If you tickle us do we not laugh?

Do you enjoy unusual words? How about knismesis…? Or for that matter, it’s sister, gargalesis -which at least seems easier to pronounce. They’re both happy new coinages from ancient Greek words, but I mean, that’s no excuse, eh? Philologists are delighted perhaps, but they would be: the etymology of their specialty is philologia (love of language). Much of our vocabulary is a mess of periphrastic tautologies I suppose, but confusing to monoglots (okay semi-biglots) like myself.

I assume that since you’ve waded through my opening words this far, you’re anxiously waiting for me to explain. Well, I happened upon an article on tickling[i]; you know how things you don’t expect capture your fancy? Well, I hadn’t thought much about tickling since I was a child I suppose, and the subject caught me unawares -to say nothing of falling down an unexpected rabbit hole.

I’ve always thought that children are more susceptible to tickling than non-connubial adults -well, at least I wouldn’t try it on any of my unsuspecting friends. Most strangers wouldn’t respond with delighted laughter if I tickled them on the street. Why is that? If you tickle us do we not laugh…?

At any rate, not to keep my thus-far patient reader wondering if they should even continue to the end of the paragraph, let me assure them that I am not into seduction with mere introspection; it’s more of a hypophora because I am now going to answer the question I posed at the beginning of this journey: tickling requires more than an implicit or explicit explanation for it to have its desired effect: it requires a different technique in different areas -not all of which, I should add, are tickle-prone.

There are basically two types of tickling: knismesis and gargalesis. The words themselves are semi-onomatopoetic, don’t you think…? Okay, well they are to me.

Knismesis, is a feather-like touch on the skin, like a strand of hair brushing against it, or worse, an insect who has just discovered some unguarded area; it results in an itch rather than a gale of laughter and calls for a reaction -just in case it is something icky inching its way upwards.

‘People from distinct cultural backgrounds are ticklish in many of the same spots on their bodies. In addition to the armpits and soles of the feet, the belly and the neck consistently rank as some of the most ticklish body parts across cultures.’ You should probably ask before doing it to someone you hardly know, however -even if it is pleasurable to you both.

Gargalesis refers to harder, laughter-inducing touching, and involves the repeated application of higher pressure to sensitive areas in people who trust you; it is not a first date thing. Nor is it akin to proffering a hand in greeting unless you are granted custody of the area beforehand; I wouldn’t recommend trying it on a non-significant other without written permission, or witnesses to attest to the circumstances.

And, of note, the most ticklish regions don’t necessarily line up with the most vulnerable parts of the body, nor the areas where touch feels most pleasurable. Still, it makes one wonder if there is some Darwinian survival value to it. Is knismesis merely a relic of a primitive defense mechanism: something that helps us feel—and flick off— otherwise dangerous things crawling on our skin?

On the other hand, the heavier but hopefully non-threatening touch of gargalesis, is one of the first things that makes us laugh as infants, and ‘has been proposed to be an important social activity—first between caregivers and infants, later between other close family members and friends.’ Or, more ominously, it has also been proposed that ‘being ticklish trains us to protect our vulnerable parts or acts like a reflex that moves us away from a potentially damaging stimulus’ like from the person sitting next to you in a pub…

Perhaps even more interestingly however, it has been suggested that ‘research on tickling might also help scientists better understand certain neurodevelopmental or psychological conditions, such as autism and schizophrenia which seem to affect how people process and perceive physical sensations.’

But there still remains an important and relatively self-evident question which, despite the fancy attempts to explain the phenomena seem to have slipped under the radar -okay, mine anyway: why can’t I tickle myself without feeling foolish? Is it merely because it is not an adventure? Or a surprise? Is my brain so engaged in proprioception that it can’t relax enough to have a little fun? Does it really have to monitor every movement I make? Compute the trajectory of every little miscreance?

Of course, it might be embarrassing to be caught messing with your armpit in public, I suppose. Pretending you are merely checking whether or not you applied your matinal deodorant would be unlikely to diffuse the flabbergasted expression on passersby. We expect a more appropriate comportment in public I think.

Unexpected laughter is also prone to questions and a space being cleared for you in a crowd. People just wouldn’t believe you’ve actually succeeded in tickling yourself, whether by knismesis or gargalesis: the average crowd member is unlikely to be familiar with either word, so attempted explanations to allay their concern is bound to fail. And come on, who would try to self-gargalese in a crowd nowadays anyway, eh? And even if the attempt were successful, it would almost certainly not be followed by accolades or others joining in the laughter… In fact, I rather suspect the crowd would more likely feel as worried as Macbeth in one of his famous monologues about those things that should accompany the behaviour of an old man in a crowd: honour, love, obedience, and troops of friends, they must not look to have; but, in their stead, curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.

I doubt Macbeth ever gargalesed himself, though…


[i] https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/from-armpits-to-feet-our-ticklish-hot-spots-are-surprisingly-universal-the-finding-offers-clues-about-the-sensations-evolutionary-origins-180989324

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