What Do We Mean When We Say Someone Is "Too Greasy"? | 100 Big Questions About Life

The third installment in our Decency series, in which we use "greasy" as a lens for a closer look at what it takes to be a decent person.

"Greasy" — a word that has spread fast these past few years — usually describes a person who is unkempt (not a necessary condition), has no real learning or ability (necessary), yet wants to look like someone who moves through the world with ease (necessary), and enjoys handing down "life experience" by hint, innuendo and sentences left half-finished (necessary).

Unfortunately, greasiness has no age limit. Some people still have acne on their faces and are already throwing themselves into the unspoken rules of how things really work. Greasiness has a great deal in common with cynicism, and it is easily — and ever more often — pinned on middle-aged people whose lives may long since have lost their flavor. There is bound to be some misreading of the middle-aged in that; all we can say is that if someone ticks every box above, the odds are decent that he is middle-aged.

People tend to save everything lovely for adolescence. All eyes are on the young; what gets praised is a boyish air, a girlish heart, cuteness, with cats and Pikachu as the mascots. In fact this is a sufficient but not a necessary condition: if a middle-aged man champions a boyish air, a girlish heart and cuteness, and lets cats and Pikachu speak for him, "greasy" would be the polite word — he is more likely to be called a creep.

The world, in truth, is not kind to middle age.

Past 25, people start to loathe themselves, living under the shadow of being drafted into greasy middle age, of turning inevitably into an uncle corrupted by power and money. Even under the banner of political correctness, age discrimination and age panic are everywhere. A "middle-aged" person who is childlike gets called an overgrown baby; one with no youthful spark is called worn out and used up. Young people can announce at full volume that they intend to be "salted fish" and "deadwood," but the moment a middle-aged person stops learning and striving, it is a midlife crisis. Young people call for body positivity and many standards of beauty, but the moment a middle-aged man gains weight he has the physical basis for greasiness. Young people preach diverse taste and being yourself, but let a middle-aged man wear prayer beads, a Tang jacket, a popped collar, keys hanging off his belt … greasy, no escaping it.

In an age of political correctness, we have to say that "greasy middle-aged man" is a bullying phrase with age bias built into it. That doesn't stop us from talking about the traits so many kinds of greasiness share, and why they repel people.

In an earlier piece I wrote that "a gentleman is the sum of every gesture that says: I am aware you exist." A greasy person, by contrast, keeps his attention on himself; other people's reactions matter only as proof of his authority, his learning, his taste, his looks. Because he pays too little attention to how others feel, he often tries far too hard without noticing.

Greasiness comes from the smugness of having got hold of some resource. Trading on seniority to lecture the young, for instance. Or knowing a little about sex and delighting in hinting to others that a bare arm leads straight to the genitals. Or preferring to sing the praises of shortcuts rather than encourage plain hard work.

Greasiness is the everyday version of the thick-face, black-heart creed — getting ahead by shamelessness and cunning. What makes it deceptive is that a greasy person proves himself not through his own character but through an invisible authority outside himself: age, seniority, a title, prevailing taste. In an era that ranks people by seniority, they trade on being old; in an environment that worships youth, they trade on being young. They accept whatever rules these invisible authorities produce, without conditions and without caring whether the rules are good or bad, right or wrong. A greasy person does not discuss what the world should be or could be. He takes the posture that the world simply is this way, and congratulates himself on having "figured out how the world works, where the back doors are, where the rules leak." Or he reinvents himself as a self-appointed dean of life lessons. Or he turns around and poses for a photo with someone powerful to show off his own standing.

Greasiness violates the principle of real, equal exchange between people. In a greasy person's eyes the self is enlarged, and other people become props for proving that self.

Another variant of greasiness is public kitsch. Not reading bestsellers isn't greasy; announcing that you don't read bestsellers, only the pre-Qin philosophers, is. Biking to Tibet isn't greasy; posting the Tibet selfie on Moments captioned "cleansing my soul" is. Supporting a minority group isn't greasy; posting "Stay strong, tonight we are all XXX, like if you agree" is.

Greasiness exists only inside a relationship. When a person is alone — however hard they tear up at the sight of a red flag, however devoutly they treat inspirational quotes as life mottos, however they tilt their mouth at the mirror and murmur "still a young man after all these years" — they are at most a devout, melodramatic member of the church of twee. But once the kitsch goes public, "moving myself" turns into "wanting others to be moved by me": everyone please note how gentle I am, how chivalrous, how transcendent my soul, how hard I strive.

