Leaning on the world: How Americans’ body language stands out abroad
Americans tend to casually lean on walls, doorways, or furniture, and it’s often viewed as a laid-back, informal gesture. In many parts of Europe and other parts of the world, standing with a straighter posture, without leaning, is more common, especially in formal or public settings. This difference can subtly mark someone as American, particularly in places where a more upright stance is considered respectful or appropriate.
For CIA operatives, blending in with local culture is essential, so part of their training focuses on noticing and avoiding little “tells” that might reveal their American background. Slouching, leaning, or putting your hands in your pockets can be giveaways that you’re from the U.S., where casual body language is often part of everyday interactions. Instead, operatives are taught to adapt their posture and body language to blend in, standing with the same degree of formality as the locals.
Interestingly, this casual leaning habit can go beyond body language. Americans may be more likely to set bags or jackets on the ground, sit on steps, or prop themselves against random surfaces, which contrasts with the formality in many places. So if you’re ever in spy training—or just traveling—you may find yourself standing a little straighter than usual!
Other tells are:
The Volume of Freedom
Imagine a serene piazza in Florence. Birds chirping, locals quietly chatting. Then enters the American family on vacation. “OH MY GOD, THIS IS JUST LIKE THE PIZZA AT OLIVE GARDEN BUT MORE AUTHENTIC!” The birds scatter, and locals clutch their espresso cups in terror.
They’ll say “awesome” and “amazing” so often, you’d think they were narrating a fireworks show. “These cobblestones are amazing.” “Did you see that espresso? Just wow.” By the end of the day, a small crowd of Italians will have gathered just to see if they’ll describe anything as “not totally mind-blowing.”
The Ice Emergency
Americans will ask for ice everywhere, even in places where ice is reserved for injuries and the occasional glacier. “Can I get a few more ice cubes for my wine?” asks one overly optimistic tourist in Spain, while the bartender considers explaining that ice is kept under lock and key like a national treasure.
One American even ordered an iced cappuccino in a historic café in Vienna, to which the barista responded by pretending they didn’t speak English. The ice-loving American has since started a campaign called “European Freedom Ice,” demanding chilled beverages for all Americans abroad.
Supersize My Portions, S’il Vous Plait
Portion size can be a tricky concept overseas. Imagine the shock on an American’s face when a dainty French salad arrives. There’s disappointment, confusion, a sense of existential crisis. “Wait, that’s the meal?” they whisper to no one in particular.
One particularly resourceful American once brought a set of measuring cups to Paris to ensure he got exactly eight ounces of coffee, no more, no less. After downing six “shots” of espresso at a café, he was seen trying to explain to the barista that, back in Kansas, “coffee’s served in a cup big enough to swim in.” The barista, overcome with confusion and a strange mix of pity, simply nodded.
Navigating Kilometers and Kilograms
The American abroad will avoid any reference to kilometers, Celsius, or kilograms, preferring instead to create a mathematical conversion disaster in their head. “So, if the speed limit here is 90 kilometers, that’s… I don’t know, like, highway speeds, right? But, like, faster?”
One American was observed in Scotland attempting to calculate the conversion for pounds (money) to pounds (weight) while buying fresh fish at the market. “So I get, like, three pounds of salmon for ten pounds? But if I want four pounds, does that cost a kilogram? Or euros?” The fishmonger quietly turned to the next customer, hoping this math crisis would resolve itself.
The To-Go Quandary
Europeans do not do doggy bags. The American traveler, however, regards leftovers as a sacred right, an extension of their individual liberty to consume that extra cheese slice whenever, wherever.
In Venice, one tourist requested a box for her half-eaten pasta. When told “no,” she became indignant. “This pasta costs something, doesn’t it?” she said, gesturing dramatically to her gnocchi. “Back home, we just call that… theft.” The waiter, unfazed, merely refilled her wine glass and walked away, leaving her with existential questions about pasta and justice.
Smiling (and Talking) at Strangers
While Europeans are content with a dignified nod, Americans will strike up conversations with anyone, anywhere. On a quiet French train, an American tourist once tried bonding with a Parisian by asking, “So, you’re, like, from here?” This approach met with complete silence.
“A lot of us smile back home. At everyone, even strangers,” he added, confused by the chilly reception. The Parisian, unsure if this was an invitation to a cult or a declaration of war, moved to a different train car.
The Aggressive Card Swipe
In many European cafes, cash is still preferred, or at least casually tolerated. But Americans swipe cards with a vigor that suggests their credit card rewards points are funding the next moon mission. They will insist on splitting bills, dividing each espresso to the cent, calculating tax-free, tip-inclusive deductions for each person’s biscotti.
At one London pub, a group of Americans once spent half an hour trying to divide the bill six ways, eventually pulling out a complex array of Venmo and PayPal requests. The bartender, who hadn’t seen this much American currency since 1983, eventually accepted it all, if only to save everyone from another math crisis.
The Quick-Check Request
In Europe, dining is an experience, not an item on a checklist. But Americans, accustomed to the “eat it and beat it” routine, will wait exactly 45 seconds after finishing their meal before signaling the waiter frantically for the check. They may attempt a phrase like “L’addition, s’il vous plait!” but with an inflection that sounds like they’re reading it off Google Translate.
A baffled waiter in Madrid once brought three separate checks to the same American couple, assuming they had yet more guests coming. “Where’s our check?” they asked every time he walked by, while the rest of the restaurant looked on in horror at this speed-eating record attempt.
The Universal Desire for “Authenticity”
Americans often travel in search of “the real deal”—the idea that there’s an ultimate, genuine experience waiting just around the corner. Whether it’s “real Italian pizza,” “real French bread,” or “real Irish whiskey,” they will ask endless questions, hoping locals will confess that, yes, this is the exact same pizza that Julius Caesar ate.
One American family, after four hours of wandering around Florence in search of the “most authentic” gelato, finally sat down to eat a melting cup of vanilla. “This is it,” they sighed, unaware that they’d passed four convenience stores selling perfectly authentic vanilla gelato.
So, next time you’re overseas and you hear someone ask for a large iced latte with three shots of espresso, extra ice, and a to-go cup, rest assured: you’ve spotted an American, living loud and leaning proud, trying to find the best ancient ruins to prop up their baseball cap while they discuss the universal glory of Olive Garden breadsticks.
