Short, White, & Hansuhm

A few weeks ago I was sitting alone in the teachers’ lounge at our office, finishing up an e-mail at the end of the night, when one of the newly hired secretaries walked in. Like the other new members of the admin staff, she was young and attractive, from the provinces, with a high school education and an English vocabulary that couldn’t have totaled more than five or ten words. Also like the other secretaries, she had no work to do -- because of a Thai quota law that requires companies to maintain an acceptable ratio of Thai-to-foreigner employees, our office admin staff is ludicrously overstaffed -- and so instead she pursued one of the secretaries’ favorite workplace activities: striking up a conversation with an American teacher. I was happy to oblige. The problem was that she didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Thai. (This has been a problem for me several other times too. And by “several,” I mean “shitloads.”) I think my Thai was actually better than her English, a statement that borders on numerical impossibility, considering that in nine months here I have only learned a few basic phrases (“Hello/goodbye,” “Thank you,” “Turn left/right,” “How much does that cost?” “How much do you cost?” etc.).

We thus engaged in one of those usually frustrating but occasionally amusing conversations that only take place in foreign countries. You know the kind I’m talking about -- those ridiculous slices of communicative best-efforts that consist of constant exaggerated gesticulations and speech slowed to the point where each person thinks the other will finally understand even though they absolutely never will. Except in this case, instead of trying to find a museum or bathroom, we were trying to learn about each other (which was more difficult than getting directions to the nearest bathroom, but which also made it amusing instead of frustrating). Ultimately we were able to communicate to each other where we grew up, where we lived in Bangkok, how much we liked our jobs, and how old we were, as well as the ages of our respective siblings. At that point I was content to declare the dialogue a success and return to my e-mail. Then she opened her mouth, rolled her eyes to their corners, as if searching for the words, and said, “You -- handsome.” I was caught off guard. All I could do was laugh and say, “Kahp khun kruhp.” I didn’t even know how to return the compliment. But I think I was smiling almost nonstop for the next two hours. Those two words -- two of the five or ten she knew -- made my night. Hell, they made my week.

No doubt about it: Bangkok is great for the self-esteem. As a white male, it’s tough to go a week here without being hit on in a club by a Thai woman (or man), complimented by a counter girl, or catcalled at by bar girls and street parlor masseuses. No matter that half the time (okay, most of the time) it’s coming from hookers. A compliment is a compliment is a compliment. If you don’t come to Bangkok for the sights, the food, or the women, I’d recommend a trip here for the ego boost alone.

I’ve had my own ego boosted three notches -- from Level 2 (Neurotic Self-Loathing Wannabe-Writer) to Level 5 (Occasionally-Confident Semi-Rich Dude) -- merely by living a normal life here for nine months. Bar girls run from their spots by the door to grab my arm as I walk by. “Come in, suh. Welcome, hansuhm gentleman.” “I have to eat dinner,” I tell them. “Come aftuh. Aftuh dinner, aftuh!” Beautiful Thai women in short skirts look me dead in the eye and smile as they pass by. (They almost certainly do this because the Thais value eye contact and have the disarming habit of staring you down, not because they find the random white guy walking past them irresistibly attractive. But a guy can dream, can’t he?)

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been called handsome here. I used to get my fruit shakes from an outdoor stand manned by three sisters. While one of them would blend my smoothie, all three would chatter at high speeds, shooting me furtive, guilty glances and giggling the whole time. Finally, one day, one of the sisters stopped the blender a moment and said to me, “My sister think you hansuhm,” and they all tittered some more. Last week, when I went to a dance club with Pen, a Thai girl I’m dating, I found myself surrounded, literally, by half a dozen of her friends. “You Pen’s man?” one of them asked me.

“Yes,” I said.

“You hansuhm,” she said, and kept dancing.

Now seems the time to reveal, for the record, that I am not particularly “hansuhm.” I don’t think I’m ugly, but I’m not all that good-looking either: I’m short, with big ears, bushy eyebrows, and a crooked nose. In any country, I would describe myself as decidedly average. Apparently, however, not everyone agrees; and Thailand is not “any country.” Here I am not short -- 5’7” appears to be about average for a Thai man -- and although being white is no longer anything unique here, it still carries currency (as it were -- if you’re a farang, the Thais assume, generally fairly, that you literally carry plenty of currency). Back home I’m a short white guy with cheap clothes and a bad haircut. In Bangkok I’m a rich, in-shape, worldly American with a cool beard. “Mr. Face Hair,” one bar girl called me as I passed her on the street. (That may not sound like a compliment, but it was better than being “Mr. No-Hair,” the appellation she assigned my friend Shawn, who is balding. That was us, as we walked down Sukhumvit Road: “Mistuh Face Hair! Mistuh No-Hair! Welcome! Come in, suh!”)

Amidst the novelty of being considered handsome are two other novelties: that of being hailed as such to my face, and that of the word itself -- handsome. In the States, one is only called good-looking out of earshot or to a third party or, in my case, by his mother’s middle-aged friends. That the women here are so willing to hand out a compliment about me, to me, is very endearing; that they do so using a word, “handsome,” that is a virtual linguistic relic, somehow makes the compliment that much more charming. Clearly Thai children are taught in school that “handsome” is the adjective used to describe an attractive man. Even girls from the countryside, who had no English in school, apparently learn the word and make it a staple of their limited vocabularies.

When I explained to some Thai college students that “handsome” is no longer commonly used in America, they looked surprised and asked me what is used instead. “Hmm. Well, maybe ‘cute’ or ‘good-looking,’” I said. “So, like, Leonardo DiCaprio would be cute, and George Clooney would be good-looking.”

“Ohhh,” they said in unison, understanding.

Then, feeling bold -- the sort of boldness that can only come with a Level 5 ego -- I tried my luck. “So which one would I be?” I asked them.

They paused for a moment and looked at one another. It appeared they didn’t know how to respond. I got nervous. I wished I hadn’t asked the question.

Then they all burst out, “Good-looking! You good-looking!”

I’ll take it.