The difficult bit of human existence is that everyone else is also participating in it. There are some great people, some kind of mid-range people, and then you have the massive arseholes who always seem to congregate precisely where they shouldn’t be with the sole objective of making the rest of us miserable. And sometimes, they go to the museum.
I have recently visited a massive exhibition in London that prompted me to reflect on the behaviours I had witnessed in the past few months in museums, exhibitions and galleries. From this reflection emerged a list of points of etiquette no one should ever have to write, but here we are — because the world is full of arseholes and it’s my duty to help you avoid being one of them. You’re welcome.
1. Don’t jump the f*cking queue.
Typical offenders: Boomers wearing boat shoes. Don’t ask me why, I have no clue.
I seriously don’t know in what sort of flea-infested, pox-ridden puddle of dirty mud you must have been raised to think that you’re entitled to jump the queue, but I’m surprised you’ve even managed to escape it without apparent scars after fighting the very large armadillo or whatever wild creature bred you Greystoke-style.
We get it. It’s long. It’s boring. You’d rather do anything else than wait here, and you don’t feel like facing this particular brand of anxiety that consists of capturing moments of beauty while the time that separates you from your inexorable demise is constantly slipping through your fingers. But guess what? So do we. There’s literally no reason for you to feel entitled to steal a spot that isn’t yours.
Just shut the f*ck up and play Candy Crush on your phone like the rest of us.
Obvious exceptions: Don’t be an ableist piece of sh*t. If someone with a disability (visible or not, there’s no need to ask anyone for their health bulletin) has to go through, just step aside and briefly apologise for not reacting sooner. Pregnant women get a pass too. Just, you know, don’t be an arsehole to anyone, which is something your mum should have taught you. See point 4.
2. Don’t touch the exhibits
Typical offenders: I wish I could tell you it’s mainly children and teenagers who do that, but no. I’ve seen people of all ages and from all walks of life touch paintings and sculptures.
Really. Don’t touch anything. I like museums where there’s a cordon around the exhibits which rings an alarm if you come too close. But not every museum is equipped with that so, unfortunately, we often have to rely on common sense, which is a mistake 100% of the time.
Also, if the exhibit is under glass, please, don’t touch the f*cking glass. Behave as if you were going to come back at night to steal whatever is under that glass. You wouldn’t want the police to find your fingerprints all over it now, would you? Well, maybe think of the people who’ll have to clean after you as if they were, I don’t know, human beings or something.
Obvious exception: Feel free to go ahead if there’s a sign or a prompt that explicitly encourages you to touch the exhibit. But even then, go wash your hands before and after.
3. Don’t spend all your time trying to take shitty pictures with your phone
Typical offenders: Er… anyone with an Instagram account with more than 32 followers. My aunt. Your bff. Everyone, it seems.
The lighting there was specifically designed so that the exhibit you’re looking at will (1) pop out and (2) not be damaged by the light. Which means that you’d have to seriously master your phone camera to know that you need at least an 800 ISO setting, and even then, the picture will come out as grainy and flat BECAUSE IT ISN’T MEANT TO TAKE GREAT PICTURES IN THE DARK.
Don’t even think of using the flash. I’m a firm believer that anyone using a flash in a museum should be banned for life from every single museum in the world. Your instant gratification doesn’t weigh much against the possible damage you could be doing to art that has somehow survived until now.
It’s just not worth it. You only have 32 Instagram followers, only five of whom will see your post, and four of them will hate-like it while bitching about how you always seem to have time to go to exhibitions but not to answer their texts. Face it Karen, no one likes you.
Obvious exceptions: You’re a professional photographer specifically hired to photograph the exhibition. You want to record some information for later use. You’re a reasonable human being who’s not hellbent on photographing literally everything even if it means stepping on everyone’s feet and preventing the rest of us from ever seeing the item on display.
If, for whatever reason, you feel like taking pictures, here’s what I recommend:
- Be patient. Wait for the people to go away without rushing them. I once waited for half an hour at the Heraklion Archeological Museum to take a picture of an artefact that had caught my interest.
- Be polite. When people say “Sorry!” as they come between my camera and the exhibit I want to photograph (it happens more often than you’d think), I always smile, tell them that it’s part of the game and ask them to please go ahead.
- Be ready. Sometimes, you’ll just have a window of half a second to take your picture after one person leaves and before another arrives.
- Only take pictures of the stuff you’re really interested in. There’s no need to photograph everything. Know what you want.
- Use your zoom. All modern cameras and smartphones have a reasonably functional zoom. Use it so that you don’t need to come super close to the exhibit.
Absolutely and definitely never take pictures with your IPad raised above your head. I’ve seen it at the Louvre and at the Uffizi, and your armpits are never a good look, even with a Botticelli in the background.
4. Give wheelchair users some space, damnit!
Typical offenders: Genuine Arseholes™
Now, this is interesting because if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t give wheelchair users enough room to see the exhibits, you’re probably not the kind of person who’d read a listicle that purports to help you not to be an arsehole, since you’re definitely beyond help. But let’s do this anyway, for the sake of it and because I like a challenge.
I’ve seen it happen. You’ve all seen it happen. Here comes a person who uses a wheelchair to get around. They’re coming closer to one of the displays. Genuine Arsehole™ sees it as an opportunity to slip between them and the exhibit and seizes it. The person in the wheelchair has no other choice but to wait until Genuine Arsehole™ is done (taking shitty pictures on their phone, presumably) to finally get to the thing they wanted to see ten minutes ago. Don’t be like Genuine Arsehole™.
Obvious exception: Nope.
5. Don’t get drunk before going to the museum
Typical offenders: Mainly 40-somethings, but I’ve seen others do it too.
