsider, its stranger corners (particularly AIBU) seem to be a repository for the weird thoughts that bubble up in your head when you’re stuck at home with a child; the stuff I was muttering to myself in the mirror, or at the mannequins in M&S. It’s a public service to offer a safe(ish) space to be reassured that no, your toddler won’t die because they ate some cat litter. But like “indoor voices”, some of this stuff – wild snobbery, paranoia, extreme unreasonableness (check the @mumsnet_madness Twitter account for gems) – should probably have remained “inside thoughts”.
Which brings us to pyjamas. “A family all came down to breakfast looking like they had all jumped out of bed … AIBU to think this is not appropriate?” went the post. There was no consensus in the replies, which ranged from “they’ve been sweating and farting in those all night” to “I couldn’t care less”.
I know where I stand. This is the cosy loungewear era as surely as the 1920s were flapper dresses, plus fashion keeps insisting sleepwear as daywear is acceptable. It’s worked in my neighbourhood, where dressing gowns and slippers are a regular sight in the corner shop. If you’re not peering into the industrial toaster in your sleep apnoea mask, I reckon you’re good to go.
Both the behaviour and the reaction to it intrigue me. It’s facile to blame Covid for everything: people were clipping their nails and watching porn on public transport long before the pandemic. But I think living an isolated life intensely mediated by screens for a prolonged period left us hazy about what other people are exactly and how we impinge on them. The boundaries between private and public space have blurred. It takes us all differently, but we’re disinhibited, watching Sky Sports without headphones, indulging in post-watershed-style displays of affection on commuter trains or getting furious at having to hear other people’s conversations. (That last one’s me – I unnerved my husband on a train recently with my barely suppressed rage at the droning monologue coming from the seat behind me.)
This breakdown of consensus on what is OK around others is interesting when you consider that we’ve emerged from a period of clear and broadly respected public behavioural norms, and research suggests those rules made us feel better. A multi-country study published this summer found that those who perceived there were common strong social norms during the pandemic tended to feel less at risk and experience more positive emotions.
So behavioural consensus makes us feel safe when we’re under threat, and in the white-hot bin fire of the permacrisis, threat is ever-present. You can see why a sense that it’s dissipating, even in trivial ways, feels destabilising: it undermines the idea that we can rely on each other to behave. Being mindful of others was the cornerstone of the pandemic social contract – if you’ll floss on the train, can I trust you to test and self-isolate, or whatever the equivalents are when avian flu mutates and comes for us all? (Sorry.)
I may be cranking up my noise-cancelling headphones, but I’m not worried. We’ve been isolated and still have a degree of confusion about being back in public. There’s probably also an element of kicking back against social control after a period of accepting it. That will settle. Most of my public interactions recently have felt gently, ordinarily civilised: people hold doors, lift each other’s suitcases, mind seats and share phone chargers. We attribute disproportionate significance to the occasions when that doesn’t happen because they play into our fear that society is imploding. But I don’t think we’re falling apart or giving in to rampant individualism; we’re learning, stumblingly, to be around each other again. AIBU? Frequently. We all are. But I think we’re also still capable of being considerate. Pyjama-clad, yes, but kind.
• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
