To shake or not to shake – that’s the question.

If you’re autistic (in my case, an unknown quantity till I was 62) introducing yourself is fraught with the danger of social faux pas. I tend to compete with the person who has gone before me. If they’ve listed a whole load of titles and roles, I’ll embellish mine or highlight my entitlement to be on the Zoom call. It resembles Monty Pythons' 60-ton weight drop in their sketches, and is totally lacking in grace. It can come across like Marmite – the yeasty B-vitamin on toast spread: “Hi, I’m salty, bite on this.”

Fortunately, I've never been faced with the forced etiquette of curtsy or bows when it comes to in-person events. I would have been hopeless amongst the aristocracy or royals. However, I do face the “shake or not shake?” question, though. Covid excused me from this expected courtesy for a couple of years but just like Arnie it’s back with a vengeance and the joke is always on me.

I’m a temperature control freak.

Hands always convey what state of homeostasis the other person is in (and please note, I’ve no wish to let them know mine ). Cold clammy hands I interpret as a non-empathetic or nervous character that will instantly make me feel far-removed from any activity in the room. And hot hands terrify me, because I think they want to do more than say  hi – exploring every intimate aspect of me. Yuck! That’s without those people who add an unnecessary squeeze – I’m not an orange or a cow udder. There are people who squeeze and pump your hand continually as though they’re operating a Las Vegas slot machine. Hey dude, do I look like an entertainment zone?

Then there are the men who lean forward during the short handshake, to catch you unawares with a swift kiss on the cheek. Who do you think you are, with your awful breath and horrible assumption that women enjoy being caught in a clinch of that kind?

I therefore decline all stages of a handshake, firmly declaring: “Hi, I’m autistic. As l don’t know you yet, I’d rather not shake your hand. When I get to know you better, I might give you a hug.”  My worst instance of this backfiring on me was declining an extremely polite handshake from a new librarian at a Human Library event. We are an NGO associated with challenging unconscious bias in corporate settings – promoting diversity, equality and inclusion. Our strapline is ‘unjudge someone’ – a challenge to have an open conversation, where a reader asks questions about a human book's life story. The human librarians play a vital role in supporting these important dialogues. Essentially, they are our welfare partners checking in on the impact of reads. We are ‘bound together in a harmonious intention to be welcoming and friendly at all our events. But none of that, unfortunately, was going through my head when the new librarian smiled at me with his hand outstretched. I froze, then abruptly scooted backwards with a grimace on my face. Ugh… another sweaty thing methinks that you expect me to grip. Why?!

He looked somewhat shell shocked by my bold refusal – which seemed loaded with social judgement. Our introducer broke the frigid silence with trills of high-pitched laughter, and I felt mortified. What was so funny?  She later disclosed that the new librarian is also autistic, and he makes a supreme effort to shake hands with everyone. I couldn’t have been more unintentionally rude if I’d tried. I’m glad someone saw the funny side of the situation.

It hasn’t changed my mind about shaking hands, though I might take time to apologize to our lovely, new librarian next time I see him. I will offer him a hug instead. They don’t feel as weird, and I get a greater sense of who the person is – because you can often feel their heart beat beneath their clothing. They’re often just as terrified as you.

To bake or not to bake?

Many of the different communities and social ‘tribes’ I belong to love to cook and eat. It’s never good to turn up empty-handed, and home baked goodies earn the most social brownie points. On occasion, I make scones to be served with jam and cream. When meeting people for the first time ever, using baked goods as a way of capturing hearts and minds can be a very hit-or-miss affair. For instance, you could turn up at finger food buffet at a wedding reception – where there is finely finessed Caribbean and Chinese cuisine, Mediterranean meze, or beautiful Bengali bites – with a box of hard, heavy, indigestible oat flapjacks that go down like a lead balloon – literally.  The sheer weight of them could have collapsed the table. Besides, the bride and groom planned for a relaxing honeymoon – not an emergency visit to the dentist to rescue a broken tooth.

You have to be 100% confident in your baking skills if you expect your food to set the stage for friendship or a future business relationship.

If handshakes and tray bakes fail to make the grade in your top-ten list of best intros tips why not try the humble cup of tea.

After you’ve been greeted at the door of a home or at a big event, what’s the first thing you’re asked? “Would you like a drink?” In the UK, where I am from, nine times out of ten, you’re offered a cup of tea. Me being me, I’m going to anticipate that I will be served the worst kind of thin dish water brew or iron filings brick red bitter nastiness. I am nearly always right. I’m very, very fussy and I’ve gotten tired of pouring tea into the plants in the corner of the room. The plants don’t like it either.

So now l travel everywhere with a selection of elite, single estate teabags: assam, Earl Grey, Kenyan, masala chai. It is usually a good conversation-starter: “Oooh, you brought your own. What a good idea. Have you any spare?” This gives me an ideal chance to show off my superior tea palate. I am a self-confessed tea snob.  All l need is access to hot water – and don’t worry about offering me milk. I bring my own goats – in a flask, not at the end of a rope. That would be quite an intro. I have become infamous everywhere l go for trying to convert people to taking time to taste finer types of tea.

Getting past first impressions will never stop being a challenge for me. I simply won’t get past the awful awkwardness of entering the room, and feeling your way towards your fit into the social mix. But how else am I going to make new friends, recruit professional allies or a romantic partner?  I have decided to embrace introductions. My social mantra is: “Be into intros so things will flow – reveal your inner and outer glow.”

Let’s have some tea together. I’ll bake a nice oat flapjack for the table. I can get to know you better, and I won’t judge what’s in your cup if you don’t judge what’s in mine.

Suzanne Iwai is a London-based neurodivergent service adviser to Hammersmith & Fulham Council.