The third variant of greasiness is the sly cynic. Sly cynics are not disappointed in the world; they simply no longer want to hold themselves in check for anyone else's sake. They sneer at dreams, care nothing for truth or justice, give up on their appearance, give up on any discipline over themselves, and ignore what anyone thinks, as long as they are comfortable.

Being fat or sloppy is not in itself greasy. "I'm married now, I don't need to attract anyone anymore, so a bit fat and a bit sloppy doesn't matter" — that is where the greasiness starts: ignoring how others see you, but not out of the transcendence of "I don't care what people think, I'm being myself." It comes instead from the shamelessness of "this is how I am, what are you going to do about it."

What makes grown-ups tiresome is exactly this: that's all there is to it.

As the opposite of the modern gentleman — someone who "exists for the sake of a better other, and keeps examining and correcting his own behavior" — greasiness turns up everywhere, in all the small details of daily life:

Greasiness in Appearance | Why Some People Just Look Greasy

Judging people by their looks certainly involves some stereotyping. Greasiness aside, we readily tie a temperament to a kind of clothing: a plain plaid shirt and jeans read as youth, a suit reads as adulthood, and a suit in the wrong setting makes you look like a property agent. On greasiness in particular, it needs saying: you cannot judge a person by appearance.

Greasy dress used to be loud — a gold chain as thick as a finger, a well-polished bracelet of prayer beads, big tattoos of dragons, tigers and leopard print. In recent years it has preferred to stress Buddhist detachment and spiritual cultivation, favoring linen and Chinese frog buttons. But none of this is fixed. It is only the somewhat back-to-front conclusion you draw after meeting enough greasy people.

In fact expression gives a person's greasiness away faster than clothing does. Take the look of having everything figured out, too practiced by half, trying to convince you that everything follows a formula that is about to play out: "I know what you're going to say, don't bother." A greasy person turns his mastery of these formulas into a micro-expression. You can't say which muscle produces the feeling, but when it happens you always sense something is off.

Oh, and some people like to say "Little Li, one day you'll understand" while patting the thigh of Little Li, the woman listening — or they say nothing at all and just like to pat. These days that isn't only filed under greasy; it may well raise #MeToo suspicions.

The Greasiness of Preaching | Why Lecturing Always Comes Off Greasy

Greasiness is above all an attitude, and attitude comes out easily in language.

Consider the twist on Confucius: "Of any three people walking together, one must be my disciple" (the original says "one must be my teacher"). However mediocre he is, a greasy person sees someone unlike himself and wants to instruct him. When he starts lecturing, the motive is not sharing experience but a need for the standing of the one who lectures: I am teaching you because I am more senior, older and more accomplished than you. People hate being lectured partly because lecturing carries this inequality of standing inside it. The stronger a person's sense of their own standing, the more they hate it — which is why children being lectured usually don't find the lecturer greasy. Because the Confucian ordering of old and young runs deep in China, being older becomes a license to lecture, so even middle-aged people with no learning or ability are quick to teach others how to live, mistaking a wagging finger for guidance. That is when it starts to look greasy.

What a greasy person lectures about is often not real experience but a kind of opportunistic worldliness. They are skilled at using tradition and custom as lesson plans and old sayings as their evidence. They never actually face the problem in front of them; at bottom they are deferring to an authority (custom), then borrowing that authority's power to lecture others, the way the fox borrows the tiger's menace.

Take the homegrown "be tolerant" series: it's New Year's; the man is dead already; well, you're here now; everyone has it hard; he's only a child; she's getting on in years; it's for your own good; you'll get used to it; you're married now; grit your teeth and it will pass; everyone is like this; your kid is this big already.

Take the "if it rhymes, it must be true" series: a man should marry when grown, a woman should wed when grown; a man at 40 is a flower in bloom, a woman at 40 is stale bean curd.

Take the "emotional blackmail" series: Grandma's one wish before she dies is to see you married; no parent is ever in the wrong; he's a reformed man, why won't you forgive him; you have to come today, not coming means you're not giving me face; if you don't delete every girl from your WeChat, you don't love me enough.

Greasiness at the Dinner Table | Why Banquets Are a Breeding Ground

Socializing offline usually means eating together, and the moment people sit down the comparing starts: whose prayer beads have the glossier shine, whose title and salary look better, who has the nerve to ask the woman at the next table for her WeChat, whose "friend of mine" is the bigger name.

