“Nice is America’s number one brand,” noted Anna Akbari, a sociologist, in Psychology Today. Indeed, strangers often strike up conversations. Employees are jolly, and the traditional greeting is “Hi, how are you?” However, American amiability is truly a brand — something designed to appear more charming than it really is.

At USC, I’ve had several seemingly pleasant conversations with other students, only for them to ignore my texts or let my calls go unanswered. Moreover, in both academic and social settings, those who preach approachability often fail to practice it.

The reality is that American niceness should not be interpreted as genuine kindness but rather as a business transaction.  

Every smile, greeting and display of amiability is, consciously or unconsciously, an investment. Servers smile in hopes of receiving a larger tip; employees feign interest in their employers’ weekend plans in their pursuit of promotions; and even social interactions are often calculated to expand one’s network.

This paradox of American congeniality reveals a fundamental belief that everything is expected to protect or benefit the individual to some degree. Thus, I challenge Anna Akbari’s assertion and contend that the United States’ number one brand is not niceness, but self-preservation — an instinct ingrained in its individualistic origins. 

The U.S. was founded through settler colonialism: Indigenous people were dispossessed, and cultures of collective production and unity were largely erased. From Europe, Americans inherited a culture of mercenary customs — many early European ventures to America were backed by joint-stock companies focused on financial gain instead of humanitarian goals.

Without a shared history of collaboration, many Americans have been led to subconsciously perceive their peers as strangers and adversaries first and as potential friends second. Shallow displays of amiability are, understandably, preferable; an inoffensive blandness masks true intentions and minimizes the risk of scrutiny. 

However, given its overall effects, is this detachment from others truly helping Americans beyond the fleeting happiness that glittering generalities bring and the temporary feeling of safety they provide?

Whereas other countries approach social and economic issues as collective concerns, the U.S.’s individualistic ethos has fostered the conviction that an individual’s problems are their own. Specifically, those within the working class have been led to believe that capitalism is a meritocracy — if one works hard enough, they are sure to succeed, as failure is allegedly self-imposed. 

However, capitalism is inherently inequitable. For every dollar earned by white men in America in 2020, Hispanic women earned 57 cents; Black women earned 64 cents; and white women earned 79 cents, according to a study conducted by the United States Census Bureau

It is essential to acknowledge that American niceness does more than conceal personal vulnerability and truth. This rhetoric makes the entire American society and country appear more idealistic and jolly than they really are, to the point where there is even a name for it: “The American Dream.” After all, why would anyone question the beliefs of a country that is known for their amiability?

The truth, however, is that skill and diligence only take you so far before the privileged reclaim the summit. The working class is not even reaping the benefits of the growing national economy that they are helping to build. 

Admittedly, the underlying flaws of capitalism are concealed in the same way Americans disguise their lack of vulnerability: with an alluring illusion that diverts our attention away from reality. 

Ronald Wright, paraphrasing John Steinbeck’s “A Primer on the 30s,” notes that “Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.”

Essentially, no one is willing to protest a system that only benefits the wealthy when they are constantly caught up in the pursuit of joining that group. 

The unfortunate reality is that the average American is closer to becoming homeless than becoming a millionaire; three out of five Americans are unable to afford the basic costs of living: housing, food, education and healthcare.

Still, many middle-class Americans believe they will be the exception, defying the statistics and ascending to the top. After all, it is easy to sustain this rhetoric in a society that blames the individual’s own incompetence instead of the system that aims to subjugate them.

Thus, most Americans spend their entire lives enriching the rich and competing with the only people they can relate to, while simultaneously being one paycheck away from destitution.

Ultimately, insincerity among the repressed is indoctrination’s dearest friend. By prioritizing surface-level pleasantness over vulnerability and competition over solidarity, Americans have internalized the very system that exploits and poisons them. 

To Americans, I prescribe a healthy dose of Dutch bluntness because deflective euphemisms will not deliver us to liberty.