It is a perfect image for this time of year. On a greetings card marketed by a prominent British medical charity, a Labrador puppy lifts its head to nuzzle a sprig of mistletoe. “Christmas kisses” reads the caption. It covers all the angles: a seasonal message, something for the dog-lover and some harmless festive fun, all combined with a whiff of the pagan.
Everyone knows the custom: stand under the mistletoe at Christmas and a kiss will be coming your way. The ritual is deeply embedded in the popular psyche, apparently one of the last surviving remnants of plant magic in the sophisticated western world. Appearances can be deceptive, though, and in fact the tradition may be a lot less venerable than many people think. It was not until the 1600s that the practice of hanging up mistletoe at Christmas turned up in any written document, and it seems to have been a full century later before the kissing custom emerged. Its first mention in print did not occur until 1813, when it was included in John Brand’s Observations on Popular Antiquities.
Exactly how and where this rootless, eerie-looking parasitic plant became a symbol of seasonal licentious fun remains uncertain. Perhaps that is fitting, given the mercurial nature of kissing itself. Being a harbinger of both unbridled passion and of polite greeting, seismic shifts in significance have always been a hallmark of the kiss, notes Karen Harvey, lecturer in cultural history at the University of Sheffield, UK. Biologists and psychologists often assume that kissing has a universal and unchanging meaning, but even its evolutionary origins are far from clear.
Advertisement
One theory grounds kissing in the maternal feeding of masticated morsels to young offspring. Sigmund Freud traced the erotic kiss back to the infant’s suckling, and regarded kissing as a doomed attempt to return to the security of the mother’s breast. In the late 19th century, Danish scholar Christopher Nyrop, author of The Kiss and its History, traced the kiss’s origins to what he called the primitive “taste-kiss”, much as “a cow licks her calf or a dog his master’s hand” in recognition and affection.
Even our closest relatives, chimpanzees and bonobos, cannot agree on what kissing is all about. Chimps specialise in the kiss of reconciliation. “Within a minute of a fight having ended, the two former opponents may rush towards each other, kiss and embrace long and fervently, and then proceed to groom each other,” writes primatologist Frans de Waal of Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia, in Chimpanzee Politics. Bonobos kiss in an entirely different way. In his book Our Inner Ape, de Waal tells the story of a zookeeper used to working with chimps, who was introduced to bonobos and accepted a kiss from one of his new primate friends. “The keeper was understandably taken aback when he felt the bonobo’s tongue in his mouth,” de Waal recounts. While chimps are masters of the kiss of peace, bonobos are enthusiastic tongue-kissers who will make a pass at almost anyone.
For us humans, kissing contains elements of both the chimp and the bonobo, with the balance between platonic and passionate shifting throughout history. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the on-off relationship between Christianity and the kiss. Saint Paul told fellow believers to “salute another with a holy kiss”. This, scholars argue, signalled defiance of cultural norms of the day and the birth of a radical new community. As the converted touched mouths and exchanged their breath, they also shared the Holy Spirit.
By medieval times, kissing had become a central part of Christian worship. At a crucial point in the Catholic mass, the faithful would say “Peace be with you” and embrace one another, uniting their lips. And it didn’t stop there. “By the high middle ages, the ‘holy kiss’ was given or exchanged in Christian rituals of baptism, ordination, the consecration of bishops, coronations, absolution of penitents and in the marriage ceremony,” says historian Craig Koslofsky of the University of Illinois, Urbana. Its power even extended to the law, where a kiss might be used to seal a contract or settle a dispute. In 13th-century England, village courts could even order a day of reconciliation, or “love day”, which ended with former enemies sharing a kiss.
Alas, the kiss of peace went into steep decline, with a growing perception that the practice was open to abuse. “Clergy and laypeople found the public face-to-face kiss (same-sex or mixed) increasingly troubling,” Koslofsky says. So, by the 15th century, congregations were kissing an ivory or metal plate often bearing the image of the crucifixion, rather than each other. The Protestant reformation sealed the kiss’s fate. “Protestant liturgies suggested that public kisses were always treacherous,” says Koslofsky. “The resulting shift of the kiss from the social to the erotic, and from the communal to the private, is fundamental to its place in the modern west,” he suggests.
Nevertheless, public kissing was still fervently embraced in some quarters. We may think of ourselves as more uninhibited and sexually liberated than previous generations, but our social displays of affection are nothing compared with what was going on in England 500 years ago. In the 1500s and early 1600s, foreign visitors often remarked on this apparent forwardness; women of the household greet even complete strangers with a kiss on the mouth. The “English salutation” began to wane, however, and as the 17th century progressed, Puritan moralists railed against “wanton” or “lascivious” kissing. Mass-produced periodicals featured “agony uncles” who advised their bourgeois readers on how to kiss platonically.
By the 18th century, as the concept of “English reserve” emerged, the bow and the handshake became the preferred form of greeting, and kissing moved almost exclusively into the realm of the erotic. That the English social kiss had traditionally been on the lips may partly explain its demise. The French habit of a kiss on both cheeks was less blatantly erotic and survived. Now, of course, social kissing is back in vogue, although the proliferation of books on kissing etiquette suggests we are deeply confused about proper usage. Given that much of the advice is conflicting (see “The perfect platonic peck”), we may just have to accept that this is a minefield of modern manners.
So be especially careful where you tread at this time of year. It’s not just puppies you’ll find lurking beneath the mistletoe.
The perfect platonic peck
A kiss on one cheek is acceptable according to Henry Russell, author of the recently published Etiquette: Henry’s guide to modern manners. London fashion journalists Kim Izzo and Ceri Marsh opt for one on each cheek in The Fabulous Girl’s Guide to Decorum, as does Thomas Blaikie in Blaikie’s Guide to Modern Manners. “Four is just too theatrical,” he writes.
Should men do it?
Blaikie is adamant: “Straight men don’t kiss each other, at least not yet.” Dylan Jones, editor of the British edition of men’s magazine GQ, couldn’t disagree more. When greeting male colleagues at a business lunch, “kiss twice, first on the left, then on the right cheek,” he advises in Mr Jones’ Rules for the Modern Man.
Which cheek first?
Although Jones advises the left, Izzo and Marsh say blunders can be avoided if you “start by kissing the right cheek, briskly glide backward and move in for the left cheek kiss”. Journalist Fleur Britten agrees, but in Debretts’ Etiquette for Girls she cautions, “prepare to change direction at the last minute”.
When should I not kiss?
“Avoid kissing people in wide-brimmed hats or if you are both wearing glasses,” warns Britten. “As a general rule, don’t kiss people you don’t know.”
How do I cope with a group?
“Group-kissing often seems a bit hollow after the tenth,” Britten laments. “You can casually wave them all in or blow a kiss or two,” she suggests.
Is air-kissing OK?
“It’s lips to skin only,” insist Izzo and Marsh. “Air-kissing appears squeamish and is insulting.” Britten agrees: “No sound effects, air-kissing or saliva traces.”
