by Maria Manganaro.
It is the largest of our organs, the only one with weight and extension (9 kilos by two meters). It is the sense that connects us directly with others, that distinguishes us from others, that helps us become autonomous. Yet, it is the one we pay the least attention to, despite having awarded the Nobel Prize in Medicine to David Julius and Ardem Patapoutian in 2021, during the pandemic, when social distancing deprived us of hugs, handshakes, and pats on the back.
Recently, Laura Crucianelli, professor and coordinator of the Cognitive and Affective Neuroscience module at Queen Mary University of London, recently published a popular book so interesting and engaging that it was named one of five finalists for the Galileo Literary Prize. Published by Utet,
“A Natural History of Touch” just under one hundred pages, effortlessly delves into the vast universe of studies and discoveries regarding the unique sense based on reciprocity: the effects of caresses, light and violent touches, taboos, the consequences of touchscreens, and even the effects of cinema on our skin.
The Italian neuroscientist has been studying affective touch for years; it’s the way we perceive ourselves and others from the moment we are born. In fact, we are among the few animals born prematurely, so we need someone to move us, feed us, cover or uncover us. That someone is usually the mother, who, by caressing her belly, voluntarily establishes contact with the fetus. The fetus senses the intention of the touch and responds with observed and verified movements. Caresses are extremely important in the first months of life, even crucial for the child’s survival and balance.
Experiments conducted in orphanages since the 1990s demonstrate that children deprived of emotional contact experience cognitive, emotional, and social difficulties; difficulties that a supportive family environment can alleviate in the long term. Therefore, touch can have a restorative, as well as comforting and fulfilling function establishing healthy contact with the outside world and with one’s own self. “It is the first sense with which we come into contact with the world and the last to leave us”, Laura Crucianelli summarizes in the introduction.
It’s been demonstrated that touch on the skin can release oxytocin, the anti-stress hormone that generates feelings of calm and well-being when we hug a friend or pet our dog. Given the reciprocity of touch, the effect is diametrically opposite when the touch is violent and unwelcome, as evidenced by child abuse and other incidents. These unwanted effects are sometimes caused by cultural legacies capable of eliciting strong reactions, such as the MeToo movement, or are the result of pathological distress such as anorexia.
Thus, a nonverbal but strong form of communication passes through the skin: a slow, delicate touch speaks the language of love and tenderness, while a quick, firm tap on someone’s shoulder is intended to attract attention. But touching a person isn’t permitted everywhere. The author devotes an entire chapter to the customs that distinguish and define both the culture of different countries around the world and the attitude of certain people who, like Trump, when they shake hands don’t extend own hand but force the other person to lean toward them.
The neuroscientist tells the embarrassing situations she encountered during the first fifteen years of her life abroad, between Sweden and the United Kingdom: “I would spontaneously touch someone’s shoulder lightly for asking permission, and I received dirty looks in return, suggesting I had crossed an invisible physical boundary and not only a physical one”.
In crowded places, Laura Crucianelli observes that, to make room, Northern Europeans prefer to use backpacks or shopping carts rather than brush against one another. And pandemic aside, Swedes in line leave at least a meter between those in front and behind, even at the bus stop, where, once they’ve boarded, they avoid sitting next to anyone else as much as possible. Often, touching each other more or less times is a cultural issue. While in Italy it’s normal to greet someone with a hug and/or two kisses on the cheek, in Japan a curtsy from afar is appropriate. A series of studies from the 1960s even calculated the frequency with which couples in love touched each other in public places: “In Puerto Rico, an average of 180 times per hour. In Paris, 110 times, in Florida twice, and in London, never”.
More recent research demonstrates how climate conditions influence behavior, generating societies: in Nordic countries, structured “to survive adverse weather conditions that require more time to dress, procure food, and plan for the harsh winter.” Meanwhile, at latitudes closer to the equator, people have more time to devote to social interactions, outdoor play, and physical contact.
And climate is just one factor in defining a place’s identity. The scale created by J.P. Henningham in 1996 measures, with twelve questions, how socially conservative or liberal an individual is, with obvious implications for their lifestyle and their more or less use of touch. In this book, the extensive catalogue of skin-themed cases includes the tactile famine of constantly online teenagers, the sensation of being crawled over by a tarantula of a vintage James Bond, the pleasures of cooking, and much more. Enjoy reading.