Even while competing, they still prove nothing through their own character; it is still the invisible authority outside them — seniority, a title, money, taste they are sure of. How much they can drink, women, their children's grades, the nerve to break a taboo: there is nothing that can't become a category of comparison. So they treat the number of women they have slept with as capital to boast with, the ability to order someone to dance on the spot as proof of their power, doing push-ups on a woman's body as a show of courage, a loud voice as a victory of presence, and lewd, veiled talk about sex as wit.

At a greasy banquet, because of this particular air of competition, a child is told, with no discussion and no consent, to play a violin piece in front of everyone. Obeying means the child is well brought up; refusing means the child has made the adult lose face. Any woman present is treated as a dessert course, a delicate accessory — anything but a person of equal standing.

Greasiness on Social Media | Not Chasing the Best, but Chasing "Making Others Think He's the Best"

The same routine of borrowing invisible authority to endorse yourself is common on social media: posting on Moments a photo of yourself beside a celebrity, of yourself under a Dior logo, of yourself in front of a Valentine's Day money-transfer receipt. Not because you like that celebrity or their work, not because you admire Dior's products or design thinking, not out of the joy of love. He is slyly borrowing position, money, connections, finely made designer objects — anything upstream on society's chain of contempt — to display his own worth. He isn't chasing the best; he is chasing making other people believe he is the best. On this point there is no essential difference between the thick gold chains worn by Northeastern gangsters fifty years ago and the Van Cleef & Arpels worn by today's socialites on Moments.

A status update on Moments is already the product of a swollen sense of self; what makes one greasy is the excessive gilding of motive. It disguises itself with all sorts of not-very-clever lies. Unlike a teenager's lies, which are usually about protecting yourself from being scolded and therefore point inward, a greasy person's lies are always about extracting money and admiration from others, and point outward:

• Broke my record again — two straight weeks of overtime until the small hours every night. The client wants in two weeks what they couldn't produce in two years, so hard, if it weren't for the fact that six more months means a million-yuan salary I'd really want to quit [sleepy face]. (Posted at 1:20 a.m.)
• Right or wrong, as long as you have a direction and go forward step by step — so what if the road is rough?? Being young is wonderful!! (Nine selfies from different angles in the bathroom)
• Had the honor of meeting Mr. Jin Yong at a Taipei bus stop; though we only saw each other across the street, his kind, gentle bearing as a master of the martial-arts world has stayed with me ever since. God wanted to read some martial-arts fiction, so He took him. Travel well, old master. There is no illness in heaven. [candle][candle][candle]
• I only said in passing that this dress was all wrinkled and had lipstick on it. My boyfriend jumped straight in with "wow, you've lost weight again," then went ahead and ordered a new coat and a lipstick — full marks for survival instinct [peace sign]. (Plus an old headshot from last year's trip to Canada)
• A person grows up three times. The first is when you find you are not the center of the world. The second is when you find that however hard you try, some things are still beyond you. The third is when, knowing full well that some things may be beyond you, you still give them everything you have. (Photo 1: a Keep running route, 2 km. Photo 2: a selfie lifting her shirt to show her stomach)

Greasiness in Public Debate | The Contrarians Who Muddy the Water

A greasy person doesn't really want to discuss anything. He proves he is right by putting others down, vents pure feeling, cannot respect a different opinion, and cannot tell where another person's private boundary lies.

They are skilled at pinning labels on people: sound a little gentle and you're a bleeding-heart saint; raise an objection and you're a troll. Like a celebrity and you're a braindead fan; dislike one and you're a mindless hater; feel neither way and you have no opinion. Reason with them and you're a detached rationalist; talk about ideals and you're precious. Throw out a single word and it is as though a verdict has been handed down on the other person — and just like that, you've "won."

They fit badly into the rules of public discussion, and habitually crown themselves referee of the human world, tossing out lines like:

• If they ban it, fine, I wasn't watching anyway.
• It's a vast country, governing it isn't easy — if you can do better, go and do it.
• If you don't like it, get out.
• Why can't you be satisfied? This country hasn't treated you badly!
• Not accepting rebuttals, thanks.
• A brain is a wonderful thing.
• In the end it all comes down to looks.
• Whatever exists is reasonable.
• You've all got this wrong — do you really think the people up there would let you understand what's going on?

Finally, may we all be able to live our days a little more cleanly.

Cover image by: Zheng Shuya