Look, we get it. You’d really rather be home, but no, your significant other just had to drag you out and force you to go to the museum in a desperate attempt to instil some culture into you, didn’t they? Your life sucks and there’s nothing you or anyone can do about it, so you negotiated a pit stop at the pub and you’ve overdone it. Now that you’re completely drunk, your brain isn’t functioning right and you’ve been standing in front of the same painting for the past fifteen minutes, trying not to vomit on your own shoes. Or maybe you’ve just had lunch and had one too many. I don’t know. But you really do smell like a distillery and I’ve been fake-coughing like three times with the hope you’ll notice me and move. Also, your fly is open.
Note: It’s probably a good idea to avoid getting drunk during your visit too.
Obvious exception: I can’t think of any right now. If you come up with a reasonable exception, just let me know in the comments so I can thoroughly ignore it.
6. Remember everyone else has paid for their ticket too
Typical offenders: Boomers. Millennials. Anyone in between and before them.
The I’ve-Paid-For-This-So-I-Don’t-Care-About-Other-People mentality is both morally and factually wrong. It’s plain selfishness, and it requires a serious dose of cognitive dissonance not to realise that if you’ve paid for your ticket, so have the rest of us.
There’s really no reason for you to be a nuisance just because you’ve invested some of your money in two hours of culture. We’ve all paid, and for some us, the price of the ticket has required substantial budgeting and some sacrifices. A ticket grants you admission to the exhibition; it doesn’t make you the centre of the world.
Obvious exception: I’d say VIP tickets, but then again I feel that the whole system of paying a fee to be allowed to jump the queue and sneering smugly at the populace belongs in the Middle-Ages and should be regarded as a good reason to behead people, so what do I know.
7. If you know your kids aren’t going to behave, don’t bring them (unless it’s an explicitly family-friendly event)
Typical offenders: People with kids. I mean, some of them. But this one definitely requires at least one child.
The consensus on kids is that they generally are a source of joy. But they can also be a major pain in the neck, and if you disagree with me, it’s because you’ve never been stuck in my doctor’s waiting room with Dylan and Enzo, aka the Terrors of the Village. Or, alternatively, at any major exhibition whose organisers thought it would be a good idea to make the entrance free for children under 10, hence making it a much cheaper alternative to paying a babysitter.
While it is true that some parents might be entirely sure that their offspring will indeed enjoy an exhibition aimed at grownups, it is equally true that children tend to get bored and become increasingly agitated proportionally to the passing of time within a gallery. I’ve seen tantrums being thrown and puffy faces drooling on faux-leather sofas in the middle of national museums. I have seen stuff you wouldn’t believe.
That being said, I’m sure that the fruit of your loins is a perfect angel 99% of the time, but on the off-chance that he might happen to be a little sh*t, just make sure to keep an eye on the clock and to leave as soon as he shows the first sign that he’s going to roll on the floor while shouting that he no longer wants to look at the naked fat ladies.
Obvious exceptions: As stated in the title of this section, if the event is explicitly advertised as family-friendly, then go ahead. Be my guest. I actually don’t care because I’m not setting foot there.
8. Don’t shove people out of your way
Typical offenders: Men (Yes, I know “NoT ALL mEn yadda yadda yadda”, but enough of them).
I seriously could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I haven’t been pushed by a random man in a public space, especially in museums or at exhibitions. They don’t say “Excuse me”, they don’t say “Sorry” or “Beg your pardon”, they just shove you out of their way as if you were a discarded shopping trolley on the side of the road.
Don’t do that. Or at least, don’t do it to me, because I promise you I will kick you in the shins. Don’t do it to anyone else either, just in case they’re like me.
Obvious exception: You’ve just seen someone showing signs of a heart attack across the room, you’re a doctor and you need to get me out of the way in order to reach them as fast as possible to give them CPR. But that’s pretty much it.
9. There’s no need to be so f*cking loud
Typical offenders: People who still have a ringtone (Why? It’s 2020, people! I have had my phone in silent mode since 2012), people with a Very Important Social Life, people who just feel like shouting as if they were at an FA Cup game for no reason whatsoever.
Most exhibitions are a time for the contemplation of the human condition, which, when done right, will plunge you in a quasi-meditative state. Which is very difficult to achieve when the person standing next to you is shouting to whoever is on the other end of the line that they definitely don’t want Helen to be there because last two times she didn’t bring anything at all to the potluck and what is a flexitarian anyway?
Just keep your voice down.
Obvious exceptions: You’re with someone whose personal situation requires you to talk loudly. Or if the building is on fire.
10. Be aware of your surroundings
Typical offenders: Everyone, including me.
I’m guilty of that one. I never know where I should go next and crowds make me anxious to the point that I can’t really focus, so it has taken a lot of discipline for me to finally be able to force myself to look at the signs that indicate which room is next or where the exit is. But it’s all worth it because I’d hate to be one of those people who clog the hot points in the hallways.
It’s basically like in the London Underground. That beautiful system rests solely on the implicit contract that no one should stand on the same spot for more than ten seconds, lest the whole thing collapse and the city succumb to chaos. You see your line, you follow it, and you keep right (or left, depending on the stations), and that’s pretty much it.
It’s the same with really big exhibitions. Just look at the floor and follow the green line to the toilets, the blue line to the next room, or the red line to the exit (let it be clear that those are examples and that you should definitely check at the entrance which line corresponds to what in order to avoid ending up in the bin storage and cursing my name for giving you terrible advice).
More importantly, if you decide to stop out of the blue, check that there aren’t fifty people right behind you who’ll inevitably bump into each other and into you like a set of awkward dominoes if you don’t give them any warning.
Obvious exception: I don’t know. Let me know if you do.
