How do you say ‘cringe’ in Italian? Cringissimo.
Specific untranslatable words are the bane of every migrant’s existence.
I started worrying about what Australians considered bad luck right after I almost wished ‘good luck’ to a colleague about to take an exam at Uni. I was trying to be friendly, but I remembered too late that wishing a student good luck in Italy was the quickest way to jinx them and make them fail any test. I quickly apologised, backing off my wishes and implying I wanted her to fail. I didn’t. But she rightfully looked at me like I was a rude weirdo.
It was a clumsy misunderstanding that made me look bad. In Italian, I committed a ‘figuraccia’. The opposite of making a good impression or a ‘bella figura’.
Untranslatable word of the day: Figuraccia
noun [ feminine ]
Pronunciation: feeɡu’ratːʃa
Translation: bad impression, embarrassing situation, a bit cringe.
Speaking a second language felt great when you tapped into that seemingly infinite knowledge that bent time and space. Like realising you were dreaming in another language, making up words, or when you couldn’t remember if you’d ever seen a certain movie in English. Even better, when people asked you which language you thought in, and you felt like Neo in the Matrix as you see the neon green polyglot fabric of reality.
I am not very superstitious, ‘I am just a bit stitious’.
After that ‘good luck’ accident, I swiftly got onto Facebook for an impromptu intercultural poll: “Is it bad luck to wish ‘good luck’ before an exam?” As I feared, it was perfectly fine in Commonwealth Countries and my figuraccia was unquestioned.
Among the comments, one was particularly interesting: in Germany, they didn’t wish you luck but success, because relying on luck implied you didn’t have the right skills.
How very German.
The comment thread got sidetracked after that. In Argentina, it was bad luck to whistle at night. In China, you wouldn’t find a good spouse if you didn’t eat all the food inside your bowl. I guess that was considered bad luck?
I had first-hand experience with Italian beliefs, and I could guarantee Italians were very careful while shaking hands so that arms would not be crossed, and ensured toasting was always done with a full glass. Wishing ‘happy birthday’ before someone’s actual birthday was bad luck, too, as if they wouldn’t live long enough to celebrate. And, as you’d expect, driving behind a hearse, or even seeing one, was considered particularly severe so, to prevent any supernatural repercussion, Italians would either touch their testicles, or left boob, or gesture downward Devil horns with their hands. Or both.
Besides these quirky superstitious habits, some customs were transcultural and expected, such as being a decent human and doing the runny-thingy when someone held the door open for you.
You know, the runny-thingy? Pretending to hurry up but just taking one big step and then moving your arms faster?
The runny thingy wasn’t a figuraccia per se, it was harmlessly awkward, just as replying ‘Thank you, you too’ to a waiter telling you to enjoy your meal, or when you walked down the wrong alley and had to pretend to receive something on your phone before turning around because admitting a mistake is worse than committing to one.
When did being human become cringe?
Melbourne’s secret bars are real-life Hogwarts’ room of requirements.
Once, the boyfriend took me to a shady alley and I feared I’d be mugged or worse, swooped. Instead, there was a hidden restaurant or speakeasy. I felt so cosmopolitan, believing I had just discovered the coolest new place.
I often wonder if these secret restaurants saw more determined instagrammers, returning locals, or people who committed to a mistake and kept walking down the wrong alley.
I can only imagine the wide range of odd requests they’d get from customers. Ordering a cappuccino with pineapple pizza, ice cubes in wine, forks instead of chopsticks or vice versa, leaving a tip, or not leaving a tip…
I’ve had the worst embarrassing tipping moment, a real figuraccia, when I was about to pay in one of these edgy hidden cafes.
The waiter told me the total, which was $30, and handed me the EFTPOS machine with blank digits to fill. I tentatively started typing ‘3’ because I thought that’s how they did it here. They told you your total out loud, and you had to type it in yourself. Only after I typed that digit did I see the waiter’s face light up and smile at me. I realised I made a horrible mistake. That was not the total, it was the tip.
I’ve never tipped, partly out of principle, capitalism’s shortcomings shouldn’t burden us, and partially because I’ve been a poor student my whole life with limited spare cash.
At that point, I panicked, and I was afraid that if I pressed CANC, the whole thing needed to be repeated, and I didn’t want to seem fresh off a plane. Which I clearly was. So, I nonchalantly left it at 3 for a grand total of a 0,03 cent tip. I committed to the mistake and tried to act nonchalant
Luckily, no one was close enough to witness this figuraccia except the boyfriend and the waiter, who pretended not to mind. Unlike one time on a very crowded tram. From the window, I noticed a pregnant lady wearing a striped top standing at the upcoming stop. When the doors opened and I saw stripes coming my way, I stood up smiling and motioned to sit, only to notice it was the wrong striped top. The stripes I kindly got up for were definitely not pregnant, and not nearly old enough to be expecting a seat. I received the most miserable and begrudged ‘thank you’, and someone laughed near me.
Without context, my good intentions seemed either passive-aggressive or totally clueless, like when I didn’t know how to order at Starbucks or when I showed a security guard my new dress with pockets instead of the receipt. It was a figuraccia after another.
I didn’t mean to be cringissima, I was just new!
Directly from the archives, please enjoy this authentic photographic evidence dated back to 2015, when these events took place:
Figuraccia is my new favourite word. I love learning about cultural superstitions. Thailand is a hugely superstitious place, but often they'll wish you good luck even when it's not warranted. Like in place of saying "see ya later" they'll say "chok dee" (good luck) instead and then I'm instantly anxious because wtf do I need luck for? Life? That actually tracks the more that I think about it...
I was laughing and saying "oh no!" as I read along because this could have been me! Those little moments of confussion in another culture always make for great anecdotes and cringey flashbacks!
You've reminded me of a couple of things that to me meant nothing but to my Italian ex were the worst possible event in the world and provoked a sudden change of behaviour for apparently no reason.
I remember in particular the day we went to visit what would then be our flat for 9 years and he went white and was giving me terrified looks and saying no with his head even before the estate agent opened the door. I was a bit confused as we both had seen the online pictures and agreed it looked nice and the area was quiet and safe, so I couldn't understand what was going on. He later revealed that he thought the flat we were going to see was number 17, which was next door to ours, which he explained it's a number than in Neapolitan tradition bears very bad luck, or in his words "porta troppa sfiga, Cristi," and he wouldn't live there for all the money in the world. Fortunately the flat we were actually seeing was number 18 so that was a narrow escape : )
I wonder however what he would have said to the estate agent had the flat been indeed number 17 and how he would have reacted to that.